This is a little side blog for my new (didn't know other people were into) interest in teratophilia. Where I will be posting fics (probably smut) about monsters. Enjoy 😈
Your neighbor, a carpenter that's been helping you fix up with house you just bought in the secluded small town surprising you one day when he shows up at your door nearly panting, as if he is fighting to hold himself back.
"Darlin' I'm gonna be needing you to close those windows. Only so much a man can do when a pretty lady is making the whole block smell like heaven in heat."
You are way too slow on picking up what he means even as he pushes you through the door pinning you to the wall, his fingers flexing, is he growing claws?
"Moving to a supernatural town was already risky. Not being on anything to stop you from smelling like everything in a mile should come an' breed you? That's just foolish."
You try to ask what he means, you were relocated here for work, you knew nothing about the town but he stops you. Makes the words and questions die in your throat when he grabs your wrist with a vise like grip, those were definitely claws, bringing your hand up to his face and inhaling deeply. You go instantly red, he can't possibly smell the fact that you were just knuckle deep in yourself moments before be came pounding on your door.
"Please. Tell me I can taste you." He pants, his teeth growing longer, his fingers ending in what are definitely claws, his body seeming to grow.
You'll definitely need to talk to your main office about being relocated into a shifter town without warning. But who are you to say no to this when the bear shifter next door asked so nicely.
Monster Overlord rules over his lands with a mighty fist. He tears down his enemies without a second thought and if even his own people displease him they turn into an enemy he must destroy. He doesn’t fool himself on saying he fights to keep the peace, no he fights to secure his position and he isn’t shy about that fact.
So maybe that’s why his people are so shocked to find out about you, his cute plump wife, and the sweetest person they’ve ever laid their eyes on.
When they first meet you they watch with trembling and cowering forms, shocked by the fact that their terrifying ruler actually has a wife and horrified over what he must’ve done to capture such a sweet thing like you.
They all slowly melt under your gentle hand and kind eyes. You walk through the masses of the city handing out baked sweets you had personally spent all night making. Their Overlord doesn’t say a word, he just shuffles close behind you, casting petrifying scowls their way.
Gods, the people simply can’t stand it. The idea of you being trapped with such a horrible man, he would ruin you! Tear you to pieces and leave nothing but the scraps.
But then you do the more curious thing. You turn to face him and their might Overlord actually bows down to your level, allowing you to cup his face with the same grace and elegance you’ve been giving them.
“Are you feeling overstimulated? We can always go back home now if you’ve had enough exposure for today.”
Their jaws? On the floor. They can’t believe what they’re seeing. Even more so as the Monster Overlord whimpers under his breath and all but begs you to take him home now.
The two of you retreat leaving more destruction and despair than the Overlord could’ve ever managed on his own.
And sure, your husband does ruin you and tear you to pieces. Not with his claws but with his massive cock as he drives it deep inside of you every night, plowing right into your sloppy fat cunt with no mercy. Yet you’re the one begging for it, locking your limbs around him and forcing him to fuck you harder and harder.
Your screams shake his palace walls and while his servants shiver in fear, feeling such pity for you as they assume they’re shouts of terror, both you and your husband know they’re screams of ecstasy. Indeed he relishes in them and in the idea of bringing more to pour from your soft lips.
Because the two of you take care of each other, you’re a team. Above all, he fights to keep his position in order to protect you. To keep you safe from his hoard of enemies. And in return, you look out for him. Providing him a safe haven from his social anxiety and awkward demeanor in public. Guiding him toward becoming a better ruler toward your people and making you proud. He’d do anything for you, after all.
Male Fae/Female Reader
NSFW
Wordcount: 3,082
Part One | Part Two (here)
Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist
It had been two weeks since Shai first made himself known. Two weeks of dusky visits through your bedroom window, of soft conversation and quiet watching, of the tentative joy that came from getting to know him. He had returned to you every night without fail, wings folding in close as he perched on the sill.
Sometimes you talked until dawn, sometimes he simply sat with you while you read, or listened to music, or closed your eyes and pretended to sleep beside him.
You tried, more than once, to reach for something deeper: hands trailing over his strange body, kisses lingering more each time. Every time, he had gently redirected you, sometimes more subtly than others.
