Call me Moth :) I'm 20, trans, use he/they/it for me! This is a blog I made to motivate myself to get back into writing. Any and all interaction is sincerely welcome! Always feel free to send an ask or a request on something you'd like to see written out <3
Asks/requests: open
Fandoms currently active in: COD, Jujutsu Kaisen, Skyrim, Resident Evil
What I write: I write whatever I want, so expect self-indulgent fluff, angst, and whatever I feel like. I love writing horror! I write mostly male x male stuff with either xreader but will likely also write 3rd or 1st person
what I DON'T write are kinks I personally don't vibe with
This is pure porn no plot at all, explicitly male reader, mirror sex, that trope where one is clothed and the other is naked, he calls you good boy :), Nanami loves his husband, probably inaccurate depiction of anal idk have fun y'all, he's the top (this time)
words: 1k
a/n: any and all reblogs and comments would be so appreciated guys! I hope you're liking what I put out and that's the best feedback I can get
I need you to come over.
That was the text Nanami Kento had received five minutes ago from his husband. His heart had immediately started pounding because what if you were hurt? What if you had injured yourself somewhere, maybe on that sharp knife in the kitchen you weren't supposed to use? Did you fall and couldn't get up? Did you-
"It's stuck," were the words that came from the bathroom when he rushed inside your shared apartment. What was it that was stuck exactly?
He dropped his briefcase by the door and slipped off his shoes, then rushed into the bathroom to see you bent awkwardly over the sink, no pants on, a vibrator stuck between your legs. He paused. His expression went through all the stages of grief before he settled on acceptance and then chose to interpret this as the universe's way of telling him he deserved a break because work had been driving him insane all week, and this - this would be his reward now.
"How did you manage this?" he asked while stepping behind you, his steady hands carefully coming to rest on your hips. He took a deep breath, removing your hands from where you'd clearly been attempting to pull the toy out. "Truly, I rush out of my office and abandon a case... all to find you bent over like this. Did you plan this? Is this another prank of yours, my love?" he murmured, but instead of his usual exasperation, his voice was soft and low, pulling at your senses while his fingertips traced featherlight patterns over your heated skin, parting your cheeks to press against your hole.
"It's not a joke, it's genuinely stuck," you protested, but a shudder runs through you and suddenly, the emergency didn't feel quite as urgent anymore.
"Is it stuck? I seem rather capable of pulling it out," he chuckled, and you felt him press his hips forward. One of his hands found its way to the back of your head, pressing down to keep you bent over while his other hand played with the toy that was now not-so-stuck inside you. You whined softly, whatever argument you had ready dissolving in your head as you focused on the way Kento was touching you. His fingers slowly, agonizingly slowly, slipped in beside the vibrator, prodding at your flesh and curling inside.
"Honey, please..." you groaned, trying to look up at him, but he kept your head down, cheek pressed against the cold porcelain of the sink, gaze just barely landing on the bottom of the mirror where you could see how your husband was looking down at you. You see the curve of his jaw, the heat in his eyes. He barely blinks, taking in the sight of you beneath him with an equal mixture of reverence and deep, profound satisfaction.
"Quiet, my love," he murmured, and for a moment, the fingers that were tangled in your hair soften their grip to caress your scalp. He pressed the pad of his thumb just above your ear, applying gentle pressure while moving his finger in circles. The hand inside you followed the same pattern. Your back arched slightly as you pressed into his palm, the round curve of your cheek nestling against him. Another breathless chuckles reached your ears just before you felt the stimulation of his hand disappear, followed by the clink of his belt.
"I didn't want to admit this, but I've been thinking about you all day, darling," he said, his voice steady, tinged with the shape of his smile. You didn't bother glancing at the mirror, your body slumped against the sink. You would have been content to just let him fuck you into the porcelain if he wanted to, as long as he kept his hand in your hair and his hips pressed to yours, but the gentle pressure above your ear turned into an insistent tug as he slowly dragged you upward until your torso was hovering. He slid his now-free hand beneath you, forearm to your chest, and held you up, keeping his other hand in your hair, wrenching your head back to force you to watch yourself in the mirror.
