#moth man fucker

[werecreature-addicted]

werewolves are hot, however— hear me out. mothman. yes. mothman. a nonverbal sweetheart who’s just a cuddle bug. and also fucks you real good.

Big cuddly bug boy who wraps you up in his fuzzy wings to keep you safe and pressed against his body. He chirps happily whenever you come close to him and surprises you with little trinkets and gifts he finds in the woods. Shiny rocks and broken jewelry that were lost long ago. Little bones if you're into the kind of thing.

He's a very sweet boy, and he's very sweet as he humps his cock against your body, needing you to line it up properly so he can push inside of you, and unload his clutch of eggs. He chirps happily and clicks in approval, nuzzling your swollen stomach.

[luverine]

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ Luan (Mothman) x fem! reader

How Luan got his name. // nsfw // MDNI // scratching // breeding // cockwarming // no proof read // word count: 0.8k

“You like the moon?” you ask softly, pointing towards the glowing orb that casts a pale light, making the cold night air shimmer.

The creature beside you lets out a soft chirp, a high-pitched sound that seems to tell agreement.

You hum, taking in his ethereal form- tall, dark, and lean with sleek fur. His eyes, wide and the deepest shade of ruby, reflect the moonlight. He’s gorgeous.

“You’re kind of like the moon, ya know,” you murmur, your gaze trailing over him. “Lunar, dark, quiet… breathtaking.”

A shuddering breath escapes your lips as he steps closer, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you despite the chill in the air. He lowers his head so that it's above yours, warmth seeping into your skin.

He traces his clawed fingers along the curve of your neck to your cheek, it tickles making you giggle. Turning to face him fully, you rise on tiptoe and nuzzle into the soft, downy fur of his neck.

“You always feel so nice. You’re always so… magnificent.” You let out a quiet laugh. “just like the-.”

A sudden thought brightens your eyes. “Luna! That should be your name.”

He tilts his head, a deep, rumbling whine vibrating through his chest. He glances between you and the moon, a silent request for something that feels sincere.

“Okay, okay,” you soothe, rubbing your thumb gently against his cheek. “Something more personal, more… you.”

——

The next morning, you immerse yourself in your small, beloved library, pouring over historical texts and old-time lore. Mythology and folklore have always been a passion of yours. Page after page, book after book, until you stumble upon the literature “Luan Zhi”- beautiful, virtuous wings… also referred to the moon.

“Perfect!” you exclaim, feeling a rush of excitement. This name would suit him perfectly. You can’t wait to share it with him!

——

That evening, you find him perched in his usual spot. Your fingers brush over his wings, marveling at the blend of black and white fuzz that feels softer than silk.

“I found a name for you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He’s already watching you, those dark ruby eyes gleaming with curiosity.

He lets out a soft, encouraging chirp, urging you to continue. You can see the anticipation flicker in his gaze.

“Luan,” you say with a smile. “Wings of the moon… my Luan.”

His eyes widen, sparkling like diamonds as he absorbs the meaning. In one fluid motion, he pulls you against him, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His hold is tight, desperate, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

A deep, resonant purr emanates from his chest as he breathes you in, his mind clouded with need. He’s intoxicated by the warmth of your scent, memories of being inside you flaring up with an almost painful intensity. His claws sink into your sides, drawing a soft yelp from your lips.

Luan pauses, concern flitting across his face as he checks if you’re unharmed. You nod, fingers threading through the thick fur at his nape. Your cheeks burn with arousal, a slick heat pooling between your thighs.

“Luan,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “I need you…”

His length, already hardening, presses insistently against you. Without hesitation, you peel away the fabric that separates your bodies, baring yourself to him. His fur spikes with arousal as he takes in the sight, his claws gently tracing over your wet folds, drawing out soft whimpers from your lips.

You’re grinding desperately against his touch, soaking his fingers with your slick. It’s too much for both of you; your desire has reached a high. With a trembling hand, you grasp his thick, curved shaft, guiding the pointed tip to your entrance. Slowly, you sink down onto him, the stretch of his girth drawing a moan from deep in your throat.

His claws dig into your hips, pulling you down onto his lap as he ruts up into you, the force making you gasp. Your chests are pressed flush together, your nails tangling in the plush fur at his neck. His thrusts are urgent, each one driving you higher, closer to the edge.

