moths usually begin mating after a female moth releases a pheromone to attract a mate. gently requesting a mothman where he mistakes your perfume for said pheromones and smut ensues
(your dilf mothman lives in my head rent free)
Ooo! Moth facts and someone also infested with moth DILF thoughts!
A treat! Sadly I did not make this my moth DILF, but still mof!
-
It was a spur of the moment purchase, the perfume was good and reasonably priced so you bought a bottle and a small travel vial to carry in your bag, what you hadn't expected was coming home to your roommate and having him freeze up at the scent of you.
It was an innocent offer to have him smell your new scent, holding your wrist out for him to sniff, only the moment his face was close to your wrist he seemed to zone out. Red eyes fluttered and grew hazy as he stepped closer, wings spreading as he pulled you into him, letting out small soft chittering sounds as he practically huffed the scent of you mixed with the perfume, it's cute in a strange way, calming as well the little noises he lets out as he pulls you closer.
You'd not really considered hooking up with your housemate, but the way he is looking at you and rumbling so softly, so sweetly at you, it's definitely becoming something you could consider if he was going to keep looking at you like this.
Considering became doing, as he led you out of the kitchen and into his room, black out curtains and dim lights make the room feel like a cavernous expanse. He's practically glued to you as he guides you back onto his bed, face buried in your neck as he purrs softly, soft words of how good you smell, how perfectly this is timed, dragging his hands along your sides as he adjusts how he looks over you, making quick work of stripping you down and raking his eyes across your body.
Sure the perfume made the scent of you more distinct, yet somehow made what he had already caught faint whisps of more tantalising but the more layers he pulled from you the more the need to know just how good you smelled in the throws of pleasure grew.
Tw; Sort of paralysation, breeding lightly mentioned, whimpering, praise, sort of fluffy
Fucking your Mothman boyfriend with a light attached to your head.
The slick sounds of your coupling emanated the room, soft paps resonating off the walls. It paired beautifully with the sound of his pleas and whimpers.
"Hughn fuck- honey, please," he chittered underneath you, eyes entranced on the light you'd positioned on your forehead.
It was one of those lights people use when camping with the strap around your crown.
You chuckled and your hands ran up and down the soft fluff of his chest and even his neck, making him shudder and moan.
Having him like this, so completely at your will, was invigorating. With the light on, you could see him perfectly underneath you, whereas he was essentially paralysed in awe by it.
You grinded down against him and he buzzed underneath you, a chittery moan escaping him.
"Mmh- shit, please lovely, let me cum. Stop- stop teasING!" His body tensed, and his head tilted back against the pillows as you started to pick up the pace.
"Aww poor baby can't take it anymore?" You cooed, swirling your hips and watching his antennas flutter.
"You wanna cum, yeah? Wanna cum inside me and get me pregnant?" You bit back a moan between your teeth, eyes rolling back in your head as his cock nudged at the perfect spot in you.
He nodded his head eagerly, whimpering and chittering increasing. His hands gained the strength to place themselves all over your body even if he couldn't see it.
His lowest pair of hands had one on your thigh and the other trying to find your clit and stimulate you as you rode up and down.
His middle pair had one on your waist as if to guide you along (albeit uselessly) while the other one grabbed the fat of your breast.
His highest pair of hands found your face, both cupping your jaw and cheeks. His thumb even managed to go into your mouth, which you sucked on eagerly, moaning around the digit.
"Gonna- gonna cum, lovely. Let me do it inside- please," he sputtered as your pace increased. Your mind felt fuzzy, and you agreed without second thought as your peak approached.
His thumb slipped out of your mouth, saliva drooling down your chin. His hands moved from your jaw to run through your locks, fingers lightly scraping at your scalp. It felt amazing.
Your cunt fluttered and clenched around his slimy cock, his cock twitched inside you, painting your walls white. You came shortly after, riding your orgasm out slowly.
The heat of the moment seemed to fizzle out your strength because you eagerly melted against him, still connected.
Your face nuzzled into his fluffy collar, light covered, which allowed him to be released from his trance. He breathed heavily alongside you, one of his hands moving in your hair to take off the headlight. He turned it off and threw it across the room while the rest of his arms wrapped around your sweaty body eagerly.
He peppered kisses along your forehead and temple, whispering praise into your ear.
"That was amazing, my dear."
"Took me so well," one hand of his ran up and down your back.
You hummed satisfactorily into his collar, and he returned such affection with his own chittering.
