d1s1ntegrated

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finally got a new phone and now all my notifs work...it appears i haven't fallen off as hard as i thought

[d1s1ntegrated]

[d1s1ntegrated]

Baptism or some shit

Eegggghhhhhh I think I finally finished!

I think that’s Dabi’s crusty white shirt that Shiggy has stolen. Not sure who wears it better.

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you thought it was a dream the first time. that heavy scrape on your window. the flutter of wings too big to belong to anything real. the low rasp of breath just beyond the glass.

you didn’t expect him to come back. not until the night you whispered into the dark. “i know you’re out there.���

and that’s all it took. a blink later, and your window slammed open and he was inside. towering. shaking. shoulders heaving. wings twitching like silk blades. eyes gleaming red. and his voice was ragged, sounding not right. “you called me.”

you backed up slowly, but something in you ached to be caught. “i didn’t—”

“yes, you did,” he hissed. “i smelled it. the want.”

he was in front of you before you could blink. hands that weren’t human, fingers long and tipped in talon-like nails. he touched your face like you were something holy. like you were made of honey.

“i’ve been watching,” he breathed, mouth brushing your cheek. “every night.” he sniffed your neck and shuddered. “you smell so sweet right now. so… open.”

his inhumanly long tongue flicked out and dragged up your throat. you gasped.

“fuck,” he hissed. “you’re in heat, aren’t you?”

“no—i—”

but your body was burning, and he could smell that scent. that desperate want. it drove him insane.

“i can’t wait anymore,” he growled. “i won’t.”

he lifted you like you weighed nothing, pressing you to the bed as his wings folded around you like a cocoon, shielding you from the world.

“mine,” he muttered, over and over, rutting against your clothed cunt like he couldn’t think. “mine. mine.”

your legs were over his shoulders before you could stop him and then he tore through your panties with his teeth. you moaned as his tongue slid between your folds—hot, wide, unnatural. he licked like he was dying. like your taste was the only thing keeping him sane.

“f-fuck, you’re soaked,” he panted. “i knew it. i knew you wanted me.”

you came on his face so fast it made you scream and he moaned like it was the sweetest nectar he’d ever tasted. then he flipped you over and you felt it the size of him. thick. pulsing. something wrong, something monstrous. but you wanted it, because something inside you was broken too. he didn’t ask. he just pushed inside devastatingly slow, and stretching you wide open. you cried out, and he hissed, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

“shh, shh. gonna knot you full, little thing,” he groaned. “gonna fill you up so no one else can ever touch you again.”

his wings flared wide as he slammed into you, over and over, cock hitting deeper than anything human could. you couldn’t stop moaning, couldn’t stop begging. he reached around, rubbing your clit with those clawed fingers while whispering filth into your hair.

and when you came again, sobbing, he bit your shoulder, locked inside you, and filled you with his thick, burning release. you swore you felt him tremble, not just his body, but his soul.

when it was over, he held you like treasure.

one wing wrapped tight. one hand stroking your belly. “you called me,” he whispered again. “i came.”

[d1s1ntegrated]

[d1s1ntegrated]

THE SQUIRE — bf!tomura shigaraki

what a little freak sweetie pie he is <3 [ warning i Guess for alluded to (outright stated LOL) period sex but whatever ]

a/n : this is insane sorry i just had this interaction happen in my head and needed to see it imagined in front of me. ok Now it's bedtime

m.list !

— 2025 © pwn. all rights reserved. do not repost, narrate, or translate my works. thanku!

[d1s1ntegrated]

the work of art that you are 𖹭

[d1s1ntegrated]

hii congrats on the milestone!

I’d like to request Aizawa Shouta and Shigaraki Tomura! and i wanna let fate decide on the dice rolls. no restrictions let’s see where this goes 🫶

to a flame: eraserdust

submission # 1 for the 777 event! thank you so much!!!!!! ლ(╹◡╹ლ)

eraserdust- oneshot; 3k words rolls: 5; 3 (porn with plot & cryptid au) summary: for fifteen years, point pleasant has been quiet and uneventful. for five of those years, shota aizawa has been retired from monster-hunting. until now. cw: 18+, mdni. cryptid au. appalachian/deep woods setting. hunter x prey theme. shigaraki tomura x aizawa shota no beta readers: read at your own discretion! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You'll meet him through the woods, around the bend, to the left of the creek.

Through the woods, around the bend, to the left of the creek... Shota turns the key in the ignition of the old Chevy, its engine roaring to life with a shudder. He re-reads the notes in his hands, the weathered leatherbound book leaves a film of dust against his calloused hand, and he tosses it into the passenger seat, adjusting his hair beneath his hat.

If it were up to him, the truck would stay sat in the driveway tonight, his blinds drawn and a nightcap in his hand. He was done with this shit, done with all the hunting and fighting and saving. Or, so he thought. Unfortunately for Shota, this was no longer his choice- he had to see through to the end of this blight.

For the past six and a half months, the town had been living in fear. Cattle dying in pools of viscera, drought through the growing season, houses decaying to nothingness in the middle of the night. Disaster had struck Point Pleasant again, and Shota had had enough of it.

Shota Aizawa had been hunting death for six months. And now, Death hunted him back.

"Through the woods, around the bend, to the left of the creek..." he repeats to himself as he drives, left hand clinging tight to the wheel. The radio crackles thickly as he gets closer to the outskirts of the town, the deep green of the forest casting a nasty shadow across the road. He grits his teeth and shakes off the remainder of hesitation he brought with him- now was not the time for pussy-footing.