Tonight, he returned as always. The moon hung high behind him, caught in the curve of his wings as he climbed through the window. His fur was ruffled from flight, curls damp at the edges from the lingering mist. He looked tired, though his eyes brightened the moment they found yours.
You crossed the room without thinking, without planning the gesture - your hands catching his face as soon as his feet touched the floorboards - and kissed him.
Your mouth landed soft and full against his, your hands sliding into the fur at the base of his neck.
Shai stilled beneath you, hands hovering uncertainly at your waist, breath caught between your bodies. He made a helpless sound as your lips parted and your tongue brushed his. His mouth was strange, wide and soft, the shape of it unfamiliar, but you wanted to know it. You wanted him to feel wanted. Your fingertips pressed firmer against his jaw, and when he finally kissed you back, it was with a carefulness that made you ache.
He tasted of wild berries, and something darker underneath. His hands came to rest at your hips, tentative, as though unsure whether to pull you closer or hold you still.
You pulled back only enough to look at him. “God, you’re beautiful.”
You grinned, and kissed him again, slower this time. His mouth was strange against yours, soft and plush and wide, and he made that low sound again as your lips parted around his, as your tongue brushed the sharp edge of one of his not-quite-human teeth. You drew back a second time only long enough to take his hand and guide him towards the bed.
He followed.
He was taller than you - impossibly so - and all limbs, his gait too careful, like he hadn’t figured out how to move through spaces this small. The mattress creaked as he lowered himself beside you, wings tucked in tight behind his shoulders.
You climbed into his lap, straddled him with a confidence you hadn’t let yourself second-guess, and leaned in again, your hands sliding along the hard ridge of his torso.
His skin was warm beneath the fur, his chest lean and unfamiliar under your fingers, and when you grazed one thumb along the seam of his ribs, he inhaled sharply. You felt his thighs tense under yours, his hands still not moving. He hadn’t stopped you, not at first.
Then one hand had come up, fingers curling gently around your wrist.
“Wait,” he murmured. His voice was thick with restraint. “I’m not—” He paused. Swallowed. “I’m not like a human. What if you don’t like it?”
You looked at him. His eyes shimmered faintly in the low light, a sheen of opal where others would have had shadow. His mouth was slightly open, breath warm against your cheek, and every part of him was braced like he was ready to be pushed away.
You leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and whispered against his skin. “We’re soulmates. I could never be disappointed.”
He kissed you this time, and there was no hesitation in the press of his lips, or the way his hips canted towards your own.
His mouth fit against yours with a hunger that had only flickered before. His hands had slid to your waist, then your ribs, and then you were on your back, the mattress dipping beneath you as he followed, limbs folding around yours with more coordination than you expected. He was all height and sinew, his body lean and unfamiliar, but he settled over you with a surprising care, one thigh sliding between yours as he braced himself just enough not to crush you.
You laughed, your hands reaching for him as your knees parted to make space for the long lines of his body.
“That’s more like it.”
He made a sound in response, half a growl and half a laugh of his own, and ducked to kiss your throat. His weight pressed into you. You wrapped your arms around him, fingers dragging over the fur at the back of his neck, then lower: over his back, across his ribs, down his hips.
Then up again.
You found the curve where his wings connected, the strange joint that shifted subtly beneath your fingers, and the sound he had made was like nothing you’d heard from him yet. It was startled, breathless and raw.
You touched him there again, delighting in the way he shuddered against you. His wings had twitched behind him, the delicate membrane of them trembling.
“Well,” you murmured, grinning against his jaw, “someone’s sensitive.”
His breath caught, and he hid his face against your shoulder, ears twitching as his arms tightened around you.
You dragged your fingers across that spot again, just to hear him gasp.
Shai trembled above you, hips rocking slightly, breath gone uneven against your shoulder. His hands, so hesitant before, finally moved; one slipping to your waist, the other bracing beside your head. His body pressed down harder, and you could feel the shape of him now through the fabric between you, hot and hard.
You kissed his throat, then lower, dragging your mouth down the warm column of his neck. His skin was soft where the fur thinned, and your tongue found salt and heat, the quick flutter of his pulse.