“I’m going to come- oh, gods, please, Luan, come inside me!” Your words are muffled against his fur as you clench around him, your climax crashing over you in a wave of bliss. He groans, a guttural sound, as he spills deep within you, his grip never wavering, holding you in place to fill you completely.

Breathless, you collapse against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I love you, Luan,” you murmur softly, glazed eyes fluttering shut. His arms remain wrapped around you, keeping his softening length buried in you, possessive and gentle, as if he could keep you safe from the world forever.

And in this moment, in the quiet of the night beneath the watchful glow of the moon, you know he will never let you go.

A/N: Welp that’s Luan idk what else to do for him… anyways likes, reblogs, comments appreciated ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

[actuallytybee]

LIKE TO SUMMON QUARTERS

REBLOG TO PUT THEM IN MOTHMANS ASS

[monstersmutstickerclub]

Bro relax 🦋 (Pronouns are any)

— Monster Smut Sticker Club

[snapewife-divorce-lawyer]

please try to be objective. get bisexual with it. also i mean all of them just like in general, and not from a specific continuity. except for the joker.

[zi1arts]

purple in the library, what will he do?

[batwynn]

Happy birthday Mothman, you bubblegum bitch.

[dreamhacker606]

FOR THE MONSTERFUCKERS

[themothsnest]

I just heard one of the local kids go "men dont have boobies" with the confidence of Lone Kums on Shitter.

I am going to handle this information calmly and maturely because I am like 10-15 years older than them

THE FUCK IS A HUNK THEN?!

ARE KUKUI AND SAGUARO FROM POKÉMON FUCKIN AMOEBA OR SOME SHIT?!

THEY GOT BIGGER TITS THAN MOST WOMEN

[sexlapis]

cecil stedman x female!reader. ns4w. smut. no gender/prns mentioned. short fic. smoking. pet-names. reverse cowgirl. cream pie. r calls cecil “cece”. this is kinda dirty.

a/n: guys i might be an old man fucker😭😭 pray for me

masterlist

*

Cecil…Cecil is not quite sure how he has found himself in this position.

It’s all a blur really. A flash. A blink in time. An artificial warp of reality.

One minute, you’re innocently inviting him into your house for coffee. Cecil wonders for brief moment why you or himself would be drinking coffee so late at night, but he accepts your invite. He assumed he wouldn’t be here for long anyway.

Then you two get to talking; work, the “superheroes”, the goddamn weather, anything you get your mind to.

A cup of coffee turns into a glass of wine.

Then two. Three.

You two were sitting far too close to one another for it to be considered “professional”.

Bare, short-clad knees brushing against his dark-coloured cotton suit that looks far too expensive for someone like him. He lost his suit jacket and loosened his red tie as soon as you poured him his second glass of wine.

Cecil isn’t usually so lax, so accepting of offers like house invitations and wine, but he figures it’s been a long week, an even longer year and that he deserves a break no matter how short it will last.

“Debbie just doesn’t understand.” Cecil sighs, downing the rest of his wine. It takes the weight of the world off his shoulders. “I don’t want to hurt her. Or Mark, or Oliver. They just don’t-“” He sighs, “They just don’t get it.”

“I know, Cece.” Your head buzzed so much that you don’t even remember placing your hand on his shoulder. “They don’t live in our world. They don’t under…understand the sacrifice. They think you’re evil but you’re not. I know you’re not evil.”

Cecil is staring at you now, rusty-blue irises filling your vision like the ocean, ivory eyelashes frost around them. His eyes are glassy.

“You believe that?”

Your face is too close to his now. You take your hand in his large one.

“You’re a good man, Cecil. I believe that."

Cecil's gaze flickers down to where your two hands are connected then back to you again. He gulps. It follows the swipe of your tongue over your lips like a moth to a flame. He hears your breath hitch.

"Cece..."

You eye the mangled skin of his lip. Then your own lips find them.

At first he doesn't respond. He's frozen in his spot on your couch, hand flopping limply in your own.

Cecil seems to be snapped back into his senses when you pull back, apologising viciously, offering him a way out, far, far away from the mess you have conjured up from the sinful movement of your lips.

He quickly puts a stop to that babble with his own lips.