As the forest unblurs itself, he presses his foot down further, accelerating. The last time the blight came and went, his jaw clenches, Oboro disappeared. I won't let it take anyone else.

The forest is in plain sight. The moonlight blankets the tree-tops like snow, with only shards of light needling through. It wasn't even close to dusk when Shota left, but nightfall waits for no one, not even those hunting the damned.

The truck slows to a stop before a clearing. A small gate blocks off what was presumably a walking trail years ago, now overtaken by the overgrown ferns and leaf litter. A large wooden slab rests against the gate, and Shota's eyes narrow as he tries to read it.

DO NOT ENTER! DANGER!! GOD WILL NOT SAVE YOU †

He scoffs and slams the truck door closed, slinging his shotgun across his back. He pats down his coat and jeans quickly: lighter, book, ammo, keys, flashlight, lasso, hunting knife. He lights a cigarette and turns his flashlight on, the path ahead of him now dimly-lit. He takes a step forward as his heart beats strongly in his chest. A once-retired hunter now turned town-hero yet again; the adrenaline never failed to rattle his bones.

"Through the woods, around the bend, to the left of the creek". His feet carry him past the weathered, useless gate as he once again recalls his instructions. With every footfall, he notices the crunching of leaves and twigs under him. He hadn't put any thought into it before, but the forest was eerily silent. Not a sound of birds or crickets, not one critter. Not even the huff of a bear nearby, or the stench of a wolfpack. The trees, towering above him, didn't move a single leaf- like they were frozen in time. It was like life ended at the gate, and only darkness survived here.

He walks on for about a mile with nothing but the sound of himself. His eyes scan every inch of forest floor for footprints, only to find more brush. Despite how empty the forest feels, there's a nagging pull on the back of his head, making him turn over his shoulder every few steps to be sure.

He finally reaches the "bend" mentioned in his notes: its a steep, narrow drive off the hill, leading down to a rocky area, followed by the creek. He steps slowly, carefully, the rocks under his boot slipping away. It's unstable and loose, not exactly what one would consider "walkable" by any means- but he makes his way down regardless, putting his hands low in front of him.

"Shit," the ground below shifts dryly, dirt crumbling like oats. He loses footing for one second too long, and falls back into a seated position into the hill. His hat falls over his eyes, and a searing pain slices through his palm. He hisses, pushing his hat back and pulling his hand from the ground. A thin gash runs the width of his tanned skin, and he curses, wiping the dirt and blood off on the leg of his jeans. He pulls out his notes from his jacket pocket, flipping through the pages.

FEATURES: Pallid skin Fur?? or feathers Glowing eyes, typically red Wings--POSSIBLE?? Flying???? Antennae Claws or long fingers??

He closes the book unceremoniously, shoving it back in his jacket. Despite all of his research, all of the time spent listening to folktales and stories from the elders around town, Shota had doubt and worry in his mind. Doubt, that he would even be able to find the harbinger of death, the infamous symbol of fear. Worry, that he would not even survive to tell his own tale. For the first time in a long time, he was genuinely scared.

He stands, steadying himself on the dirt shelves beside him. He dusts himself off, looking up to try and find the night sky- but instead, he is met with the distant glimmer of two soft, red orbs. He blinks, hand on his hat, but when he looks back up, there's nothing.

"Fuck," he rubs the back of his head. He plucks a leaf from his long black hair, scoffing. "Seeing things".

He shambles down the rest of the hill, barely lifting his feet from the ground. Once he's back on flat land, he scans the area, sweeping the trees with his flashlight repeatedly. He finds the creek when his light ripples in the distance, bouncing back to him. He follows forward until he reaches it, gazing down into the clear water. His reflection, though distorted and dimmed, paints him tired. He can only pick out the most prominent of features: the lip of his hat, the mess of his hair, his broad shoulders and daunting posture. He tries to look closer, kneeling down into the soft marsh-like land around him, the sop soaking into the knees of his jeans. His flashlight, brought closer, only obscures him further; and as he moves it around to find purchase of his reflection, he swears he can almost see himself fifteen years ago. Fifteen years ago, when life was much simpler. He wasn't Eraserhead, the hunter. They were just kids. Sixteen felt like adulthood and seventeen felt like he had so much to look forward to. Fifteen years ago, Oboro hadn't been gone at all. Not a day, not a year. Not over a decade.

Shota pokes at the empty water. So much movement, so little life. Not a fish nor tadpole. Just him, and the crushing weight of what he searched for.

He dips his hand further into the water. It's cool, smooth against his skin. He washes the dirt from his hands, the sparkling sediment in his cut from earlier. He finds a moment, no more, of peace in the water as he washes away everything he's ever known and been. For all he knows, he's out hunting for a ghost. A feeling. The thing he sought after may not even exist, so he may as well make use of all the time he's spent here already.

Something reaches for him underneath. It's cold, colder than the air or the water itself. It's like death and rot and decay, and it sends a lurch through Shota so visceral, he almost topples headfirst into the creek. He yanks his hand back with a shout, scrambling for his light. But when he shines it down onto the water again, he finds nothing.

The ground beside him shakes only soft enough for him to feel. He turns to look, the same pair of red orbs twinkling at him incredulously. He steps back, reaching for his shotgun, as his body recognizes the threat before his mind does.

"You?"

The orbs, seemingly detached before, now find themselves on the shadow of a figure. Tall and lanky, with plumes of thick black around it. Shota cocks his gun with a heavy click, the sound echoing through the forest. He doesn't respond to the creature in front of him, instead, he aims the barrel between the orbs- no, the eyes- of it.