After a few moments to calm down from your highs, he covered the both of you in your blanket and cooed you to sleep. Hands gently stroking your hair and back.
Still interlocked together with the sheets soaked, the two of you couldn't care less.
can you do a noncon story with mothman that has some predator/prey going on?
Mothman's Prey (mothman x fem reader)
TW: NSFW, MDNI, non-con, predator/prey, stalking, kidnapping, oral, P in V, hair pulling, biting/marking, degradation, fear play, size difference, orgasms, fluids.
You are hiking alone at night when you are captured by a Mothman...
-------------------------------
The trail was dead. That was your first mistake—thinking you knew these woods.
Your second mistake was looking up.
The moon hung fat and luminous behind the treeline and shadows bled where they shouldn't. Branches snapped not from wind but from weight—something large shifting its mass from one limb to another, tracking you through the canopy without a single leaf rustling in sympathy.
You'd heard the stories. Everyone in your area knew them. But stories don't have six-foot wingspans that block out the stars when they stretch overhead. Stories don't have deep red eyes like blood.
You ran.
Your boots sank into mud, then hit gravel. The frantic pump of your blood echoed in your ears. The backpack slapped against your spine. A stitch clawed at your ribs. Behind you, above you—all around you—came that sound.
Not footsteps.
Clacking.
Like mandibles grinding together. Like plates flexing. A rhythmic clicking that reverberated off every tree trunk and wrapped around your skull until you couldn't tell which direction led back to your car.
"Please—" you gasped, not sure who you were begging.
The clicking stopped.
So did the wind. The insects.
And then he dropped from the sky.
Not fell. Dropped. Eight feet of dark fur and harder angles, huge wings folding into his back with a wet shff. His head cocked. The blood-red eyes narrowed.
"Hello, darling. My, my... you smell sweet," he said in a deep baritone. "Like honey mixed with fear... the fear makes it sharper."
You scrambled backward. "Stay away from me."
He stepped closer. One leg. Then the other. His feet were wrong; too many joints, too long, ending in claws that clicked against the exposed rock. "You came into my woods. You walked my trails after dark." His head tilted. "That's an invitation where I'm from."
"I didn't know—"
"You knew." The red eyes flared. "Everyone knows. And still you came. Still you ran... tempted me... invited the chase."
No. No! You'd just wanted to clear your head. Just wanted to see the stars away from the town's streetlights. Just wanted—
He advanced and you tried to bolt, but his hand caught your jacket collar and lifted. Your feet left the ground. The world spun. Then your back hit a tree trunk hard enough to punch the air from your lungs.
"Pretty little thing," he murmured, leaning in close. His scent was musky. "All trembly. All mine now."
You shoved at his chest. Your hands sank into soft fur, felt the hard muscle underneath, the impossible heat of him. He didn't budge.
"Let me go."
"No." His free hand came up, claws tracing your jawline with gentleness. "I caught you. That means I keep you."
"Keep me for what?"
He pressed closer. His body was all power and heat, that strange chitinous plating along his ribs grinding against your softer curves. You felt something hard nudge your thigh through his fur—not a limb, not a bone. Something that twitched and swelled as he breathed.
"Figure it out," he rasped.
Your stomach dropped. "No—"
"Yes." His mouth—not a human mouth, wider, fuller, with those clicking mandibles folded flush against his cheeks, brushed your ear. "Going to take you back to my nest. Going to spread you out on the soft moss where I sleep. And then I'm going to learn every sound you make."
The nest was a cave hidden behind a waterfall you never would have found on your own. He carried you there unbothered by your frantic wiggling and shouts. One arm was hooked under your knees, the other cradling your back. Water roared on both sides as he stepped through the curtain, and then—
Silence. Warmth. The smell of earth and flowers and him. His musk coated the back of your throat made tears gather in your eyes. He laid you down on something soft. Moss, like he'd said, thick and soft and surprisingly clean. The cave glowed faintly, candles casting everything in soft light.
"Don't," you whispered as he crouched over you.
His hands found the hem of your shirt. "Don't what? Don't touch you? Don't taste you?" The fabric ripped like paper under his claws. Your bra followed a heartbeat later. "Too late for don't."
Cool air hit your breasts. Your nipples peaked instantly, and you hated them for it, hated how your body responded to the exposure, to his gaze. He stared at your chest like he had never seen anything like it.
One claw-tipped finger traced your sternum "Soft here," he said. "Softer than I thought." The pad of his finger circled your areola. The texture was strange. Gritty.