Slowly, he slid inside you. The feeling was exquisite for both of you. You heard him breathe out, and in the mirror, watched his eyes flutter shut like a man who had finally come home after a long day.
He began to roll his hips forward slowly, keeping his pace gentle while he guided your body back up, your back to his chest while he angled his head down to press kisses down your bare shoulder. His shirt, previously spotless, was beginning to stick to his body with sweat. There you were, completely naked, while he'd barely pulled his trousers down low enough to get his cock out.
"Good boy, just let me make you feel good, dear," he whispered while pressing another kiss right below your ear. His hand came to cup your jaw, moving your head slightly back and to the side and continue his ministrations upon your skin. You felt him pulling you closer while thrusting his hips gently forward, just enough to stimulate you. He was determined to take his time, drawing out the pleasure, keeping you from a climax, suspended in utter bliss while held safely in his arms.
You moaned weakly when he finally began to pick up the pace. After so long, even the slightest increase in pressure felt like a supernova, lighting up your insides with a low, coiling ache as you began to squeeze around him. A low groan tore from his throat as you did, and his hips stuttered. His hold on you became tighter as he finally gave up all pretense of self-control. Instead of holding you, his hands were now braced - one against the sink, the other on your stomach, keeping you from moving too far away.
Finally, you felt yourself tipping over the imaginary line. Your cum dripped down the edge of the sink while Kento came inside you. He didn't pull out right away, instead choosing to watch the white trickle around his cock and down your thighs. He leaned forward with a sigh, his touch turning gentler once more.
"You're so beautiful, darling," he whispered, smiling, his forehead resting between your shoulder blades. "You should get stuck like this more often."
should be pure fluff, implied that you were in some kind of accident on a bike
words: 520
a/n: so I may have been gone for a little bit :D thank you for all the support on the previous fics I posted, I'm grateful for any engagement as it is extremely validating, so yeah <3
"I thought you'd fucking died," Sukuna snaps at you, gripping your shoulders so tightly that you're sure you're going to bruise if he doesn't let go soon. Your apartment feels cramped and suffocating, far from the usual relaxed atmosphere. It's still dark outside. You still smell like the road and the smoke from that seedy bar you'd been to. You stare at him, jaw clenched, adrenaline crashing and dragging you down with it. You meet his wide, angry eyes, but instead of snapping back, a shudder runs up your spine and your breath stutters in your lungs.
"You almost look like you give a shit," you mutter after a moment. The anger seems to evaporate from Sukuna's face as he stares at you, wide-eyed and uncertain; that's not a look you're used to seeing on his face. No, usually he just... scoffs, shrugs whatever comment you made off and goes on with his life. This time, though, your words seem to hit their mark, intended or not.
"What?" he huffs, his expression contorting into a grimace of confusion and offense. "You think I don't care about you? Is that it? Is that why you insist on being such a fucking brat all the time-"
"I'm not a fucking brat," you interrupt him, and his hold on your shoulders tightens. He scoffs but doesn't let go like he usually would. Something painfully close to a smile tugs at the corners of his lips before he looks away, breaking eye contact.
"No, you're just the person I crossed half the city for because I thought you crashed your bike and died on the street," he mutters, and you can't quite tell if he's being bitter or somewhat sentimental. "You're a pain in my ass."
You scoff and try to shove his hands off.
"If you're gonna keep insulting me, I might as well just go outside and get hit by a car anyway, dick," you try to sound sharp, but your own voice wavers when instead of letting you push him away, Sukuna pulls you close. You find yourself crushed in an embrace so tight it could turn coal into diamonds. His fingers thread through your hair and he buries his face against your shoulder, and suddenly, you can tell that he's trembling. You feel his breath fanning your throat, and you feel the minute twitch of his muscles as his own emotions fail to decide what it is that he's trying to do. All he knows is that he needs to hold you.
"Next time you decide to run off after an argument..." he breathes against your shoulder, pulling you closer until there's no air left between you. You feel his ribs expanding with every breath, and your own hands rise hesitantly to hug him back until you're pressing your face into his chest and breathing him in. "Let me come with you."