The figure disappears with the sound of wings flapping, a gust of wind knocking Shota back with a grunt. "Where are you, bastard?" he shouts up, searching around. He feels a soft, cold drag on the back of his neck, and he swings around, shooting at nothing. "Fuck!" he exclaims, reloading it.

He begins to follow the creek, just as he'd planned. Except now, he knew what he was hunting, he just had to find it.

He shouts out again. "Where are you?" only to hear himself echoed back through the trees like a mockery. He keeps his eyes wide, and his finger on the trigger, when he reaches a clearing.

Thick tendrils of silken web tether the trees, decorating them with soft white curtains. It's vastly different compared to the rest of the forest: the moonlight flows down through branches, dancing on leaves of thick green. There's a warmth to the air, a precious feeling after freezing for hours. A curious pull nags at the hunter as he finds himself mindlessly walking into it, the soft webbing dragging across his face and body as he walks directly into it.

In the center of the clearing, where the moon's satin beams illuminate the ground, stands a pale, nude figure bathing in the light. White hair drapes like cream over its shoulders, cascading down over the center of two large, iridescent-looking wings. They flutter and curl inward before stretching out completely. Shota lowers his gun slowly, just watching.

The figure stretches out, raising long arms above it's head. Cuffs of fur matching the rest of its hair wrap around its wrists and ankles. Spindly fingers with curved nails shoot up, almost grasping at the stars above.

If Shota had to describe an angel, this would be it. Soft as a lamb, pure as bone. His eyes feel like sap, lids falling heavily as he gazes at the figure. He's dizzy, his stomach churns with an emptiness.

The figure turns slowly, wings flapping. Atop its head are two plumose-like antennae, twitching and swaying with the soft night breeze. More fur scarfs his neck and chest to a point, leading down his torso thinly to another tuft below his navel. Spots of shiny, soft purples and blues paint his wings like watercolor. Shota's mind is lost as the moth-man's eyes lock on his. Like the purest of rubies, they glow red in the moonlight, blinking widely at the hunter with a curiosity.

"You," the moth-man speaks, with a calm, quiet voice. In near disbelief, Shota nods. Like he was destined to be here, like it was always him. This creature, this beauty- any sense of danger had decayed the moment he saw this angel.

It walks towards him timidly, antennae twitching with curiosity. It comes close to his face, sniffing softly. It reaches its hand around Shota's flashlight, fingers tapping at the acrylic lens slowly.

Shota reaches a hand out, fingers grazing the soft fur of his chest. The moth coos, a gentle smile stretching across his peculiar face. The smile deepens, sharp teeth poking over his bottom lip. The moth-man's eyes darken as he licks against Shota's face slowly, lapping at the tired skin with a hum.

Deep inside of his chest, Shota feels the adrenaline. A raw fear, primal and primitive. But he cannot move. He cannot see anything but light, cannot focus on anything but the warmth. He pulls enough of his senses out to croak out a few raspy words: "What are you?"

The moth-man hums, "Tomura". He takes hold of Shota's hand, pulling him towards the center of the clearing. "You...Eraser. Monster-hunter".

Shota nods. The stars above twinkle, the air smells sweet and musky around him. As if the world had crumbled down entirely, and only left Shota and the Moth. His fears are stifled by the humming of Tomura's sweet voice, nymph-like and sugary, enough to lure Shota to his knees.

"Stay?" his saccharine tongue pleads for an answer that Shota cannot dispute. Instead, he sheds his jacket and hat, discarding them on the ground. The heat- god damnit, it's so hot- was distracting him. Tomura's antennae sway up and down, as if he's sensing every heartbeat from Shota's chest. They're encapsulating, the way they move like tall grass, the hunter reaches up, grazing against one of them with a shaky hand.

Tomura twitches, moaning softly- a siren's song to Shota. He caresses the antenna again, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as Tomura presses his body into his, sharp teeth sinking in to the exposed bit of neck by his collar. He ruts against Shota's thigh, that sickly-sweet scent crowding Shota's senses once again. It's driving him crazy. He must be going crazy. If he could move, Shota thinks, he wouldn't want to anyways.

The moth-man suckles sweetly at his neck, whimpering. Shota's hands begin to grab hold of his hair, the soft locks wrapped around his fingers. He pulls gently, bringing Tomura's angular face right against his. There's a moment of ragged breathing, the stench of wanton drive hanging heavily between the two. Shota needs more of Tomura, needs to keep him like a prize, he wants absolutely nothing else in the world than to protect the creature in every way he can.

He presses his lips to the moth-man with rigidity, growling at the gentleness he's met with. He forgets everything in this moment, its only him and the moth, the sound of Heaven beating warmly in his tight chest. He drives his hips into the naked hip of Tomura, teeth gnashing and tongues curling. Tomura mewls, his whole body vibrating. His wings unfurl again, shuddering, as Shota wraps his arms around, dragging his rough fingers lightly down the surface where skin meets membrane.

He picks Tomura up, scooping behind his thighs and hiking him up against his body. He lays him down on the soft forest floor, the pine-needles and leaves cushioning the ground like a duvet. He undoes his belt with a clink, and his shirt he places under Tomura's head, protecting it from the dirt. He could never soil something so pure.