You bit your lip to keep from making a sound.
He noticed.
"No," he rasped, teasing harder. "I want to hear."
His thumb rolled over your nipple. Once. Twice. The friction made you gasp, a shameful "ahhn" that echoed off the cave walls. He rumbled approval and did it again.
"That's it," he said. "That's the sound."
His other hand found your other breast, and he worked both at once—squeezing, kneading, pinching your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they ached and throbbed and you couldn't stop the little whines leaking from your throat. "Nnnh... nnnh... please..."
"Please what?" He leaned down, and his too-wide mouth closed over one nipple.
The sensation short-circuited your brain. His tongue wasn't like a human tongue. It was longer, narrower, with a rough texture and it wrapped around your nipple while he sucked. The mandibles at the corners of his mouth vibrated against your skin, sending shivers racing down your spine.
"Ahhhnn—fuck—"
He pulled off with a wet shllk. "That's what I intend to do."
Before you could respond, his hands were at your waistband. Your pants came off in strips. He didn't bother with buttons or zippers, just shredded the fabric. Your panties followed. And then you were naked underneath him, spread out on his moss, while he knelt between your legs and looked.
"Spread yourself," he said.
"What?"
"Your legs. Open them. Show me what I caught."
You shook your head, squeezing your thighs together. "I won't."
He laughed. Then his hands clamped onto your knees and pulled. Your legs opened wide. This time, air hit your pussy, and you felt yourself clench around nothing, felt the wetness you couldn't control.
"Wetter than I expected," he observed. One claw traced up your inner thigh, stopping just before it reached your folds. "Scared... but excited. Your body knows what it needs even if your head hasn't caught up."
"It's not—that's not—"
"Shhh." His thumb pressed against your clit. Just pressed. Just the flat of his thumb, gritty and warm, grinding against that bundle of nerves until your hips bucked without permission. "There. See?"
He pushed your legs back farther, opening you completely. His red eyes fixed on your pussy, your outer lips, flushed darker than your skin, on the way your inner lips peeked out slick and swollen.
"Pretty," he drawled "Going to remember how you look right now. Going to remember every fucking detail."
Moving too fast, he lowered his head between your legs. The first lick was long. You jerked, choked on a cry. He tasted you again. From the bottom of your pussy to the top, his rough tongue dragging through your folds. He gathered your wetness, an obscene shllk shllk shllk echoing.
"Taste better than honey," he growled against your flesh.
His mouth closed over your clit, and he sucked.
Your back arched off the moss. "Oh god—"
His tongue flicked—fast, precise, that rough texture catching your clit with every pass. Your hands fisted in the moss. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head. He held you open like it was nothing, like your struggles meant less than nothing, and he ate you like you were his last meal.
"Ahhnn... ahhnn... ahhnn..." The sounds punched out of you with every breath. You couldn't supress them. Couldn't stop the way your hips rolled against his face, chasing his mouth, hating yourself for wanting it.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Yes... grind on my face, darling," he groaned, the words vibrating through your clit. "Harder. Go ahead. Use me. You're already mine, might as well enjoy it."
"Fuck you—"
He bit down on your inner thigh, making you sob before his tongue soothed over the sting.
"That's not what I asked for," he said. "Try again."
Your eyes burned. "I don't—I can't—"
"Grind."
And you did. God help you, you did. You rolled your hips against his mouth, rubbing your clit across his tongue, his lower lip, his chin wet with you. Each drag sent sparks up your spine. Each circle of his tongue made your thighs shake harder.
"That's it," he growled against you. "That's my good little prey."
The orgasm built without permission. You felt it coiling low in your belly, felt your walls clenching around nothing, felt your breath coming in ragged "huh-huh-huh" gasps. You tried to push his head away. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the moss.
"You come when I say," he said.
"Please—unnnh...I can't—it's too much—"
"You can. And you will." His tongue flattened against your clit, relentless. "Come. NOW."
Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. You fell into oblivion, endless and helpless, while your core pulsed and your thighs clenched around his head and your mouth opened in a silent scream. He kept licking you through it, lapping up every drop of wetness your body released.
Shllk. Shllk. Shllk.
When you finally stopped trembling, he lifted his head. His chin glistened. His red eyes burned.
"Now," he said, crawling up your body until his weight pressed you into the moss, "I fuck you."
You felt his cock before you saw it.
He'd shifted his hips between your thighs, and something hard pressed against your pussy. Too bulky and too hot—not like a human cock. It was thicker at the base, tapered toward the tip, with ridges that caught against your folds as he rocked back and forth.
