u can call me moth or mothie , whichever !! current fixation is mha , and i decided to make a new main to center solely around my writing !
some things regarding my account/content ;
i will turn off asks and submissions if you come onto my page to spam , ship hate , or meet any dni criteria , and i will block u < 3
i write both nsfw and sfw fics .
fixated ships ; shigadeku and shigadabi , hotwings too < 3
problematic content
no kink / headcanon shaming or soft block
where to find me!
— twitter
— ao3
— spotify
my writing!
bnha ;
— one man cult | spinneraki
— solar plexus | shigadabi NSFW
— sacrifice and self-slaughter | dabihawks NSFW ; (ch 1/2)
— heavy hitter | shigadabi NSFW
— aching knees | shigadabi
— touch me with lightning | kiribaku
— this urge of wanting | shigadabi NSFW
— captivate | shigadabi NSFW
my playlists! (fandom-centered. there’s more on there but these are just for my ships/kins)
— dabihawks
— shigadabi
— tomura shigaraki kinnie
— tamaki amajiki kinnie
about requests ;
playlist requests — you can request playlists for ships , characters , or other writing-related things . you can drop an ask in my inbox or private message . please specify if there ‘ s certain genres + songs you don ‘ t want in your playlist .
fic/headcanon requests — mha only . i ‘ m fairly open to most dead dove / problematic pairings / kinks / content , but if there ‘ s something i will not write i will explicitly state it once you ‘ ve requested it .
Dabi’s a biter. Like all over Tomura’s shoulders, his neck, really anywhere he’d let him. And Tomura loves the tough scrape of his mismatched skin and piercings on him, and smiles every time Dabi winces at it because it obviously hurts him. They’re both masochists your honor.
we see a lot of cat hybrid tenko fanart and fics, and that’s great and all but i will not rest until there’s catboy touya media to consume through a silly straw
— cw ; minor injuries , hurt no comfort , light angst , autistic shigaraki , one-sided spinneraki
The boss is grumbling above him, his gloved fingers not knowing what to do with the gauze and bandages as he holds it like a bomb between them, a delicate thing in his killer palms. Spinner just watches, his head injury not seeming as important now even though the pulsing headache from the wound across his temple is making his eyes water, Shigaraki is close to him, and he wants to savor it as long as possible before the boss stumbles back up, wipes the dirty front of his jeans, and leaves him.
Shigaraki surveys Spinner’s look of, what? Longing? Searching for some hint of attention in the other man’s grossed-out stare? He shakes his head, clearing the thought.
“Stop looking like a lost puppy. Doesn’t sit right on your face,” Shigaraki mutters, peeling back the bandage and waving the adhesive out in the musty air.
Spinner nods, forcing himself to turn his gaze away and focus on the gritty asphalt ahead.
A tremor of guilt settles in his gut at the sight, because he knows how much the boss despises blood–as a direct cause of his quirk, usually. He didn't mind the killing, at least not from the outside, but if Spinner thought over it long enough, Shigaraki was always extra moody and ruminative after such events. But still. He felt bad that he had to put the man in such a position, and even worse when his heart sputters around, stupid in his chest when he caught sight of Shigaraki stepping closer, squinting at the blood smeared over his face, moving to kneel to his level. His pulse quickened at that, his ribs couldn't seem to hold his organs right. Everything was out of place. He was.
Shigaraki stares at the weeping gash just above his brow bone, wincing in disgust before slapping the bandage on it before he could look at it a moment longer.
Spinner lets out a small hiss of pain, grabbing onto Shigaraki's forearm closest to him without thinking. The man freezes, blinking slowly with irritated, red eyes at the clawed hand clutching him for stability.
With a tentative hand, movements slow and worried, Shigaraki places his palm over top of his. He's contemplating something, staring off at his arm, and Spinner can't pull back now. Shigaraki's fingertips were like ice gripping him.
His face feels surprisingly hot, and he concludes it to just be because of the injury, nothing more.