His wings trembled above you, brushing against your bare arms, too delicate to pin down but close enough to feel. You reached for him again, sliding your palm over the warm, thick fur that covered his lower belly. This time he didn’t stop you. He tensed, though, straining in anticipation.
You stroked him through it, gentle and curious, fingers combing downwards until the dense fur gave way to something else entirely. The shift was sudden, startling. His body opened beneath your touch, the swell of warmth parting to reveal flesh unlike any you had seen. He was smooth where you expected roughness, ridged in places that made him shiver when your fingertips dragged along his cock. The base of him pulsed faintly, the length hidden just beneath the surface, thick and slick and swelling fast as he responded to your touch.
His breath caught in his throat. He buried his face in your shoulder again, trembling all over, his voice muffled.
“Don’t stop, please...”
How could you resist such a sweet request?
You explored him slowly, learning the shape of him. The fur that had concealed him curled back easily under your hand, exposing him fully now: flushed and firm, the tip slightly flared, the shaft ridged with symmetrical lines that throbbed faintly under your palm. He wasn’t like anyone you’d touched before, but it was beautiful in its own way, and the way his whole body reacted to every movement made you ache with need.
You slid your hand along him, easing slick over the strange, silken flesh, and his hips jerked, a whimper torn from his throat. His wings flared behind him, then twitched closed again, too overwhelmed to hold them steady.
“You’re so sensitive,” you murmured, grinning against his ear. “I barely have to touch you.”
His claws curled into the sheets beside your head. “I know, sorry-”
"Oh, don't be."
You guided him forward, shifting your hips beneath him, your thighs parting to welcome the weight of him. His length grazed you, and you gasped at the first proper contact, at how slick he was, how the ridges aligned perfectly with the places that made your body light up.
He looked at you once, breathless, wide-eyed. Then he moved, hips rocking as he slid between your folds, not pushing into you yet, just letting the pressure build as he dragged against you.
You were soaked now, every inch of you ready, aching. You reached down and guided him, letting the head of him press into your body. It took effort, your body resisting the unfamiliar shape at first; but then he breached you, and everything stretched so perfectly.
You cried out, one hand clutching at his back, the other buried in the fur along his ribs. He groaned above you, a deep, guttural sound, and pushed deeper.
Every ridge of him dragged along your walls, sending shocks of pleasure through you. He filled you slowly, reverently, his whole body shaking with the effort of staying gentle.
You tightened around him instinctively, your body pulsing in a slow rhythm that made him shudder above you. He was thick inside you, the ridges of him pressing in places you hadn’t known could be touched like this.
He thrust again, deeper now. The motion dragged every textured inch of him through your core, and your breath faltered, caught somewhere between a sob and a moan.
Your legs curled around his waist, pulling him tighter, keeping him there.
He groaned into your throat, teeth grazing the skin just below your ear. “You’re... gods, you’re perfect—” His voice cracked on the last word, barely a whisper against your skin.
He moved with more confidence now, his thrusts gaining rhythm, your body adjusting to him with each stroke. The pressure built again, intense and liquid and fast, heat pooling deep in your belly. The ridges along his shaft caught you with every motion, drawing helpless whimpers from your lips, making your fingers dig into his fur.
Your mouth found his, kisses messy and open, gasping into each other. His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers sliding over the slick heat where you joined. He touched you with shaking care, tracing slow circles as his pace faltered, your pleasure rising fast and hot and unstoppable.
You came with a broken cry, your body seizing around him, waves of sensation crashing through you in great, rolling pulses.
Shai gasped, swore - the sound animal than human - and thrust deep one last time before he followed you over the edge. His whole body shook as he emptied inside you, his voice a low, wordless sound pressed into your mouth.
You held him close, thighs still trembling, heart racing.
His wings curled around you instinctively, sheltering. One of his hands found yours, fingers threading through as though anchoring himself with the smallest touch.
Neither of you moved for a long time.
His weight stayed draped over you, more a comfort than a burden, your legs tangled together, one of his thighs still slotted between yours. His wings curled low like a canopy, trembling slightly as they settled, and the warmth between your bodies made the room feel softer somehow, hazy at the edges.