"What—"
"My kind don't fuck like yours." He gripped his shaft, dark gray, ridged all the way down, weeping something clear and slick from the pointed tip. "We claim."
He positioned himself at your entrance. The head of his cock nudged against your opening, spreading your wetness around, not pushing in yet. Just... waiting.
"Last chance to say no," he said.
"That doesn't make sense—you're not giving me a choice—"
"I'm giving you the chance." His red eyes locked onto yours. "Not the choice. Just the chance to say the word so I can ignore it."
"That's not—"
"Say no."
You opened your mouth.
He thrust inside you.
You whimpered.
He kissed you, tongue plunging into your mouth as he sank inside you. Inch by inch. The stretch was impossible. Those ridges caught at your entrance, dragged through your walls, made you feel him in ways human anatomy hadn't prepared you for. And because he devoured your mouth, a sound came out of you that wasn't quite a scream and wasn't quite a moan.
"Tight," he gritted out. "So fucking tight around me. Squeezing like you want to keep me."
You couldn't answer. Couldn't think. He kissed you, swallowed your moans and filled you so completely you felt him in your throat, in your ribs, in your heart. His hips pressed flush against yours, and the base of his cock—thicker there, almost flared—stretched your opening even wider.
"Aghnnn..."
"Breathe, darling," he whispered, his tongue licking your lower lip.
You sucked in air.
He pulled back. The ridges dragged in reverse, catching on every sensitive spot inside you, and you felt each one—ridge... ridge... ridge—until only the head remained. Then he pushed forward again. Slower this time. Again and again.
Shllk. Shllk. Shllk.
"Better," he murmured. "You're getting softer... wetter." His thumb found your clit again, pressing in time with his thrusts. "Your cunt likes me. Even if your mouth won't admit it."
"Fuck... you..."
"You already are." To prove his point, he snapped his hips harder, driving deeper, and the new angle made you see stars. "And you're going to come again. On my cock. While I fill you up."
"No—I can't—not again—"
"Oh, but you can." His mouth brushed your ear, those mandibles clicking softly against your temple. "You will. And you're going to thank me for it."
His pace increased.
Each thrust pushed the air from your lungs, made your breasts bounce. The motion seemed to mesmerize him because he focused his attention on them, nursing the hard nipples, marking them with little nibbles and sucks.
Soon, a second orgasm was building. This one started from somewhere deep inside you.
"There," he growled, feeling you tighten around him. "There it is. Give it to me."
You shook your head, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. "I can't—it's too much—too much—"
His hand closed around your throat. Not choking, just holding. Feeling your pulse hammer against his palm. "You can. You will. Come.For.Me."
The orgasm crested and kept cresting, making you rock like crazy. Your walls spasmed around his cock and your legs locked around his waist and your mouth fell open on a mewl that went on and on and on.
"Aahhhmmmnnn—"
"Fuck," he snarled, and you felt his cock pulse inside you.
Hot. So hot it almost burned. He pumped into you with short, jerky thrusts, his whole body going rigid, a sound tearing from his chest that was a raw and monstrous clicking roar. His cum filled you. You felt it spilling around his cock, dripping down onto the moss, wrong and right all at once.
And after he was done, he stayed inside you. His weight pressed you into the moss, and for one terrible second, you almost felt safe. Then he squelched out.
You whimpered, felt empty. You felt his seed leaking from you, a warm trickle down your perineum, and you clenched instinctively.
He knelt between your legs, watching. His cock was still half-hard, glistening with both of you, the ridges catching the dim candlelight.
"Again," he said.
You stared at him. "What?"
"Again." He gripped your hips and flipped you onto your stomach before you could argue. Your cheek pressed into the moss. Your ass rose in the air. He knelt behind you, and you felt the head of his cock nudging at your entrance again—slick with his release, with yours.
"I'm not done with you yet," he said, and impaled you to the hilt.
You whimpered, grabbed fistfuls of the moss. This angle was different. Deeper. He hit something that made stars burst behind your eyes.
He moaned. "Good. That's good. Make those sounds for me, darling. Make all of them."
Claws digging into your hips, he held you in place as he fucked you. No gentleness now. No pauses. Just the relentless shllk shllk shllk of his ridged cock sliding in and out of your soaked cunt, his grunts and the occasional click-click-click of his mandibles opening and closing in pleasure.
"You're mine now," he said, each word punctuated by a thrust. "This cunt is mine. These sounds are mine. Every orgasm you have from now until I get bored—MINE."