When he does finally take his gloved hand and peel Spinner's palm free from his forearm, his voice is quiet. Distant.
“Kurogiri should have been here to clean you up.”
"You, you know there's nothing you could've done to prevent that, Shigaraki."
A long sigh fills the silence, and Spinner just sits and waits like he always does, for some outburst or other from the man.
Spinner licks his lip, heart sinking a little, holds his head as he stands. That's fine, that's okay. At least he's...back to his normal self.
He’s always been like this, as long as he’s known the man. Timid around others, prone to spitting back once someone shared even a sliver of attention or, god forbid to the other, affection. Shigaraki was more frightened, temperamental animal than feared. More frightened than feared.
He trails behind Shigaraki, watching his steps as he speaks.
"You're using the fucked controller for games tonight, Spinner." He nods off to some nondescript item in the distance, grumbling with probably a scowl on his face, too.
The way Tomura is mumbling now, Spinner realizes, he's actually talking to himself.
"You know, the one with the tape all over it. Won't play right half the time. You know why? Cause you got fucked up, cause you're so dumb, can't even hold your own in a basic fight…"
"You're using the bad controller, while I get the good one. Cause I'm the boss...Fucking thing's all jacked, can't even…can't even– It makes your palms all hot too, after you play a while. Batteries or some shit, Dabi said. Dumb thing."
He smiled a bit at that, looking up at the overcast.
Shigaraki looks back, probably to make sure he's following him.
"Dumb thing," he nods in his general direction.
An agitated hunter with a death-touch, not a king, but with the way Shigaraki is glaring at him, radiating provoked power, he's a king in his eyes nonetheless.
i would love to dip my toes into reader insert but i always imagine some nondescript wattpad y/n instead of myself. with that aside ill take requests to try it out tho lol
— cw / dom sub undertones , glove and hand kink , trans shigaraki , oral sex , afab/amab terms used
Tomura doesn’t miss the visible shudder that passes through Dabi once he appears at the open door to their (mostly, but not quite) private room, in an overwashed hoodie and his gloves. Well. Slowly, painfully so for the other man, tugging the gloves on with careful fingers, watching the way Dabi is practically salivating, getting the blessed privilege to watch. It’s the gloves that always do him in, because no matter how the man protests at his original dislike of the leather fabric touching him, the younger refused to take them off when they had sex. It was too much of a risk, Tomura would reason. And now, Dabi had fallen into some sort of conditioned response every time he caught Shigaraki giving him moody, dark stares, slipping the gloves onto his fingers. Sometimes pulling them back with his teeth, just for Dabi's eyes to see, just to allow Dabi the mercy of putting them on for him–which was a rare but special treat. His gut tenses a little every time, and he has to adjust his too-tight jeans, with an embarrassed wince at the floor opposite.
He grins to himself while Dabi, who was originally on the mattress scrolling through his phone, lets his eyes travel across his pale thighs, the obvious lack of his jeans, and, biting his lip, he was wearing the gloves.
The boss takes his sweet time crossing the distance between the threshold to the corner of the bed, watching for any slight shift in Dabi’s demeanor, maybe just a hint of reluctance, countering the way he’s fighting the urge to drool. Fucking pathetic.
“Strip, now.” He waves a dismissive hand, feigning indifference at the obvious excitement that washes over Dabi’s face at that.
“Y-you uh, really. With the league in the other room?”
Shigaraki ignores him. “Keep your underwear on.”
Dabi was a half-second away from commenting on how, comparatively, his dick was much larger, but after he rids himself of his jeans and his thighs are bare to the clammy air in the room, Shigaraki is sitting, smug and comfortable on his hips. He already forgot about the fact that the boss didn’t shut the door behind him, and that he can hear the distant laughter of Twice and the kid from the other room.
He has to watch himself or he’ll be burning his clothes off in haste for Shigaraki to touch him, tossing the shirt over his head with trembling, airy limbs.
“Mmm, yes,” The man on top of him leans closer and thumbs Dabi’s flushed cheek with his gloved hand. “Good boy.”