"That kind of defeats the point of running away," you point out, but it lacks any bite. Sukuna chuckles, and if he wasn't too busy ensuring that you're really there, he probably would have rolled his eyes.
no romance, though could be interpreted that way, go wild with how you read it, angst and comfort but is it really, mentions of suicide
words: 876
HUGE WARNING for suicidal ideation, do not read this if that triggers you
a/n: comments are super appreciated, plus if you want me to write some specific scenario, I take requests! I will also work on making an intro post w/ boundaries and what I write for, but so far, cod, jjk and skyrim, and just avoid the usual taboo shit pls
if you're going through something heavy, reach out to people, call a hotline, take care of yourselves, and even if you are a stranger on the internet, I love you
"You've been holed up here for two weeks," Ghost stares at the man across from him. Used to be a fellow soldier, now just a civilian, out of the loop, rotting here in a tiny apartment in London on medical "leave" but everybody feels in their bones that he won't be taken back to base because of his psychological tests. Unless Price pulls some strings; but it's mutual agreement that it would be better this way.
"So I have," Shovel - codename, nobody calls him by his legal name mostly out of sympathy and respect, but maybe it'd be good to start thinking about him as Oliver Davies again. Just to separate the two a little. Davies is no soldier anymore. At heart, maybe, but that don't make moving on exactly easy when it's time to say goodbye.
He's staring off into space. Ghost, friend, teammate - Lieutenant Riley here, formal, official - has been coming to check on Shovel- No, Oliver, whenever he had the spare chance during his leave.
Oliver hasn't stepped foot outside since his discharge. It's understandable, for a man like that. Most people might probably try to get back to life. Probably even find the good side of suddenly having all this time on their hands, but freedom's got a way of driving a man like Oliver Davies absolutely crazy.
So, he's been holed up in his tiny apartment in London, one room, plus a bathroom, no decor, just a mattress on the bed and a gaming set-up, and the pyramid of takeout and instant noodles cups, for two weeks.
"You barely got any bloody light in here," Ghost grunts and stands up to pull the curtains open. Shovel just stares at him and watch. When the light, as much as it could be called light in the dreary grey English afternoon, enters the apartment, his eye twitches, but he says nothing.
"Why you really here, Lt.?" he mutters and hangs his head low, hands limply resting between his legs, elbows on his knees. It's hard to tell if he's frustrated, detached, grieving, or a little bit of everything.
"'Cause you're gonna kill yourself if I don't," Ghost replies flatly, staring Shovel down. He just can't think of him as Oliver Davies. Nah, this is Shovel, this is a capable, dependable bloke who'd throw his bloody life away if it meant saving somebody else, the kinda guy who'd drop to his knees and dig up a graveyard with his bare hands if a single of those graves had someone still breathing inside.
Shovel looks up, eyes dark. He doesn't react with shock, and he doesn't try to make up am excuse. He just looks up with that tired kind of offense, like he's deciding whether he's got it in him to be angry that Ghost can see right through him and is actively blocking his plans.
"So Price sent you on babysittin' duty?" he asks roughly, one thumb tapping against the knuckles of his other hand. He hangs his head low again. The air in his lungs feels rotten.
"No, Price didn't send me on anything, I'm here 'cause you're stupid when you're alone."
Shovel chuckles at that. His features twist, and the laugh turns hollow halfway through, and then devolves into a sob. He holds the air in his lungs, feeling them burn while his jaw locks and lips part, vocal chords holding back a howl of pain.
Ghost is right there in a flash, pressing Shovel's face into his chest, big arms embracing the other man in a crushing hug while Shovel falls apart.
"I'on' wanna be here, Ghost," he croaks, gripping Ghost's shirt tightly, gulping for air when he can, the sobs just tearing out of him now, the emotions, held back until now, finally escaping in an explosive torrent of pain and grief.
"I know."
"I always think I'll finally fuckin' do it and then you show up and I think, what's one more bloody day?" he keeps rambling, hiccuping, the tears streaming down his face.