Tomura's wings splay out under him, curling inward and wrapping around the two of them. His cock, pressing tightly against his stomach, leaks precum; it shines under the moonlight, and Shota traces one long finger up to it, sending another shudder through the moth. Shota frees his own blushing cock from his jeans, his hair falling wildly around his face as he groans. Tomura's eyes glaze with heat as he whines, a pathetic and rudimentary sound. Shota spits into his hand, coating his cock before plunging a finger into Tomura, whose back arches as his body burns. He adds in another, slowly and purposefully, watching the moth-man pant with need. He reaches up and strokes one of the antennae, eliciting a whorish moan from the man beneath him. The sound alone is enough to make Shota's eyes water with desire, and he removes his fingers with a soft noise, replacing it with the head of his beating cock.

Tomura's jaw falls slack, his antennae drooping as his head turns to the side. His pale face is brushed with pink as Shota presses into him, holding him against his chest now. He pumps into him slowly, filling him as the shivering moth-man sputters and cries. His indecent song fills Shota's ears, clouding his thoughts as his knees buckle, falling into the winged man. Tomura's head lolls as his fangs sink into his bottom lip, drawing blood on his porcelain skin. Shota notices and brings his face to lap at the moth's sticky blood, the taste cloying. The trees around him spin, the only stable thing is Tomura.

Tomura. Tomura. Tomura.

He never wants to leave. He would die a happy death. Right. Here.

Tomura is on top of him, grinding luridly. He doesn't remember moving. He can't see anything else. Just Tomura. The angel, the lamb, the end. His candy eyes stare into Shota's carmine, the feeling almost familiar. He wants so badly to remember, wants so badly to know more.

The hunter grabs at the moth's hips, tanned thumbs digging deep into snowy skin. He drives into Tomura from below, his mind absolutely set on breeding him. Pumping him full, marking him safe and at home, his alone. Tomura moans loudly again, his breaths quickening as his cock trembles, so close to finishing.

Shota doesn't fight against the urge, he rakes his hands down between the base of both of Tomura's wings, causing Tomura to shatter and purr as threads of pearly white shoot from his cock, coating himself and Shota's torso in heat. Shota moans, losing it at the sight. He paints Tomura's insides, thrusting rapidly as he rides out his euphoria. Blinding white flashes in his mind, his head pounding as he tries to blink back tears. Nothing will ever feel as perfect, as holy.

Shota wakes with the sun burning against his eyelids. Birds chirp above him, and a light breeze washes over his damp skin. He sits up quickly, his heart sinking as he looks around. Trees towering above him, soil beneath his body. His jacket and gun lay beside him, and he grabs for them both. His notebook falls into his lap, a chill running over his sun-kissed skin.

He remembers it all. Tomura, the moth. The hunt. The monster.

He flips his notes open, only to find the pages torn out, leaving only one word:

DEATH.

Shota Aizawa had been hunting death for six months. And once he found it, he finally felt alive.

[d1s1ntegrated]

[d1s1ntegrated]

hii congrats on the milestone!

I’d like to request Aizawa Shouta and Shigaraki Tomura! and i wanna let fate decide on the dice rolls. no restrictions let’s see where this goes 🫶

to a flame: eraserdust

submission # 1 for the 777 event! thank you so much!!!!!! ლ(╹◡╹ლ)

eraserdust- oneshot; 3k words rolls: 5; 3 (porn with plot & cryptid au) summary: for fifteen years, point pleasant has been quiet and uneventful. for five of those years, shota aizawa has been retired from monster-hunting. until now. cw: 18+, mdni. cryptid au. appalachian/deep woods setting. hunter x prey theme. shigaraki tomura x aizawa shota no beta readers: read at your own discretion! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You'll meet him through the woods, around the bend, to the left of the creek.

Through the woods, around the bend, to the left of the creek... Shota turns the key in the ignition of the old Chevy, its engine roaring to life with a shudder. He re-reads the notes in his hands, the weathered leatherbound book leaves a film of dust against his calloused hand, and he tosses it into the passenger seat, adjusting his hair beneath his hat.

If it were up to him, the truck would stay sat in the driveway tonight, his blinds drawn and a nightcap in his hand. He was done with this shit, done with all the hunting and fighting and saving. Or, so he thought. Unfortunately for Shota, this was no longer his choice- he had to see through to the end of this blight.

For the past six and a half months, the town had been living in fear. Cattle dying in pools of viscera, drought through the growing season, houses decaying to nothingness in the middle of the night. Disaster had struck Point Pleasant again, and Shota had had enough of it.

Shota Aizawa had been hunting death for six months. And now, Death hunted him back.

"Through the woods, around the bend, to the left of the creek..." he repeats to himself as he drives, left hand clinging tight to the wheel. The radio crackles thickly as he gets closer to the outskirts of the town, the deep green of the forest casting a nasty shadow across the road. He grits his teeth and shakes off the remainder of hesitation he brought with him- now was not the time for pussy-footing.

As the forest unblurs itself, he presses his foot down further, accelerating. The last time the blight came and went, his jaw clenches, Oboro disappeared. I won't let it take anyone else.

The forest is in plain sight. The moonlight blankets the tree-tops like snow, with only shards of light needling through. It wasn't even close to dusk when Shota left, but nightfall waits for no one, not even those hunting the damned.

The truck slows to a stop before a clearing. A small gate blocks off what was presumably a walking trail years ago, now overtaken by the overgrown ferns and leaf litter. A large wooden slab rests against the gate, and Shota's eyes narrow as he tries to read it.