He should not have done that. He should not have done that.

But God, your lips were so soft. You were so responsive and enthusiastic to his touch, a feeling he hasn't felt in over a decade. So sue him for breaking his own rules for once in his shit life.

You both stumble to your bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes (mainly yours) in the wake. You’re pushing him onto your plush sheets. The fly to his pants are down.

It’s a whirl. He’s blinded by it all - your body, your hands, your lips, your breath - it’s all too much and not near enough.

That’s how he finds himself in this position - lying on your bed, his shirt unbuttoned and pants down to his ankles, with you bouncing up and down on his dick.

You’ve already came twice, courtesy of his mouth and length. You seem to be returning the favour judging by the ferocity of your hips.

Cecil can’t take his eyes away from where you both meet - your wet folds leave strings of gossamer with every desperate rise and fall of your bounces, and your gorgeous ass ripples and shines with each movement.

This was it. This is what kills him.

If someone five years ago had told him that he’d be fucking his most attractive coworker, he wouldn’t have believed it. Gone were the days that he could have some sort of freedom in his life, any dream of relaxation was just that; a dream. Fantasies that will never come into fruition.

But Cecil guesses he was wrong.

“Oh, oh fuck.” He curses. His stomach clenches. “Fuck.”

Cecil’s hand grips one of your soft, pert cheeks in his hand. You arch into the contact.

“Cece…Cece, are you gonna cum?”

You really were trying to kill him.

The visual of your coy face peering back at him over your shoulder, the rotations of your ass, and most importantly, the way your hot, seeping tight cunt swallows his cock so tightly that you may have gifted him with a small experience of the heaven he will never face.

“Don’t say that shit.”

You giggle. You fucking giggle.

“I’m just saying,” - you cut yourself off with a loud moan - “I’m just saying tha-that you can cum inside of me.”

An animalistic growl spews from Cecil’s mouth as his grip turns into searing iron on your hips.

“Don’t say that shit.”

“‘M serious, you can.” As if to emphasise your point, you switch on an ecstatic pace with your hips, rotating yourself on his cock like a cog in a wheel. Quick and precise. You can feel your own wetness dripping down his cock.

Cecil didn’t stand a chance.

Not with the way you moved or the sounds that kept pouring out of your mouth or the smooth tilts and curves of your supple body.

His heavy balls draw up tight. His head is thrown back. His hips buck up once, twice, thrice-

“Oh shit, fuck, fuck, get off- fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m fucking-“”

He erupts inside of you with a tremulous groan, one that echoes throughout your quaint room. His cock spurts rope after rope of sticky seed inside of your walls, more than you knew a man his age was capable of giving. His hands remain of your still-moving hips, slowing you down just a little. He wanted a break, not to be a victim of an accidental murder.

You hum, biting your lip at how full you are. Planting your hands on the bed, you raise yourself off his dick. Cecil hisses at the cool air hitting his now flaccid member. You wiggle your hips.

Cecil sees what you’re drawing his attention to - his cum, his cum that is seeping around and from your velvet, glistening walls. If he had the energy he did twenty years ago, this would’ve called for a round two.

“Jesus.” He spits, the bite mellowed out by his fatigue. “You’re fucking greedy, aren’t you?”

You laugh at him. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”

You clamber off his lap, sweaty, sheen and sly as fox you crawl up to his side. Your rouge-bitten lips find solace on his clear neck, a neck in desperate need of some dark love bites.

Cecil reaches into his trousers that are still hooked around his ankles. He pulls out his lighter and a cigarette. He lights it.

“I’m getting too old for this shit, kid.”

*

a/n: cecil fuckers unite? 🩷

[withahappyrefrain]

took a lil looksie at that smutty prompt list and now i can't stop thinking about jake and a combo of "i've never done something like this before" and "this is a one time thing" 😵‍💫 like you kind of half know him as a friend of a friend and you know the kind of reputation he has but one thing leads to another at a party or like out w friends and suddenly you're hooking up in the back of his stupid jeep swearing up and down that you NEVER do this and how it's just this once and he's just like "awh honey it's cute you think this isn't gonna happen again" bc once you have him once there's simply no coming back from that

It's the stupid backwards cap.

You're so accustomed to seeing him in uniform that when he shows up in jeans, a button up and a backwards snapback, you nearly forget all the stories you've heard.