"I know."
"I feel so fucking hollow, Lt. I feel rotten down to the bloody bone. And I can't-" his voice breaks. He sniffles and tries to wipe at the snot dripping from his nose. His hands shake, entire body jerking with tremors while his nervous system attempts to find out where the injury is, where he's bleeding, because it hurts so bad.
"I can't live like this-"
There's a beat of silence. Ghost closes his eyes, one hand pressing Shovel's face back into his chest.
"I know, kid."
God, does he know.
"You'll be alright, sweetheart."
But will he? Will anyone?
"You promise?"
"I do."
It doesn't matter if he means it. What is truth if not the deep-rooted belief in something, so strong that no matter the facts, it becomes truth?
An hour later, it's raining outside, the cords of rain whipping against the dirty windows. The apartment smells like tea and booze, but for once, the light inside is warm.
Shovel lay sprawled on his shitty mattress, snoring, while Ghost stares off into space.
Tomorrow, it'll be bad and rotten all over again, but at least for now, they've managed to tear a scrap of peace from the fabric of time.
uhhh possessive Sukuna, smut, explicitly male reader, 18+ content so minors DNI, everything else is pretty vanilla, I think?
trying out writing smut for the first time, as well as an x reader format, hopefully you guys like it?
MINORS DNI
words: 829
"Maybe that's why I have no friends," you mutter, flicking the ash off your cigarette with a sigh. The tip burns amber for a moment while you take a drag and then slowly, the light dies out again. You stare off into the night, elbows propped on the balcony railing.
Behind you, Sukuna angles his head to the side, just staring quietly.
He'd already been halfway on his way to you, to join in on one of your late night conversations, but before the last few steps, he falters.
"No friends?" he repeats after you, a slow smirk curling his lips. "Care to explain your reasoning, handsome?" he murmurs while leaning in to kiss your neck. His hands roam your sides lazily, the kind of casual intimacy you'd had to get used to at the beginning of this.
He's touchy - while out in public, it's a claim. You'd accepted that. In private like this? When it's just the two of you, and he still decides to hold and kiss you? It feels precious. More real, somehow. Like he's not keeping you around just because your struggles entertain him, but because he might actually care.
"Well, I was thinking," you begin, body already leaning Sukuna's chest, your muscles relaxing. You don't even notice when his fingers coax the cigarette from between your fingers and toss it off the balcony. "Nobody ever stays."
Sukuna chuckles again, one of his hands sliding beneath your shirt, fingers greedily feeling your warm skin.
"Nobody, huh?" he mutters against your shoulder, and you'd be able to tell he's trying not to laugh if you weren't too lost in thought to pay attention.
"Yeah," you mutter, frowning. "Everybody I start talking to always just suddenly runs away. It's like I'm cursed or something."
Your complaint hangs in the air. When Sukuna doesn't reply for a while, you finally seem to snap out of it and glance at him, catching the amused glimmer in his eyes before he looks away. The corners of his lips are twitching.
"What?" you snap at him, pursing your lips. He adores when you glare at him like this.
"Maybe you're too fierce for anyone but me," he shrugs, then turns you around in his arms, nuzzling into your throat again, his teeth nipping at your skin. You scoff at that argument, and roll your eyes.
"Bullshit."
"What do you even need other friends for? You have me, that's all you need," he whispers fiercely, kissing his way up to your ear before catching your earlobe between his teeth. Exasperated, you shove at his chest, but he just bites you harder, his hands sliding beneath your thighs to lift you up and press you against him. He's kissing you now, hungrily, his breath warm on your skin, teeth tasting every inch of you they can reach.
"I want other friends than just you, you're a freak," you whine, but the words lack conviction - hard to hold onto your anger with the man you love actively trying to kiss every trace of it out of you.
"Your freak," he counters, and you scoff again. He just kisses you harder. You didn't even register when he brought you from the balcony back inside.
"A freak nonetheless. Now put me down."