You couldn't answer. Could only take it, only feel it, only exist in the space between his hips and the moss and the endless drag of those ridges inside you. You shattered again and he followed with a snarl, pumping more of that hot seed into your already-full womb. He pulled out and collapsed beside you, one heavy arm thrown over your back, pinning you to the moss.
"Sleep," he said. "We start again at dawn."
You didn't have the strength to argue.
The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was his red gaze, still watching, still hungry, still yours in all the worst and best ways.
"It's done. My prey has finally stopped running. She's where she belongs. With her predator."
Mothman who lets reader cry in his soft fur until it’s damp?
Mothman with a needy, crybaby Reader who requires constant attention and pampering.
Damn it, human! He was trying to look imposing, a creature of the depths, a monster beyond comprehension. Now he's standing awkwardly before his victims, because you had a bad dream and demand immediate soothing.
"There, there," he croaks in his deep, cursed voice.
The horrifying carnage will have to wait. Irritating, but he does have a soft spot for his little human.
could you do mothman smut for Halloween? pretty please? :) 🎃
Mothman chittering and cooing at you as he happily flies you to his little nest. He’s prepared it just for tonight when he gets to breed his chubby little mate.
His fluffy antennae rub against your face as he gives you messy kisses. He’s so soft and fluffy, looming over you while his wings flutter behind him.
Your plump form is… enticing. He’s been eyeing you for a while, and now you’re all his.
He chirps at you, making little buzzing sounds as he runs his cock against your thigh. He’s going off of instinct, trying his best to find your fat pussy.
You help guide his tip to your hole, feeling him eagerly push in and take you within an instant.
He’s strong, but not rough. You’re his mate and he wants to properly breed and love you, so his thrust are powerful yet gentle and steady.
He can’t help but peer down at you with those big, beaming red eyes. They move from your bouncing tits, to your soft tummy, and back to your face before he fills you up with cum.
The moth man continues to coo as he wraps his wings around you, chittering and holding you close.
You can read the rest of kinktober stories in this masterlist.
Licked by the mothman
Mothman x gn!reader || praise kink, edging, oral sex, bondage
You’ve known that mothmen have long ass tongues, it was a fact everyone knew… But since the first moment you saw him, you’ve been obsessed with his tongue in particular. It’s so fucking long he could wrap it around your neck and squeeze. You haven’t had any fantasies like that (but you totally have). It’s just… so special.
And makes him feel so otherworldly in a way that makes your pussy clench and your body tremble in anticipation at the mere thought of him using his tongue on you.
Every time he opens his mouth in your direction your eyes dart to his long tongue… the tongue that did so much to you since you started dating. You can’t look at it without getting red in the face.
You’ve never been like that, you’ve never been such a horny person, but his tongue… Fuck. It’s like he’s changed the way your whole brain processes information, because a simple glance at his tongue, and you are panting and ready to get fucked.
Or, like now, ready to be licked until you can’t take it anymore.
He has you tied to the bed, hands and legs spread to either side, completely exposed to his wicked plans with you. “You are so cute,” he praises you in the most condescending tone, making you snarl in his direction, much to his amusement.
He licks a long trail from your neck to your waist, not licking over your nipple as you want him to. “You look precious when you are all desperate for me,” he mumbles, licking around your nipple but not touching it yet.
All your body feels like an exposed nerve, and you need him to do something, to touch you in any way, but instead of demands, the only thing that escapes your mouth is a quiet: “Please.”
You groan in desperation, twisting your body trying to get some more contact, any contact at all. But he doesn’t. He’s been licking you all over for almost an hour, and your whole body is keyed up. You want to come more than you want to breathe, and your begging only makes him chuckle more and more. The asshole.
There’s tears building in your eyes, and his eyes soften when he looks down at you. “You want more? You want my long tongue fucking your tight hole? Is that it?” He asks, finally licking over your nipple and making you buckle against the restrains with a choked breath. “Tell me. Beg me.”
Instructions. You can follow instructions. “Please, please, please,” you chant in his direction, his tongue teasing your nipples as he continues the pleasurable torture of sucking and licking until you are moving your hips off the bed trying to get some kind of friction against him. But, of course, he’s just out of reach.
He takes his time, not using his hands at all, only his long tongue dancing over your skin drawing patters destined to make you turn into a mess under him. The only sound in the room is the slick sound of his licking and your incessant moaning.