"It's a trap," Natasha mutters, pulling you away. It was for the best. You heard stories about Bagman. So it was easy to focus on the rest of the party and not the Adonis who just walked in.

At first.

You're trying, honestly. But it's so hard to focus on what Mickey is saying when Jake is right within your line of sight. The can of beer looks small in his hand. And he's got that smile the one where the corners of his green eyes crease. There's a light dusting of stubble on his face, a stark difference from the clean cut shaven look he usually sports.

Shit, is he looking at you?

You turn away, suddenly very interested in the Star Wars show Mickey was rambling about. Your friend can't tell that your nods are artificial, but Bob and Natasha sure can.

"All I'm going to say is that it's Bagman," Bob remarks before walking away, no doubt going back to his favorite corner of the room to watch it all go down.

You know it's fucking Bagman. The dickhead that always gives Bob, Mickey, and Nat something to complain about during your D&D sessions. Hell, after hearing some of the stories, you wanted to punch the man yourself.

You still did want to do that. Just not with your fists. No, you wanted to punch Jake with your lips. On his.

Fuck.

Perhaps a conversation would do the trick. Confidence dripped all over him. He was a damn good pilot, a fact your friends couldn't deny. But surely, one conversation would remind you of all the shit he's pulled, wiping away any and all physical desires you had somehow developed for the guy in the last thirty minutes.

"Hey darlin. I was just about to come over and talk to ya." The sincerity in his voice stops you dead in your tracks.

No, he could not be serious. You even told him so.

And this fucker has the audacity to smile while shaking his head, "Course I do. I've been wanting to meet ya for a while now."

This was not the sleazy, unsavory man you had heard about. They were right about him being a former frat bro. But what they didn't know was that was your exact type.

A rosy pink dusts Jake's face as he explains, "I saw you with Mickey, Bob, and Nat on Instagram. Y'all had just gone to a festival?"

"Comic con," you clarify. He's out of his element when it comes to your hobbies, but the worst part is it seems like he's trying.

"I know who you are." Was it meant to be a statement or a threat? Hell, you didn't even know.

Jake shows zero indication your blunt sentence had any effect. Instead he just smiles as he leans in, his handsome face now inches away from yours.

"I know who you are too." It's just that stupid Texan charm, it means nothing.

"Yeah?" Like a moth to a flame, you lean forward, able to catch the sandalwood of his cologne. He's so tanned, you wonder if his skin is warm, if he's just a walking ray of sunshine.

The thought of touching him, simply brushing your fingers along his arm, flashes through your mind. It's startling, you're not supposed to like Jake Seresin. At least, that's what you've been told.

Turns out, Jake Seresin is charming. He listens and asks the right question. You doubt it's genuine, from what you've heard he's quite the flirt.

He's also quite the kisser. When you two moved to Bradley's porch, you can't say. What you do know is Jake has you pressed up against a wall, his mouth perfectly slotted over yours. And it feels good. His hands explored your body, as if committing to memorize every soft curve.

"I don't do this, just so you know," you blurt out, desperate to get it out before his mouth finds yours again.

Jake's mouth forms into a smirk, "So you're saying I'm special darlin?"

No. He can't be. This is just a one time thing.

You tell him that and he continues to kiss you. You repeat it as you lead Jake to his jeep, your hands greedily exploring his body. He's so muscular and you were expecting him to be clean shaven, only to find soft hair that graced his chest and trailed down to below the waistband of his jeans.

That cursed backwards cap is somewhere on the floor of his Jeep. You're too busy situating yourself into his lap, allowing you access to his neck. The only thing you remember clearly is how he gingerly took your glasses off and placed them in the console.

Your teeth sink into his skin, pulling a strangled groan from his thin pink lips. The sound is like a spell, luring your hips to grind against his.

"I don't- I've never done something like this before," you confess, stilling your body.

"Do you wanna stop?" His voice is unexpectedly soft, his touch gentle as he pushes some hair out of your face.

You should stop. You should get out of this stupid truck, go back to the party and pretend none of this ever happened.

That's the logical thing to do, given what you know about Jake Seresin. But right now, you don't see the cocky, asshole pilot. His green eyes have softened and there's an encouraging smile on his face.