DO NOT ENTER! DANGER!! GOD WILL NOT SAVE YOU †

He scoffs and slams the truck door closed, slinging his shotgun across his back. He pats down his coat and jeans quickly: lighter, book, ammo, keys, flashlight, lasso, hunting knife. He lights a cigarette and turns his flashlight on, the path ahead of him now dimly-lit. He takes a step forward as his heart beats strongly in his chest. A once-retired hunter now turned town-hero yet again; the adrenaline never failed to rattle his bones.

"Through the woods, around the bend, to the left of the creek". His feet carry him past the weathered, useless gate as he once again recalls his instructions. With every footfall, he notices the crunching of leaves and twigs under him. He hadn't put any thought into it before, but the forest was eerily silent. Not a sound of birds or crickets, not one critter. Not even the huff of a bear nearby, or the stench of a wolfpack. The trees, towering above him, didn't move a single leaf- like they were frozen in time. It was like life ended at the gate, and only darkness survived here.

He walks on for about a mile with nothing but the sound of himself. His eyes scan every inch of forest floor for footprints, only to find more brush. Despite how empty the forest feels, there's a nagging pull on the back of his head, making him turn over his shoulder every few steps to be sure.

He finally reaches the "bend" mentioned in his notes: its a steep, narrow drive off the hill, leading down to a rocky area, followed by the creek. He steps slowly, carefully, the rocks under his boot slipping away. It's unstable and loose, not exactly what one would consider "walkable" by any means- but he makes his way down regardless, putting his hands low in front of him.

"Shit," the ground below shifts dryly, dirt crumbling like oats. He loses footing for one second too long, and falls back into a seated position into the hill. His hat falls over his eyes, and a searing pain slices through his palm. He hisses, pushing his hat back and pulling his hand from the ground. A thin gash runs the width of his tanned skin, and he curses, wiping the dirt and blood off on the leg of his jeans. He pulls out his notes from his jacket pocket, flipping through the pages.

FEATURES: Pallid skin Fur?? or feathers Glowing eyes, typically red Wings--POSSIBLE?? Flying???? Antennae Claws or long fingers??

He closes the book unceremoniously, shoving it back in his jacket. Despite all of his research, all of the time spent listening to folktales and stories from the elders around town, Shota had doubt and worry in his mind. Doubt, that he would even be able to find the harbinger of death, the infamous symbol of fear. Worry, that he would not even survive to tell his own tale. For the first time in a long time, he was genuinely scared.

He stands, steadying himself on the dirt shelves beside him. He dusts himself off, looking up to try and find the night sky- but instead, he is met with the distant glimmer of two soft, red orbs. He blinks, hand on his hat, but when he looks back up, there's nothing.

"Fuck," he rubs the back of his head. He plucks a leaf from his long black hair, scoffing. "Seeing things".

He shambles down the rest of the hill, barely lifting his feet from the ground. Once he's back on flat land, he scans the area, sweeping the trees with his flashlight repeatedly. He finds the creek when his light ripples in the distance, bouncing back to him. He follows forward until he reaches it, gazing down into the clear water. His reflection, though distorted and dimmed, paints him tired. He can only pick out the most prominent of features: the lip of his hat, the mess of his hair, his broad shoulders and daunting posture. He tries to look closer, kneeling down into the soft marsh-like land around him, the sop soaking into the knees of his jeans. His flashlight, brought closer, only obscures him further; and as he moves it around to find purchase of his reflection, he swears he can almost see himself fifteen years ago. Fifteen years ago, when life was much simpler. He wasn't Eraserhead, the hunter. They were just kids. Sixteen felt like adulthood and seventeen felt like he had so much to look forward to. Fifteen years ago, Oboro hadn't been gone at all. Not a day, not a year. Not over a decade.

Shota pokes at the empty water. So much movement, so little life. Not a fish nor tadpole. Just him, and the crushing weight of what he searched for.

He dips his hand further into the water. It's cool, smooth against his skin. He washes the dirt from his hands, the sparkling sediment in his cut from earlier. He finds a moment, no more, of peace in the water as he washes away everything he's ever known and been. For all he knows, he's out hunting for a ghost. A feeling. The thing he sought after may not even exist, so he may as well make use of all the time he's spent here already.

Something reaches for him underneath. It's cold, colder than the air or the water itself. It's like death and rot and decay, and it sends a lurch through Shota so visceral, he almost topples headfirst into the creek. He yanks his hand back with a shout, scrambling for his light. But when he shines it down onto the water again, he finds nothing.

The ground beside him shakes only soft enough for him to feel. He turns to look, the same pair of red orbs twinkling at him incredulously. He steps back, reaching for his shotgun, as his body recognizes the threat before his mind does.

"You?"

The orbs, seemingly detached before, now find themselves on the shadow of a figure. Tall and lanky, with plumes of thick black around it. Shota cocks his gun with a heavy click, the sound echoing through the forest. He doesn't respond to the creature in front of him, instead, he aims the barrel between the orbs- no, the eyes- of it.

The figure disappears with the sound of wings flapping, a gust of wind knocking Shota back with a grunt. "Where are you, bastard?" he shouts up, searching around. He feels a soft, cold drag on the back of his neck, and he swings around, shooting at nothing. "Fuck!" he exclaims, reloading it.

He begins to follow the creek, just as he'd planned. Except now, he knew what he was hunting, he just had to find it.

He shouts out again. "Where are you?" only to hear himself echoed back through the trees like a mockery. He keeps his eyes wide, and his finger on the trigger, when he reaches a clearing.