Eventually, your breaths slowed. The aftershocks faded, leaving only the quiet ache of satisfaction and the dull throb of limbs worn from pleasure. You didn’t remember falling asleep, only the way his fingers drifted in circles at your hip, the sound of his heart somewhere beneath your palm, and the warmth of his breath in your hair.
***
When you woke, light spilled low through the curtains. The sky outside was pale grey, the kind that promised a slow, quiet morning. You blinked, body heavy and pleasantly sore, and realised he hadn’t left.
He was still there, curled protectively around you, chest to your back, one arm slung across your waist, the other cradling your shoulder like you were something fragile. The bedsheets had been kicked away at some point in the night, forgotten in the heat of it.
Your skin was still tacky in places, but you didn’t mind. The scent of him lingered, wild and clean, threaded now with something unmistakably yours.
You shifted slightly, muscles tight from the position, and his grip adjusted without waking. His arm pulled you back against him, nose nudging gently at your hairline. He made a low hum, almost a sigh, and tucked his face into the curve of your neck.
You let your hand drift lazily down his forearm, fingers tracing the fur there, soft and warm and real.
Eventually, his antennae twitched. You turned your head slightly, smiling before your eyes had fully opened.
He blinked at you, dazed from sleep, his irises catching the morning light like polished stone. His curls were flattened on one side, his mouth parted in confusion that softened the moment he focused.
You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, his fur silky against your lips.
“Morning,” you murmured, voice still rough with sleep.
He stared for a beat longer, then smiled.
You stretched, limbs protesting the motion, and let yourself look at him properly. You had never seen him in daylight before. His colouring looked different now, the soft brown of his fur tinged faintly red in the sun, the pale glow of his eyes less eerie and more luminous.
You shifted onto your back, arm thrown across your eyes for a moment as you adjusted to the light. The soreness in your hips made you smile.
“I could make breakfast,” you said eventually, voice thick with sleep. “Could make tea, too, if you like.”
Shai didn’t answer straight away.
You turned your head. He was propped on one elbow, watching you in that quiet way he always did, eyes tracking your face like he was memorising it.
“I can’t go out until dark,” he said gently. “Not without being seen.”
Your hand found his where it rested against your stomach. You laced your fingers together and squeezed once.
“That’s alright,” you said, firm but soft. “You can stay as long as you like.”
His gaze flicked to the window, then back to you.
You pushed up onto one elbow, bringing yourself level with him. “But also,” you added, “you don’t have to hide. I don’t care what the neighbours think.”
That earned you a blink.
You smirked. “The nosy elf next door will find out eventually anyway. She’s always peering through the hedges like she’s expecting a scandal. Might as well give her one.”
Shai let out a breath that might have been a laugh, or an incredulous sigh. His antennae twitched again, curling in lazy arcs.
“You’re not afraid someone might see?”
You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Of course not. You’re the best thing to come through my window.”
Shai stuttered, breath catching in his throat. His ears flicked, his wings shifting in a nervous shiver behind him, and his antennae curled in close.
You tucked yourself into his side before he could flounder further, cheek pressed to the curve of his ribs. His fur was warm there, still faintly sleep-rumpled, and you let yourself rest against him with a little sigh, fingers smoothing idly along his chest.
“I like your strangeness,” you said simply. “It's cute.”
You felt the way he inhaled, sharp at first, then slow.
“I don’t care if the neighbours stare. I don’t care if the postman thinks I’ve lost my mind. You’re my soulmate, that’s all that matters.”
His arm curled around you in reply, palm splayed across your back, large and warm and careful. He still didn’t speak, but his chest pressed closer, as if he could draw you into him with touch alone.
“Besides,” you added, lips brushing against his skin, “I quite like the thought of having you all day. Not just in the evenings.”
“Then I’ll stay,” he whispered, almost shyly.
You smiled into him, already imagining what that meant: tea in the kitchen with his wings brushing the cupboards, long limbs folded awkwardly onto your sofa, his head in your lap while you read aloud until the sun dipped low again.
“Yes,” you murmured, fingers stroking slow patterns across his side. “Stay.”