Dabi eyes Shigaraki’s hoodie, pointing wordlessly at his chest where his death moth tattoo is hidden beneath the fabric. One hand moves under, touching lightly on his bare ribs, a perk nipple, trying to feel the ink across his chest by roaming a hot palm over his sternum.
The younger one rolls his eyes and uses both hands to yank Dabi’s arm back. “Not tonight. You’re doing what I say.”
He slips the gloved finger into Dabi’s mouth and he lets him in greedily, without hesitation. He doesn’t even care about the tang of leather on his lips, just knowing he’s got such amass power to hold, just knowing he’s letting Dabi hold this danger so tentative on his tongue, makes his dick twitch and eyelids flutter closed with a moan.
The hand leaves his mouth and Dabi glares at him, but his lips lift up in a soft smile as Shigaraki uses both hands to pull his underwear off his ass and lets it hang, just a little taught, around his knees. Then the hand is back between Dabi’s hungry lips and the younger man narrows his eyes fondly at his eagerness. He uses his free hand to cradle the back of Dabi’s head as leverage and crawl closer toward his face. Dabi’s eyes widen a small amount, having half a mind to spit out Shigaraki’s fingers and crane his neck closer to lick a stripe up his sweaty upper thigh.
“I’ve missed you,” Dabi breath hitches, teasing and nosing against Shigaraki’s sopping sex.
“Show me how much you missed me, yeah? Think you can do that?” His voice is strained at the first curious kiss Dabi places against his folds, parting them carefully with his tongue. Shigaraki looks down and bites down on the inside of his cheek, Dabi can tell by the way his jaw is working, just seeing his shiny slick making a mess along Dabi’s lips, it practically dripping down his tongue.
He tasted like overripe fruit. Something sour and bitter, and Dabi knew that wasn't just some weird affect of his decay quirk, making Dabi think perhaps Shigaraki's palms so close to his face were some sort of phantosmia.
Dabi pulls back for a moment to huff. “What are you eating during the day?”
Shigaraki had his eyes closed while Dabi worked around his cock, and now that Dabi’s warm mouth was off him he opened his eyes and gave him an irritated smirk.
“...Not eating, mostly just drinking Monster.” He cocks his head to his half of the room, where a few empty cans of energy drinks are scattered, and a water bottle with the tamper plastic band is still intact.
“Makes sense,” Dabi says more to himself as he licks his lips, ruminating on the too-sour taste. The man was surprisingly very wet for being so dehydrated.
“You don’t like what I’m giving to you?”
Dabi dips his tongue into his soaked cunt. “This is fuckin’ secondhand caffeine. Would a sip of water kill you?”
“What, do you want me to suck you off so I taste like your own dick? Self-centered shit,” He mumbled.
“That’s…not how that works, dumbass.”
"I'm getting tired of hearing your stupid mouth talking and not doing what it's supposed to," He nods on between his thighs, and Dabi sighs and gets back to lapping and sucking on Shigaraki's throbbing cock.
The glove cradling Dabi’s hair, kneading into it, skims over his temple until Shigaraki is pressing five fingers down, holding his forehead down into the musty bedsheets. It wasn’t often that he offered his cock to Dabi, even before going on the back alley hormones Kurogiri had privately gotten for their leader. After a while he kind of forgets about the tangy taste all over his tongue, and focuses more on drawing out the soft sighs and grunts from the man above him, helping Shigaraki get to the point where his thighs are shaking. Feeling Shigaraki’s hips stutter, grinning because he knows the burning in his core must be blossoming by now, making his tongue move more erratically, coaxing a thick groan from their leader. He’s pushing him down into the bed and Dabi just keeps on kissing up the ichor between his scarred thighs, hands digging into the plush fat of Shigaraki’s thighs, drinking him in, hard, and mumbling and moaning in bliss at the disintegration of himself, the younger man knowing just what breaks him down, what chips him away. He doesn’t even need to use his quirk.