"It's your call darlin," Jake reminds you, thumb drawing circles on your hip.

"This is just a one time thing, okay?" The declaration was more for yourself than him. One hookup wouldn't hurt anyone, as long as it stayed at one.

Jake chuckles, "You're so cute, thinking this will be a one time thing."

Before you can make a remark, his hands pull your hips down to his, allowing you to feel the denim cladded erection against your clothed core.

Fuck.

[monstersmutstickerclub]

Here are four more stickers from Sticker Drop 04: Parallel Worlds!

Get yours today! 👇

[bbyblumarine]

My Saviour

Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

You’re Superman’s favourite person to save, and he can’t seem to understand why that pisses you off so much.

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: I’ve never worked in a jewellery store, so please suspend reality if you dare.

Thank you enormously for any likes, reblogs or follows! Your kindness continuously motivates me to carry on writing :)

You’d been stifling the same yawn for over an hour now; the ache in your jaw was persistent, begging you for permission to escape your mouth and accept defeat. You were a stubborn devil, you knew as soon as you freed the yawn from its shackles, your legs would cave in and you’d find yourself as a puddle of sleep deprived bones on the floor.

Today you were working through a long haul shift at your job at the jewellery store, covering for your colleague who had very conveniently come down with the flu (it was a Saturday morning, do the math).

You didn’t mind it so much— the reserved nature of the job granted you space to wander in your own thoughts, and involve yourself with short and direct conversations with the clientele. It was a surprisingly quiet day, nearing the evening time where everyone would rather be out on the booze than collecting expensive necklaces for their wives. No bother, you’d been abusing the clock with your eyes all day and for good reason, as there was only a mere 30 minutes left to your shift.

You began tidying up, running through closing jobs to save you more time for later, where you had devised a plan to run a relaxing bath, dip your toes in it, and inevitably neglect it by flopping on the sofa for a nap. Some peace and quiet would be charming: these past few weeks had been pure chaos, with the rate of crime ascending quite dramatically for no reason at all. Not to worry, the people of Metropolis would cry, their saviour Superman will be there to save them. You fight a stubborn eye roll everytime you hear his name in passing: oh Superman, he saved me from a burning building; why Superman, if it weren’t for him I’d be left with a penny to my name after the robbery; Superman, Superman, Superman. Like the cynical old hag you were, your opinion was that he was some egotistical fucker with a saviour complex, one that you unfortunately knew too well.

Somehow, as a result of your own terrible bad luck, you often seemed to find yourself caught in the crossfire between villain and hero no matter how hard you tried to evade it. Like a moth to a flame, what your family keeps telling you.

This meant that, almost weekly now, you’d come face to face with the infamous Mr Superman, the man adored by thousands. Your mother swooned when she saw one of your stories on the news, begging you to tell her every detail moment by moment. Bless her, she was crest fallen when all you had to come out your mouth was a series of vulgar expletives. No one understood why you resented this man so terribly, incomprehensible to speak ill of a hero so kind to save you not once, not twice, but enough times for him to now remember your name with ease. Man, screw that guy.

And so there you were, dusting down the shelves, when the bell chimed at the entrance. Curious, you whipped around; it was pretty unusual for customers to leave it so late, especially on a quiet day like today.

Your heart grew cold in an instant, when a gun was thrust towards your skull by a masked man in a balaclava. How cliché.

“You push that panic alarm, and you won’t have time to understand that your brain is gonna be on those walls,” he proclaimed calmly, nodding to the wall by your side. You had no reason to call his bluff, his hand was cocked on the gun unwavering in a way only a man skilled with the weapon could master. Despite this, your body started to burn with rage, incensed at a man gaining the upper hand on you like this - and only with half an hour to go!

You nodded your head meekly, pushing down your deep seated anger. There’s no way you were getting out of this. The streets were rife with people, with similar crimes like this robbery occuring all over the city. It couldn’t be possible for someone to save y—

“I suggest you put the weapon down, sir,” a deep and assertive voice chimed in, immediately dominating the tense atmosphere. The words were a command, but the tone, his register— it was advice.

Listen, you knew you should’ve been happy right now. This masked man would’ve stolen from here, and you’d risk getting fired, and then you’d have to move out because you couldn’t afford rent, et cetera. Your life was being saved right now.