His hand moved slowly along your spine, fingertips skimming bare skin, the soft drag of fur leaving a warmth in their wake.
You tilted your face up, studying the light that pooled across his features. It softened the sharp angles of his cheekbones, kissed the edges of his wings where they curved behind him.
“You’re staring,” he said, voice still rough from sleep.
“I am,” you replied, unashamed.
His antennae twitched at that, curling faintly, and you smiled.
“You’re beautiful.”
He huffed and ducked his head. His wing curled over you in a lazy, half-hearted attempt at hiding. You slid your hand along his ribs, then over the soft underside of his arm, until he dropped the wing again and looked at you with a resigned sort of fondness.
“I think I’ll be staring all day,” you murmured, pressing your mouth to the edge of his jaw. “You’re too distracting.”
He rolled onto his back and pulled you with him, limbs unfolding to make space. You laughed as you landed on top of him, your bare thighs bracketing his hips, your hands flat against the warm plane of his chest.
“Still want breakfast?” you asked.
His smile was slow and crooked. “Eventually.”
You bent to kiss him again. He answered with heat, with hands that slid to your hips and gripped tight. You felt him hardening again beneath you.
When you arrived home on Friday evening, it took every ounce of self restraint not to collapse on the bottom step. You dropped keys into the bowl, coat slung over the nearest chair, and turned on the TV before you even reached the sofa.
The quiet settled around your shoulders like a blanket, and it was a welcome relief.
The bag stayed by the door, half unzipped and still bulging with worksheets you weren’t going to mark tonight. You nudged it aside with your foot as you passed.
In the kitchen, the kettle hummed to life. You moved through your routine without really thinking: make-up remover pads swept over tired skin, pyjamas tugged from the radiator where they’d been warming all day, your favourite mug filled with chamomile and a little too much honey.
You curled up on the sofa with your tea, the show playing on low volume. You weren’t really watching, to be fair. Your limbs ached in that dull, satisfying way they always did after a long day. Teaching drained you, but it was a kind of drain you could make peace with. You liked your job. You were good at it. Still, the social niceties—smiling through lunch duty, sitting through yet another team meeting, batting off well-meaning jokes from the younger staff—wore you down.
Your phone lit up with a message. Another invite. Pizza and board games, nothing wild, come on, you deserve it.
You stared at the screen a moment before typing out the usual reply: thanks, but I’m shattered tonight x.
The school’s staff were nice enough, but after giving everything to your class, there wasn’t much left. You needed the quiet. The solitude. You didn’t always have the energy to explain that.
The tea was already cooling in your hands. You rubbed your thumb along the side of the mug, then down to your wrist. The name was still there. It always was.
Shai.
It had appeared when you were fifteen, a little earlier than most. There was no grand fanfare, your family weren’t particularly spiritual and didn’t put much pressure on in the inevitability of a name appearing on your wrist.
You’d stared at it in the mirror, breath caught in your throat, pulse hammering in your ears. You remembered tracing it with your fingers, over and over again. Shai. The letters had darkened in the weeks that followed, settling into a looping script you didn’t recognise. Neat but strange. Unfamiliar.
You used to imagine who he might be. Tall, probably. Kind. Someone quiet, someone who understood. You’d dreamed of him as a teenager, sure that when you finally met, it would make everything click into place. That you’d know.
Except the older you got, the more the fantasy frayed at the edges. You’d dated—briefly, awkwardly. Nice men, polite ones. There had been some humans, an elf, and one attempt at dating an orc who had admitted you were only a placeholder until his soulmate came along.
One who taught guitar, another who worked in IT. None of them had Shai’s name. One had a soulmate already, though he’d lied about it at first. Another hadn’t believed in soulmarks at all.
It wore you down after a while. Not heartbreak, exactly, but the slow erosion of hope. You hadn’t stopped believing entirely, but the idea of fate felt less romantic now. More like a cruel kind of joke.
You took another sip of tea, only to find it had gone lukewarm. The television flickered in the corner of your vision, Mulder's voice too far away to follow. You set the mug down and curled further into yourself, pulling your knees up beneath the throw blanket. The name on your wrist pulsed faintly with warmth beneath the fabric, though you knew that was in your head. There had been a time you would’ve called that magic.