"It's you who is clinging to me like a baby koala," Sukuna rumbles, smirking at you. In truth, it's a bit of both. Your arms are firmly around his shoulders and his hands grip your thighs, neither of you willing to let the other go quite so easily.
"Am not," you protest, cheeks burning pink, but hold onto him tighter. You can feel Sukuna's cock in his sweatpants, your own rubbing against his stomach. You wrap your legs around his waist a little tighter and he clenches his teeth, hissing softly.
"Don't tease me," he adjusts his grip on your thighs, fingers kneading your ass.
"How is me trying not to fall on my ass 'teasing you?'" you glare at him again and feel his cock twitch beneath you.
One thing leads to another, and you find your back pressed to the wall, nearly folded in half, with Sukuna's cock sliding in and out of you, the wet slap of skin echoing in the empty apartment. He holds your hips so tightly that you'll definitely have his fingerprints bruised into your skin tomorrow. Still, neither of you try to slow down.
Only when his cum drips out from between you does he stop thrusting his hips. He's breathing hard, smirking at you, a mixture of cocky and smitten that has your heart lurching in your chest.
He swipes his fingers over your lower abdomen where your own release has pooled and drips down over your sides. You watch as he licks his fingertips, making a show of sucking them clean before he kisses you roughly.
Still dazed, you barely register his whispers against your lips.
"I promise I'll stop scaring your new friends away..."
everyone clap for friends that are animals. make it so easy to send u any post ever. bunny on the dash ? oh good thats going to my bunny friend. deer? ahhh yes. mny friend deer my good friend the real deer. you get this . and every time theyre like yesss #my me
Man if I had a penny for every time some mysterious entity from space started consuming celestial bodies and as a desperate last ditch effort humanity sent a guy against his will to check it out I’d have two pennies, it's not much but it’s weird that it happened twice
simon riley's partner is scared of spiders? hes gonna do everything he can to relocate them without you ever finding out they were there.
johnny mactavish's partner is scared of spiders? be prepared to get chased around the house while he either pretends to have one or actually has one in his hand
pure fluff, maybe mildly suggestive? no smut happens, he/him pronouns for ldb, entirely self-indulgent
words: 356
"What are you doing, Dovahkiin?" Miraak grumbles, leaning his shoulder against the inn room's doorway. Inside, the Dragonborn lays submerged in a wooden tub filled with steaming water, temperature kept up by a spell. His head leans back, hair damp, and he's naked, shimmering scales along his ribs, collarbones and arms reflecting the candlelight.
He doesn't react to Miraak's question. Rather just breathes out and sinks deeper into the water.
"Dovahkiin," Miraak repeats, voice rougher. He steps inside the room and shuts the door firmly, warding it against any unwanted guests.
"I'm bathing, Miraak," the Dragonborn finally replies, his tone somewhere between mocking and simply exhausted. "That's a thing people sometimes do. They bathe."
Miraak scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I am aware."
The Dragonborn smirks quietly and opens one eye, glancing at the Dragon Priest above him.
"Why are you asking, then?"
A moment of silence passes, eye contact held between the two men. Miraak finally mutters something under his breath and walks over to the bed, slowly disrobing.
"The door was unlocked," he replies finally, glancing at the Dragonborn again. "An assassin could have walked in. A robber. The tavern wench," he continues, unwrapping the bandages on his hands. "It is careless."
The Dragonborn just chuckles quietly. Water sloshes around as he adjusts his position, sitting up now, arms on either side of the tub, staring at Miraak's naked back.
"I have you here, don't I?" he murmurs, an appreciative smile curling his lips upwards. Miraak glances back, a scoff making it past his lips.
"Foolish of you to think I wouldn't leave you to them."
The Dragonborn laughs quietly and rolls his eyes, then stands. Skin glistening with water and dripping onto the floor boards, he steps behind Miraak, wrapping his arms around his waist, kissing his shoulder.
"You'd miss me," he whispers, and Miraak shudders, one of his scarred hands covering the Dragonborn's on his hip.
He doesn't need to respond for them both to know that he'd do a lot more than just 'miss' his companion were the Dragonborn to die - not that Miraak would ever let that happen.