Thick tendrils of silken web tether the trees, decorating them with soft white curtains. It's vastly different compared to the rest of the forest: the moonlight flows down through branches, dancing on leaves of thick green. There's a warmth to the air, a precious feeling after freezing for hours. A curious pull nags at the hunter as he finds himself mindlessly walking into it, the soft webbing dragging across his face and body as he walks directly into it.

In the center of the clearing, where the moon's satin beams illuminate the ground, stands a pale, nude figure bathing in the light. White hair drapes like cream over its shoulders, cascading down over the center of two large, iridescent-looking wings. They flutter and curl inward before stretching out completely. Shota lowers his gun slowly, just watching.

The figure stretches out, raising long arms above it's head. Cuffs of fur matching the rest of its hair wrap around its wrists and ankles. Spindly fingers with curved nails shoot up, almost grasping at the stars above.

If Shota had to describe an angel, this would be it. Soft as a lamb, pure as bone. His eyes feel like sap, lids falling heavily as he gazes at the figure. He's dizzy, his stomach churns with an emptiness.

The figure turns slowly, wings flapping. Atop its head are two plumose-like antennae, twitching and swaying with the soft night breeze. More fur scarfs his neck and chest to a point, leading down his torso thinly to another tuft below his navel. Spots of shiny, soft purples and blues paint his wings like watercolor. Shota's mind is lost as the moth-man's eyes lock on his. Like the purest of rubies, they glow red in the moonlight, blinking widely at the hunter with a curiosity.

"You," the moth-man speaks, with a calm, quiet voice. In near disbelief, Shota nods. Like he was destined to be here, like it was always him. This creature, this beauty- any sense of danger had decayed the moment he saw this angel.

It walks towards him timidly, antennae twitching with curiosity. It comes close to his face, sniffing softly. It reaches its hand around Shota's flashlight, fingers tapping at the acrylic lens slowly.

Shota reaches a hand out, fingers grazing the soft fur of his chest. The moth coos, a gentle smile stretching across his peculiar face. The smile deepens, sharp teeth poking over his bottom lip. The moth-man's eyes darken as he licks against Shota's face slowly, lapping at the tired skin with a hum.

Deep inside of his chest, Shota feels the adrenaline. A raw fear, primal and primitive. But he cannot move. He cannot see anything but light, cannot focus on anything but the warmth. He pulls enough of his senses out to croak out a few raspy words: "What are you?"

The moth-man hums, "Tomura". He takes hold of Shota's hand, pulling him towards the center of the clearing. "You...Eraser. Monster-hunter".

Shota nods. The stars above twinkle, the air smells sweet and musky around him. As if the world had crumbled down entirely, and only left Shota and the Moth. His fears are stifled by the humming of Tomura's sweet voice, nymph-like and sugary, enough to lure Shota to his knees.

"Stay?" his saccharine tongue pleads for an answer that Shota cannot dispute. Instead, he sheds his jacket and hat, discarding them on the ground. The heat- god damnit, it's so hot- was distracting him. Tomura's antennae sway up and down, as if he's sensing every heartbeat from Shota's chest. They're encapsulating, the way they move like tall grass, the hunter reaches up, grazing against one of them with a shaky hand.

Tomura twitches, moaning softly- a siren's song to Shota. He caresses the antenna again, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as Tomura presses his body into his, sharp teeth sinking in to the exposed bit of neck by his collar. He ruts against Shota's thigh, that sickly-sweet scent crowding Shota's senses once again. It's driving him crazy. He must be going crazy. If he could move, Shota thinks, he wouldn't want to anyways.

The moth-man suckles sweetly at his neck, whimpering. Shota's hands begin to grab hold of his hair, the soft locks wrapped around his fingers. He pulls gently, bringing Tomura's angular face right against his. There's a moment of ragged breathing, the stench of wanton drive hanging heavily between the two. Shota needs more of Tomura, needs to keep him like a prize, he wants absolutely nothing else in the world than to protect the creature in every way he can.

He presses his lips to the moth-man with rigidity, growling at the gentleness he's met with. He forgets everything in this moment, its only him and the moth, the sound of Heaven beating warmly in his tight chest. He drives his hips into the naked hip of Tomura, teeth gnashing and tongues curling. Tomura mewls, his whole body vibrating. His wings unfurl again, shuddering, as Shota wraps his arms around, dragging his rough fingers lightly down the surface where skin meets membrane.

He picks Tomura up, scooping behind his thighs and hiking him up against his body. He lays him down on the soft forest floor, the pine-needles and leaves cushioning the ground like a duvet. He undoes his belt with a clink, and his shirt he places under Tomura's head, protecting it from the dirt. He could never soil something so pure.

Tomura's wings splay out under him, curling inward and wrapping around the two of them. His cock, pressing tightly against his stomach, leaks precum; it shines under the moonlight, and Shota traces one long finger up to it, sending another shudder through the moth. Shota frees his own blushing cock from his jeans, his hair falling wildly around his face as he groans. Tomura's eyes glaze with heat as he whines, a pathetic and rudimentary sound. Shota spits into his hand, coating his cock before plunging a finger into Tomura, whose back arches as his body burns. He adds in another, slowly and purposefully, watching the moth-man pant with need. He reaches up and strokes one of the antennae, eliciting a whorish moan from the man beneath him. The sound alone is enough to make Shota's eyes water with desire, and he removes his fingers with a soft noise, replacing it with the head of his beating cock.