But instead, you let out the most exasperated sigh, loud enough for the intruder to cock his head to the side in confusion. The poor sod probably didn’t know whether to be more unnerved by the caped hero behind him, or you.

The robber dropped his gun. Everyone in the city knew it was a losing battle as soon as they recognised the man behind the voice.

Moving to the side of the cowering man, Superman glanced at you quickly before returning to his observation of the man. To the human eye it would seem like a quick glimpse, but you’d spent enough dismal time around him to recognise that in that brief second, he’s likely checking your vitals, scanning your body for any signs of damage. The guy probably already knows before you do when your period is due. It’s insufferable.

A dizzy flash of red and blue bounced off the window, informing you of the quick arrival of police. It always did puzzle you how he’d manage to beckon the police so fast after the crime would occur. Clearly everyone was eager to please him once hooked on his words of persuasion.

Superman scruffed the intruder by his collar and dragged him to the door like he was a box of tissues, leaving you stood rooted to the ground. All you wanted to do was go home right now. You had already been physically worn out, now the mental stress of this encounter was melting your brain to mush. You might need to skip out on that bath later after all.

Walking back in, Superman afforded you the privilege of truly meeting your eyes with his own. Waiting, like a shark, or maybe like an eager to please puppy of sorts, though you were convinced on the former. The shouting of officers, the flashings of the lights, there was all so much happening at once. Superman was unperturbed, as always. He subtly shifted his body weight to the side, shielding you from the impeding glare of police lights blinding your eyes. It was stuff like that that would truly grind your gears, him somehow paying attention to the small tells of your body when you were feeling whatever emotion, and then jumping on any opportunity to protect you from it.

You opened your mouth, pausing, but knowing the words were begging to come out.

“I didn’t need you to come,” was all you had to say, chin high in the air, a heavy contradiction to your fast heartbeat.

His eyes flitted to the side briefly, before returning to yours like they never left.

“Actually, I’ve never once needed you here,” you blurted out triumphantly, a stream of your subconscious erupting out of nowhere. “I’ve never once needed you. Frankly, I’m sick of you turning up with this notion that I now owe you something each time. I don’t owe you jack! In fact, I think it’s pretty presumptuous for you to think that I can’t take care of myself in these situations. I’m self sufficient, I’m not some damsel. I don’t even know you! You don’t even know me…” you rattled on, losing any sense of cohesion as you rambled further and further.

The worst part is every time you’d throw your tantrum - which is every time - he would never once give in. He would stand still, face impassive, as if he was actually taking on all the petty things you throw at him. Why is it that it would infuriate you even more?

Silence eventually settled between the two of you, your breath ragged after your outburst.

Finally, his chin fell to the ground as he let go of a small sigh. Lifting his head once more, he allowed the small pull of the corners of his lips to form a shy smile.

“I’ll see you next time,” was all he said, before turning swiftly and disappearing before you had a chance to blink. You could almost taste his muted victory.

You fucking hate that you loved this man.

[septemberlikeastorm]

so insane that fandom didn't defang qimir/the stranger, the man did it to HIMSELF, just popped 'em out like halloween vampire fangs the SECOND the episode 5 fight scene was over

that clown went from horror movie slasher to rom-com hugh grant-type love interest as SOON as his feet touched the ground. those moth monsters flew him straight up to meet god who slapped him across the face & said "do you REALIZE you just met your wife?? get your SHIT together you handsome fucker"

& so he DID. try & name one other person who's out here doing it like him i d a r e y o u

[nanamisonholiday]

I’m going to need more of dads bff nanami 😮‍💨 But this time he can’t resist himself 👀

You ask you recieve. dbf!Nanami is a dreamboat

here's a link to a previous dbf!Nanami fic

SHMUT

Lewd noises fill the bedroom as skin on skin slaps together, wetness pooling between them at every thrust of his hips. He swears he’s in heaven. All the waiting- it was worth it, all the lingering touches and glances, it was worth it. His hand covers your throat gently- his grip filled with love and care as his cock bullies its way into your heat. His plush lips kissing your temple as if your warm velvety insides weren’t gripping him with your weak mustered up strength. A lazy smile graces your pretty face making him lean closer to you like a moth to the flame. Truth spilling out of him with each thrust

“Y’look so fuck-ing beautiful baby”

Your scrunched up face in pleasure cries from his nonstop assault on your sensitve pussy- hand splayed on his stomach as a way to get him to slow down, even though deep- deep down you don’t want him too, not at all.