Your eyes don’t leave him, following the traces of his tongue over your skin as he enjoys you like a buffet. Your hips keep moving, trying to get him where you want him most, but he keeps pulling away in the last second, prolonging this delicious torture.
By the time he licks over your hole, you let out a screech that could be right out of a scary movie. It only amuses him, who continues licking you until you almost think he’s going to let you come…
And he stops.
Tears of frustration build up in your eyes every time you can feel the orgasm almost at the tip of your fingers just for him to take it away. Over and over until you are nothing but a mess of moans and drool, tears and pent up frustration that’s driving you insane.
“Good human, so cute for me. I love when you are this desperate. I love when you can’t contain yourself.” He licks a long stripe up and down your crack, gracing your hole and making you scream his name. He only smiles in your direction, as if your torturous pleasure is nothing but a game for him. Which probably is.
He brings you to the edge three more times before you start begging again and takes mercy. “Please, please, let me come… I’d do anything, please...”
He smiles tenderly up at you from between your legs, his antennae moving as if catching something in the air. “Come on, fuck your pretty hole against my tongue, come all over my face,” he mumbles before he releases the ties on your legs with the talons of his wings.
You let out a broken moan as he pushes your legs up over his shoulders and urges you to move your hips against his face. You do, rubbing yourself all over his tongue, chasing your release that feels so very close.
It takes an embarrassingly short time, but you’ve been so worked up already…
You press yourself further against his tongue, and let out a scream that could wake the dead when waves after waves of pleasure rock your body until you don’t know the meaning of time, sensations or reality. Everything melts into pleasure as you come and come and come against his clever tongue.
You are pretty out of it when he moves around you, untying your hands and wrapping himself around your body. “You did so well, my pretty, pretty human. So good for me,” he continues with his praises as he massages your wrists and ankles, peppering kisses all over your teary face. “I love you so, so much.”
You aren’t coherent enough to say it back, but you let out a short: “Yes,” that makes him laugh before he squeezes you against his furry chest and kisses your forehead.
You weren’t sure what made you wake up—maybe the way the wind shifted, the sudden stillness of the crickets outside, or the odd glow seeping in through the gaps in your wooden window shutters. You sat up, heart thumping, sheets tangled around your thighs.
There was something out there.
You padded to the door, curiosity outweighing fear. The porch light had long since flickered out, but a faint bioluminescent shimmer danced on the trees just beyond the clearing. It pulsed, almost like a heartbeat. Your breath hitched.
Then he stepped into view.
Towering. Winged. Eyes like twin blood-moons, glowing in the dark.
You didn’t run.
You didn’t scream.
Something in your body—your soul, maybe—recognized him.
He cocked his head, watching you through the screen door. His body was wrapped in soft, velvet-black fuzz, his wings twitching ever so slightly as he stepped closer. He didn't speak with words, but you felt him—his concern, his fascination.
He was here to warn you. You knew that instinctively.
But what he didn't expect… was you.
Later, you sat together inside, fire crackling gently. You wrapped yourself in a blanket and offered him tea—he didn’t drink it, but held the mug anyway, mimicking you.
He was beautiful in a way that defied logic. The curve of his shoulders, the ridged structure of his wings, the soft antennae that twitched when you moved. You noticed how his pupils dilated each time your blanket slipped a little lower on your chest.
“Do you… like what you see?” you asked quietly, voice cracking with shy boldness.
His eyes flashed. The mug trembled in his hand.
“I don’t… know.” The words sounded strange on his tongue, gravelly, like a wind chime wrapped in velvet. “You’re… not like me.”
“No,” you whispered. “But maybe that’s the point.”
It started with a touch.
He reached out, claws careful, and ran the backs of his fingers along your cheek. His hand was impossibly warm, slightly trembling.
“I’ve never… touched a female,” he admitted, voice low, reverent. “Not a human. Not… anyone. I only watch. I warn.”
You leaned into his touch, tilting your face to kiss the tip of one claw. He shuddered, wings quivering behind him.
“Then let me show you.”
He made a small noise in his throat—surprise, hunger, awe. His fingers moved to your neck, tracing the hollow there. When your blanket slipped down your chest, revealing the curve of your breasts, his breath caught.
“Soft,” he murmured. “You’re so… soft.”
You guided his hand lower, letting him explore. Every brush of his fingers across your skin was slow, deliberate. He moved like someone trying to memorize, to understand, not just touch. His claws were careful, curved just enough to trail without scraping, the pads of his fingers impossibly gentle.