Tomura's jaw falls slack, his antennae drooping as his head turns to the side. His pale face is brushed with pink as Shota presses into him, holding him against his chest now. He pumps into him slowly, filling him as the shivering moth-man sputters and cries. His indecent song fills Shota's ears, clouding his thoughts as his knees buckle, falling into the winged man. Tomura's head lolls as his fangs sink into his bottom lip, drawing blood on his porcelain skin. Shota notices and brings his face to lap at the moth's sticky blood, the taste cloying. The trees around him spin, the only stable thing is Tomura.

Tomura. Tomura. Tomura.

He never wants to leave. He would die a happy death. Right. Here.

Tomura is on top of him, grinding luridly. He doesn't remember moving. He can't see anything else. Just Tomura. The angel, the lamb, the end. His candy eyes stare into Shota's carmine, the feeling almost familiar. He wants so badly to remember, wants so badly to know more.

The hunter grabs at the moth's hips, tanned thumbs digging deep into snowy skin. He drives into Tomura from below, his mind absolutely set on breeding him. Pumping him full, marking him safe and at home, his alone. Tomura moans loudly again, his breaths quickening as his cock trembles, so close to finishing.

Shota doesn't fight against the urge, he rakes his hands down between the base of both of Tomura's wings, causing Tomura to shatter and purr as threads of pearly white shoot from his cock, coating himself and Shota's torso in heat. Shota moans, losing it at the sight. He paints Tomura's insides, thrusting rapidly as he rides out his euphoria. Blinding white flashes in his mind, his head pounding as he tries to blink back tears. Nothing will ever feel as perfect, as holy.

Shota wakes with the sun burning against his eyelids. Birds chirp above him, and a light breeze washes over his damp skin. He sits up quickly, his heart sinking as he looks around. Trees towering above him, soil beneath his body. His jacket and gun lay beside him, and he grabs for them both. His notebook falls into his lap, a chill running over his sun-kissed skin.

He remembers it all. Tomura, the moth. The hunt. The monster.

He flips his notes open, only to find the pages torn out, leaving only one word:

DEATH.

Shota Aizawa had been hunting death for six months. And once he found it, he finally felt alive.

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics copyright d1s1ntegrated 2025 © do not reupload, copy, or use my writing for ai training.

[d1s1ntegrated]

[d1s1ntegrated]

thinking about keigo takami…

cw: fem!reader, vaginal sex, riding, tummy bulge, breeding kink

“pleaseeeee?”

“c’mon pretty girl, can’t keep up?”

keigo can be such a lazy prick during sex. sat back with his arms folded behind his mess of blond hair, sleazy smirk plastered on his tanned skin. he’s able to hold this facade as you beg for his attention, just a simple touch from his fingers.

a pathetic pout and big eyes is usually enough to break the hero but, he ignores you. you fold your arms, hoping to truly convey how upset you were. the blond still paid no mind, a look of waiting on his face.

“ya’ gonna ride my dick, pretty? or do i gotta jerk myself off?”

“why won’t you just fuck me, kei?” you fall onto his chest, crocodile tears slipping down your pudgy cheeks. “cause you’re spoiled,” he pinches your cheeks forcing you to face him. “i’m always the one doing all the work.” your bottom lip wobbles causing him to roll his eyes.

“cut the dramatics. ya’ can’t ride?” you shake your head, as if you were truly helpless. keigo sighs, hands moving to rest upon your hips. he squeezes the chub in his hands, adjusting his grip. “got me doin’ all the work all the time.” you flinched as he effortlessly lifted your body, his thick length nearly leaving the warmth of your walls only for him to drop you back down.

you see stars as he slams into your cervix, a welcomed pain and pleasure fizzling throughout your body. “can’t put those muscles you’ve been working so hard on to use?” - “kei—!”

“that’s right, pretty.” his voice is gruff as he resists the urge to fuck into you, resisting the urge to give you exactly what he wants. “bounce that pretty ass on my dick, dove.” his voice feels distant as his cock repeatedly pounds into your womb, punching a small bulge on your stomach.

your hands rest on his chest, vision blurred and legs burning. rushed gasps and choked moans leave you, each bounce knocking the wind from your lungs.

“ke-kei, i-i can’t!” you wail, cunt gushing around him. “can’t what, baby?” his hand brushes stray hairs away from your face. your eyes focus, a sudden clarity fluttering through your system. the blond’s arms wee folded behind his head, smug grin on his face.

“you’re already doin’ so well, pretty baby, i stopped helping you awhile ago.” you hadn’t even minded his tricks, too lust driven to care. your hips come down at a harder pace, fully intending to milk him of all he’s worth.

your movements catch the hero off guard, his hands reaching out to hold onto your thighs. you’re relentless, the previous exhaust you had once felt had entirely dissipated, fueled with a new energy. “shit—fuckin’ hell, baby.” he grits.

you’re a goddess above him, an image of perfection. keigo’s nails dig into your skin as his cock throbs, a sharp whine leaves him as rake your nails across his chest. you’re both so sensitive in the moment, the slightest breeze causing you to shiver and yearn for more.

“that’s my good girl,” keigo grunts out. “such a good girl for me, you know that?” he rambling at this point, something you’re familiar with. his nails dig further into you, not enough to break the skin. “gonna let me cum in you, dove? hmm?”

“gonna let me fill your cunt?” his promises of breeding you fester into a ball of heat in your stomach. you slow your hips to a torturing grind and leaning down beside his ear.

“want you to cum in me, kei…”

“yeah? fuck, keep goin’, dove.”

[d1s1ntegrated]

error: unclear instructions

FIXED! the whole thing was a bit hard to read i'm sorry about that!!