“S’big Kenny, so bigg- fuck”

Both eyes widen at the knock on the door- hearing your father call out

“Nanami have you seen my little girl around? It’s her turn to cut the cake this year”

Shit

Nanami doesn’t stop, he hasn't got the willpower to behave- not when he’s buried balls deep with your cum coating his balls. Instead he covers your mouth harshly only to pound slowly and deeply- a way to lower the noise to keep your father at bay

“No can’t say I have Geto- I’ll come help look in a minute”

There’s silence as if your father is contemplating his next move- Nanamis at a point of no return if your father decides to walk in to see his best friend doing the unthinkable to his sweet sweet daughter- folded like a pretzel getting fucked by none other than gentleman respectable Nanami. You whine at the added pressure in your tummy- tears in your eyes as Nanami glares at you, clamping his fingers harder into your cheeks- fuck you hope he leaves a mark. Toes helplessly curling as the coil snaps. You're surprised your father hasn’t stepped in out of curiosity of the odd behaviour of his friend or the strange noise coming from the room, but you suppose he’s more worried about your whereabouts.

“Alright, let me know if you see her”

You suck in a breathe as Nanami leans back, kissing your aching legs relentlessly fucking into you- an uncharacteristic smirk on his lips has your tummy summersaulting with butterflies. You desperately want to kiss that shit eating grin off. 

“Will do”

And with that your fathers footsteps are long forgotten as Nanami ups the pace to ruin you completely

“Y’mine baby, all mine yeah?”

“Yes daddy”

Daddy

Daddy

Nanami should feel some shame, a tiny bit of embarrassment at how hard it is for him to hold back a low groan when he hears you squeal out that god forbidden name, Espeically since he's no longer buried deep within in your warm wet cunt, but instead he's sat calmly in your garden amongst friends. amogst your family.

“Daddy put me down!”

Nanami keep his eyes trained on your revealed rump and that bewitching wet patch glaring at him within your panties. He knows they're cumstained and ruined, yet he swells with dirty pride knowing you eagerly put them back on to join your friends and family back downstairs. He's not the only once who's noticed, but so are the group of men he is sat with. Gojo smirks at the sight all while he has to adjust himself- whilst Toji low whistles. Not enough for Geto to hear, but enough for the group of men to know what their focus is on.

A deep voice interjecting their perverse thoughts- but really he's only voicing what they're thinking

“Whoever the lucky fucker is- must say, y’got some balls to do that with him around”

Gojo snickers at the implication, nothing does make him happier than seeing a dear friend like Kento Nanami shift in discomfort. Side eyeing said mans stiff shoulders at Sukunas words makes him grin from ear to ear- deciding it’s best to move on from the conversation as Geto approaches them. He may enjoy teasing Nanami, but now would not be the time to reveal secrets. Instead he opts for a small quip as he rises from his chair

“Lucky fucker indeed”

Geto smiles and waves as he walks towards them, breathless from playing around with his little family. His sweet little girl- if only he knew what all his friends were really talking about, what sloppily laid in your cotton underwear-it would wipe that smile off his face.

“What’d I miss?”

Nanami speaks before anyone has the right idea to snicker innuendos or inapropriate comments; as if he hadn't just fucked you ten minutes prior

“Oh nothing”

yoink- enjoy you thristy fucker

[luxcuriousao3]

Continuation of this angsty Ghoap blurb I wrote (part one is here). This is still from Ghost's POV.

-

They don’t talk about it.

It's normal that they don’t, really. Routine. They fight, they don’t speak for a few days, but they’re always drawn back towards each other, like moths to a flame. The pull is a siren call, irresistible. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before.

The next time they fuck, Johnny insists on riding him, clearly not trusting Ghost not to pin him down and bite him again.

That hurts, but he knows he deserves it, so he allows Johnny that sliver of control.

His teeth didn't end up breaking skin, and Ghost is glad for that, in retrospect. He doesn't want to hurt Johnny—and as good as Ghost’s mark on him would look, it doesn't belong there. Johnny isn’t his, can’t be his, doesn’t deserve to be his. Johnny deserves something soft. Something kind. If Ghost were a better man, he’d cut him loose to go find it.