“You’re warm,” he said, fascinated. “And your heart—” he pressed his palm to your chest, just over your breast, “—is fast.”
“You’re making it beat like that,” you murmured.
His wings fluttered again, brushing the floor. Pheromones filled the air—thick, sweet, heady like blooming nightflowers. They made you dizzy, your thighs clenching beneath your blanket. Your body responded to him in a way that felt primal, inevitable.
He smelled like rain and starlight and something… deep.
He dipped his head to your neck and inhaled.
“You… smell like wanting,” he murmured.
“Then take what you want,” you whispered, pulling him in.
He loomed over you, muscles taut beneath soft black fur, his chest rising and falling in an unfamiliar rhythm. His glowing eyes flickered across your body, from the curve of your hips to the slick heat between your thighs, mesmerized. His hand hovered there, trembling, claws sheathed to avoid hurting you.
“I want to… touch. But I don’t want to… damage.”
“You won’t,” you breathed, guiding his hand. “I want you to learn.”
He growled—soft, low, almost a purr—and followed your lead.
His fingers explored you slowly, reverently, dipping into your folds with careful pressure. The pads of his fingertips were surprisingly soft, textured just enough to tease the sensitive skin. You gasped, arching into him, and he paused.
“That sound… I like that.”
You gave a shaky laugh. “Then keep going.”
He obeyed, growing bolder. One long finger slid inside you—tentative at first, then deeper, curling when your breath hitched. He watched your reactions like he was studying something sacred.
“So wet… is this normal?”
“For you?” you exhaled. “Yes.”
His wings flared slightly, the edges glowing faintly as arousal surged through his body. His head dipped again, antennae brushing your inner thighs—ticklish, electric.
He pressed his tongue against you.
Your back arched as a hot, velvety stripe traced your clit. His tongue was unlike anything you’d felt before—broad, flexible, textured with tiny, silken ridges that caught every nerve ending just right. He moved slowly at first, savoring your taste, groaning deep in his chest.
“You taste… alive. Like lightning.”
Your fingers tangled in his thick black hair, pulling him closer as you trembled beneath him. He seemed thrilled by the way your hips bucked, each gasp pulling him deeper into instinct.
He flicked his tongue in quick, rhythmic patterns, and when your thighs began to tremble, he slid a second finger inside you, curling with unholy precision.
“Don’t stop—” you whimpered, hips grinding against his face.
He didn’t. Not until you were writhing, mouth slack in a silent scream, coming hard around his fingers as the world blurred with light and scent and his low, hungry purring against your core.
He pulled back slowly, licking your release from his lips, blinking like he was high on stardust.
“That… was because of me.”
“All because of you,” you whispered, dragging him up by the fur at his shoulders. “But I want to feel you inside me now.”
His cock had emerged fully now—long, ridged, thick at the base and tapering with a slight upward curve, faintly glowing with bioluminescent veins. It pulsed, leaking a clear fluid that smelled sweet, heady, not unlike the pheromones clouding the room.
“I’ve never…” he whispered, voice shaking. “This is the part that makes a bond?”
“Yes,” you said, wrapping your legs around his waist. “But it’s also the part that feels so fucking good. Let me show you.”
You guided him to your entrance, and he shuddered as his tip brushed your slick folds.
“You’re so hot,” he groaned. “So tight… is it safe? I don’t want to break you.”
You smiled, curling your fingers around his cheek. “You’re perfect. Just go slow.”
He pushed in carefully, inch by thick, pulsing inch. The stretch was intense—he was big, and the unfamiliar ridges dragged deliciously along your inner walls—but the way he watched your face, the way he held himself back, trembling with restraint, made it all the more intoxicating.
Once fully seated inside you, he paused, chest heaving.
“You feel like… a heartbeat around me,” he murmured, awed.
“You can move,” you gasped, clenching around him. “Please.”
He pulled back, then thrust slowly, deeply. His rhythm was hesitant at first, but your moans urged him on, and soon his hips found a steady, rolling pace that had you clawing at his back, eyes fluttering shut with each thrust.
The friction was divine. His cock dragged over every sensitive spot with purpose, and those glowing ridges rubbed your walls just right, sending sparks through your body.
His wings flared out behind him, glowing brighter now—pale blue, violet, streaks of gold blooming along the edges with each moan you gave him.
“I want to go deeper,” he growled, voice raw.
“Then take me,” you begged.