★|𝕝𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪 𝕟𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟟|☆

a celebratory mha event by @d1s1ntegrated !

: ̗̀➛ as a huge thank you for SEVEN HUNDRED followers, im doing a themed event :0 this event will run starting now until the end of june (happy pride y'all).

: ̗̀➛ the theme is LUCKY NUMBER SEVEN: the fate is in your fingertips.

: ̗̀➛ players submit a request and let fate decide (i roll for the style and wildcard), or pre-roll two dice (you pick!).

: ̗̀➛ the request will be written in the form of a one-shot fic (between 2000-5000 words, give or take)

: ̗̀➛ you can pick one character or multiple, and you can have it be an x reader or a slash fic. multiple characters x reader is also allowed.

: ̗̀➛every dice pairing equals something different, so try your luck!

·̩̩̥͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙

dice roll list

first roll; STYLE: ☆1: fluff, no smut ☆2: hurt/comfort ☆3: porn, no plot ☆4: angst ☆5: porn, plot, whatnot. ☆6: fluff + smut second roll; WILDCARD: ☆1: music mania: rockstar au ☆2: casino royale: gambling // casino au ☆3: lost in the woods: cyptid // western au ☆4: the siren's song: mermaid // sea monster au ☆5: home is with you: roommate au ☆6: four missed calls: toxic situationship // ex au

·̩̩̥͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙

formatting for submission request:

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ character(s) requested and type: either x reader or character x character *ੈ✩‧₊˚ dice rolls (i.e, 2 and 6) OR, let me roll for you *ੈ✩‧₊˚any hard no's and boundaries (triggers, phobias, squicks, etc- basically, anything you absolutely want to avoid if necessary)

rules + faq

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ IF you wish for a fated roll, but really want to avoid a specific style or wildcard, be sure to put that in your submission. otherwise, what i roll is what will be written. keep in mind, this is all a surprise! *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ANONYMOUS requests are allowed. however, there is a light limit to 2 submissions per person, just to make sure everyone gets a chance for their winnings to be cashed in. ੈ✩‧₊˚i am writing for ADULT MHA CHARACTERS ONLY. no students/ under 18s.

·̩̩̥͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙

[d1s1ntegrated]

hellooooo! i would like to req for ur 700 followers celebration but i don't quite understand the formatting...

ah! yes

so basically, you submit a character (or more) to me, and i will roll two dice. one for the trope and the other for the wildcard. i will write a oneshot with your characters of choice with the rolls i get!

similarly, you may also pick what rolls you'd like beforehand. for example;

character: shigaraki

rolls: 2, 6

that means you'd get a reader x shigaraki fic with the style: hurt/comfort with the wildcard: toxic situationship/ex.

-> i'm gonna go back and edit the event page to make sure it's a little bit more concise cause i fear this has been happening and for that i wanna apologize LOL i wrote the whole idea at 4am •_•

thank u so much i hope this helps 🤍 lmk if u (or any1 else) has any more questions :P

[d1s1ntegrated]

“…Why?”

[d1s1ntegrated]

i love being on my laptop in bed like oohhh im on my laptop LOL! and im in bedddd

[d1s1ntegrated]

★|𝕝𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪 𝕟𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟟|☆

a celebratory mha event by @d1s1ntegrated !

: ̗̀➛ as a huge thank you for SEVEN HUNDRED followers, im doing a themed event :0 this event will run starting now until the end of june (happy pride y'all).

: ̗̀➛ the theme is LUCKY NUMBER SEVEN: the fate is in your fingertips.

: ̗̀➛ players submit a request and let fate decide (i roll for the style and wildcard), or pre-roll two dice (you pick!).

: ̗̀➛ the request will be written in the form of a one-shot fic (between 2000-5000 words, give or take)

: ̗̀➛ you can pick one character or multiple, and you can have it be an x reader or a slash fic. multiple characters x reader is also allowed.

: ̗̀➛every dice pairing equals something different, so try your luck!

·̩̩̥͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙

dice roll list

first roll; STYLE: ☆1: fluff, no smut ☆2: hurt/comfort ☆3: porn, no plot ☆4: angst ☆5: porn, plot, whatnot. ☆6: fluff + smut second roll; WILDCARD: ☆1: music mania: rockstar au ☆2: casino royale: gambling // casino au ☆3: lost in the woods: cyptid // western au ☆4: the siren's song: mermaid // sea monster au ☆5: home is with you: roommate au ☆6: four missed calls: toxic situationship // ex au

·̩̩̥͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙

formatting for submission request:

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ character(s) requested and type: either x reader or character x character *ੈ✩‧₊˚ dice rolls (i.e, 2 and 6) OR, let me roll for you *ੈ✩‧₊˚any hard no's and boundaries (triggers, phobias, squicks, etc- basically, anything you absolutely want to avoid if necessary)

rules + faq

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ IF you wish for a fated roll, but really want to avoid a specific style or wildcard, be sure to put that in your submission. otherwise, what i roll is what will be written. keep in mind, this is all a surprise! *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ANONYMOUS requests are allowed. however, there is a light limit to 2 submissions per person, just to make sure everyone gets a chance for their winnings to be cashed in. ੈ✩‧₊˚i am writing for ADULT MHA CHARACTERS ONLY. no students/ under 18s. ੈ✩‧₊˚submissions will be completed between mid-june -> july, give or take. ੈ✩‧₊˚fics will vary in size depending on theme and style, but will generally stay between 3k-5k.

·̩̩̥͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