Every time Johnny comes to his room at night—not as often as before, even less so since Ghost went rabid and bit him—he tells himself that he’ll do it. He’ll be better, just long enough to free Johnny of the burden that he is. But he never does.

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

They’re at a pub tonight, all four members of the 141. Johnny’s traded his usual spot next to Ghost for one next to Gaz, and Ghost pretends he doesn’t notice, that it doesn’t bother him. He shouldn’t notice. It shouldn’t bother him. They’re teammates, colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less. Just like he told Johnny all those weeks ago.

So Ghost doesn’t burn with jealousy when some bloke starts flirting with his sergeant. He doesn’t grind his teeth when Johnny doesn’t turn him down right away. Doesn’t ache when he thinks about how Johnny wouldn’t have entertained so much as a glance at someone other than Ghost, before. He doesn’t clench his fingers around his pint so hard the glass creaks ominously, doesn’t glare daggers at the stranger’s ugly mug, doesn’t feel the urge to grab Johnny and bend him over the table right then and there, show everyone in the damn bar exactly who he belongs to.

Mine, mine, mine.

But he’s not, he’s not, so Ghost just gets up and slips outside for a smoke as Johnny charms the fucker effortlessly and gets free drinks in return. He’s on his way to getting properly sloshed, but he’s not there yet, and Ghost can feel those blue eyes on his back as he leaves. It’s as gratifying as it is infuriating, that Johnny notices him leaving. That he doesn’t hop up to join him like he used to. Like he should.

No, not like he should. Rather, how Ghost wants him to. Wants him at his side, always.

Selfish bastard.

He stares out into the dark street, trying to pull himself the fuck together. He can’t be acting like this. Like a schoolboy with a crush. Like a possessive boyfriend. He’s not Johnny’s, he never will be. He can’t be. Everything Ghost touches, he destroys. He’s breaking Johnny already—he can see how the other man still craves something more from Ghost, despite pulling away. That he always will, that no matter how many pieces of him Ghost steals and grinds to dust beneath his boots, Johnny will never leave, not entirely.

Ghost knows. Sometimes, Johnny looks at him with so much heartbreak and want in his eyes, it takes his breath away. And fuck, his sergeant was staring longingly at a couple in the pub just tonight, before that prick came over to flirt with him.

Ghost is ruining him. Soon, there will be nothing left of Johnny but an empty shell.

A cold sort of acceptance falls over his shoulders, and Ghost stubs his smoke out on the bricks behind him before flicking it away. As he heads back inside, he knows there’s no more running from this. No more being selfish. He will end things. He’ll let Johnny go, even if it kills him.

And fuck, but it feels like it just might.

Especially when he gets back to the team's booth, only to see that Johnny and the bloke that's been chatting him up are both gone. He stops, goes still, stares at Johnny's half-finished pint on the sticky tabletop, wonders if maybe he was wrong, maybe Johnny scrounged up enough survival instincts to leave Ghost after all. Like prey spooking in the presence of a predator.

“He's takin’ a piss,” Price speaks up, reading his mind and cutting through Ghost’s spiraling thoughts. He’s got a hand on Garrick’s nape, the younger man groaning pathetically as he leans against his Captain, green around the gills. “Think Kyle's had too much ta drink, gonna bring ‘im back to base. You mind tellin’ Soap where we went?”

Ghost gives him a jerky nod, and Price drags Garrick out of the booth, slinging his arm around his shoulders.

“Ta. See you in the mornin’,” he says, and Ghost watches him lead Garrick outside before sliding into the booth. He stares hard at the door to the men’s room for nearly five minutes, but Johnny doesn’t reappear. He can already feel his determination to do the right thing slipping, and so he gets up and strides over, the crowd parting for him as it always does. Johnny’ll hate him for ending things in dirty pub toilet of all places, but perhaps that’s for the best.

Ghost would rather hurt Johnny a little bit right now than shatter him later.

And he will, if Johnny stays. Ghost will sink his teeth into him and rip apart slowly, piece by piece.

Ghost wasn’t made for love. He was only made to destroy.

Abandonment is the only mercy he can offer.