He groaned, low and guttural, and snapped his hips forward with more force. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the cabin, the wet slide of your bodies obscene and perfect. He gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, watching the way you took him—eyes dilated, antennae twitching wildly.
“You’re—you’re mine,” he rasped. “I can feel it. You’re… changing.”
“Y-yeah?” you gasped, your second orgasm crashing over you in a blinding wave. “I want to be yours. Fuck—don’t stop!”
That broke him.
He rutted into you harder, almost frantic now, his release building. His cock swelled inside you, throbbing, the bioluminescence intensifying until the whole room glowed with it. Your body was limp, trembling, legs hooked tight around him as you whispered his name—if it even was a name—over and over again.
He let out a ragged, primal cry as he came, hips driving deep and holding you there, flooded with warmth as thick spurts filled you. You could feel it pulse inside, feel his body quaking above you as he emptied himself.
And then—still knotted deep inside you—he collapsed, wings curling around you protectively, his breath ragged against your throat.
“I don’t… want this to end,” he whispered. “I don’t want to go back to just watching.”
warnings; n/a; this is not cryptid mothman but a separate interpretation of a "moth man", it's pretty cute, kissing at the end
word count; 760
divider; @/thecutestgrotto
fic inspiration; this piece by @dalaidee
a/n: this is part of my "taking five requests for reaching 100!". thank you very much for reading and supporting my work. it means a lot to me!
A visitor appeared on the lighthouse gallery deck one night while you were there, hunched over the railing with a cup of coffee. The night had been sluggish and boring, filled with menial maintenance requests that you had finished before even reaching midway through your overnight shift.
This lighthouse was old; a recently renovated historical attraction for the town, still standing erect with its old bones and reinforced (but decaying) wooden beams. It creaked and cracked and expanded, feeling like breath under your feet and from the walls.
But what had remained pristine despite the state of the rest of the lighthouse was the lantern room and the massive, rotating beacon itself. You made sure to keep your back to it at all times, but the light still burned from your peripheral and was hot against your back.
You assumed it had been the beacon that attracted him to this place. Perhaps it was an inevitable pull, some instinctual call he had to fulfill, and what led him here. Maybe he thought it could be a place of refuge, though you were uncertain where he hid during daytime hours, or if ever truly felt safe.
He had terrified you in the beginning, appearing on the gallery deck as he had. You had heard a commotion from beside you, but the beacon was spinning, so the area was submerged in darkness. Once the light came around to illuminate him, you gasped, the coffee cup slipped from your fingers, and was lost to the sea.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in pale setae that resembled downy fur. It glistened in the afterthought of light, as did the pair of large opalescent wings attached to his back. Red eyes stared into you from a remarkably human-like face; they seemed to regard you with not malice, but indifference. Perhaps some curiosity?
The antennae on his head twitched as he came forward, startling you into a shriek and to flee from the gallery deck to the watch room below. You had bolted every single door and window that night, but afterwards, he continued to return to the lighthouse, and you learned to accept that he wasn't going to leave.
When it became apparent he was as benign as the creature he most imitated, you let him inside the lighthouse to see what would happen. He explored everything, left nothing untouched and (unfortunately) unturned. At one point, he tried putting your grandmother's hand-me-down curtains in his mouth, likely smelling their staleness and age, and you had to bat him away with a broom before he could put a hole in them.
And then, you stopped using distance to discourage him and put your hands on him for the first time when he had torn through a series of lighthouse blueprints (the original blueprints, at that!) that were irreplaceable. Instead of finding yourself in a fit of rage from the loss, you felt the anger melt away when your fingers splayed across his chest.
He was soft; so soft to the touch, completely solid underneath. You hadn't realized how fixated you had become on exploring his body through the setae until you felt his hands on you in return. He felt the plastic-y fabric of your clothes, then smoothed his knuckles along your skin, up the length of your arms and neck. He twisted pieces of your hair between his fingers, then lightly touched your face.
You felt the urge to experience what it would be like to kiss him, so you did. You stood on your toes and pressed your lips together. He made a noise in his throat, a moan or something like it, then kissed you back. There were thinner setae on his lips, making you think that you were making out with a flocked doll of sorts. It was not completely unpleasant.
As the fervor went higher, you thought about what it would be like to be naked underneath him, wrapped in the warmth and softness of his body. But, you settled for wrapping your arms around him to press yourself flush against his chest, reveling in what you could feel through your clothes and exposed skin.
He surrounded you in an embrace and held you to him. His heat and softness were a dizzying, yet comforting combination that you wished you could live in forever.
