moth!tomura who goes into heat because i fucking said so.
he can't help his own primal urges as he ruts his textured, tapered cock in and out of your perfect little hole; his fangs piercing into your skin to ground himself. he'll clean up the little pinpricks of blood, he promises in slow, starving licks.
he's panting, maw dripping with drool, his antennae fluttering wildly and his wings beating hard to the pacing of his sharp breaths, just fucking you over and over. he doesn't care when you're spent, he can't stop. his knot is so heavy, so fucking thick and painful as it's pressed right against your tight human cunt, stretching the muscles open. it's throbbing, just pumping you full of his seed over and over. he's utterly entranced by the feeling, humping you and whining into your marked neck, he really can't let you go.
he doesn't speak much. you don't think he can. but you can hear him in rough, mewling breaths "breed", "breed", "breed", like it's the only fucking thing he knows. claws ripping against the already-desecrated bedsheets, just buzzing with pure animalistic hunger, his fur thick with the heady scent of his need. you can't manage a full sentence, but you can coax him with praise; pink bitten lips crying out "good boy," like a mantra that glues itself to his brain.
he's going to prove how much of a good boy he can be, how well he can fill you up and fuck into you all night long. you don't realize it until you're two hours in and sweating, crying, the only solace is the purring in his chest each time he cums, and the way he laps up your sweat and tears with his hot, wet tongue.
his urges aren't to be controlled— they're to be satiated, and you absolutely agreed to that when you left the lamp on and the window open in the first goddamn place.