Now, it just felt like static.
You stood and padded into the kitchen, cradling the mug between both palms. The tea had already cooled too much to enjoy, but you didn’t want to waste it. A low hum filled the silence as you stuck it in the microwave.
You hated the way it made tea taste—somehow both scalded and bitter—but it was easier than boiling a new kettle. Less effort. You leaned on the counter, staring at the mug as it turned in slow, lazy circles.
When it beeped, you winced and silenced it quickly. The noise was too sharp for the hour, even with your windows closed. You lifted the tea again and gave it a swirl, already regretting it. The smell had changed, and not in a good way. Still, you took a sip, grimaced, and carried it back toward the lounge anyway.
Before sitting, you cracked open the window above the radiator. The air outside was cool and sweet; fresh in a way the flat never quite managed. You closed your eyes and breathed it in. Then you felt it.
Something brushed your collarbone. Delicate. Weightless.
Your eyes snapped open.
A moth. Not the tiny kind you sometimes found but large, almost the size of your palm. Its wings were soft brown with pale stripes, patterned like bark or faded velvet. It simply sat, right above the hollow of your chest, still as a pressed flower.
You stood frozen. Not from fear, but surprise. The moth tilted its body slightly, then stayed where it was, as though it had chosen you very carefully and now intended to stay.
Your gaze flicked to the window.
Across the garden, your neighbour was out again—Talia, the elven woman who lived across from you. She was perched on the edge of her porch steps, one arm wrapped around her knees, the other cradling a mug. She wasn’t looking at you.
She was staring at something in the trees.
You turned your head to follow her line of sight. There was a tree on the edge of your fence line, tall and crooked, half-wrapped in ivy. You saw something there, a shape too large for a bird, hunched on a branch.
It blinked, and then vanished into the shadows.
The moth on your collarbone lifted its wings, once. Then it drifted away through the window like it had never been there at all.
Almost the second it vanished outside, the lights went out all at once.
The gentle hum of the fridge faded. The television screen went black, casting the house into a kind of stillness that didn’t belong indoors. You stood in the centre of the room, mug in hand, blinking into the sudden dark.
Outside, the sky was heavy with cloud, and no moonlight filtered through the glass. You set the tea down carefully and crossed to the hallway drawer, groping through the usual clutter—elastic bands, old receipts, a broken torch—until your fingers closed around the matchbox.
You hadn’t lit candles in years. Not since your last flat which had, admittedly, had a wiring issue. Still, you found them tucked at the back of the cupboard, the plain cream kind meant for power cuts, and a few short ones with decorative tins and half-melted lids. You placed them in shallow dishes and lit them one by one.
The flickering light softened everything. It clung to the corners and warmed the walls, made your small sitting room look like a storybook illustration. The flat smelled faintly of lavender and burnt wax. You sat on the floor, cross-legged on the rug, watching the shadows dance up the walls.
Your wrist was warm beneath your dressing gown sleeve.
You rubbed it idly, staring at the closest flame. The silence was so complete you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You reached for your tea and took a cautious sip. Bitter. Always bitter, once it had been microwaved.
Your lips parted before you could think better of it.
“Shai. If you’re out there, I’m tired of waiting.”
You meant it as a joke, sort of. The words sounded ridiculous in the quiet. You laughed under your breath, barely a breath at all. Embarrassed, even with no one to hear you.
Then something knocked at the window.
You froze completely; candle still in one hand, mug halfway to your mouth. The sound hadn’t been loud. Just a soft, deliberate tap.
You turned your head slowly. The window was still cracked open, the air cool against your skin. You rose and stepped toward it, careful not to jostle the nearest flame. When you reached the sill, you leaned forward, heart tight in your chest.
Nothing except the back garden, and Talia had gone inside. There was a patch of grass, the fence, your neighbour’s shed. Trees rustling in the distance.
Something had moved, though, you were sure of it. Something large: taller than a man. A shape with weight, crouched just beyond the hedge.
Gone now.
You lit a few more candles after that. Not out of fear… at least, that’s what you told yourself.
You stayed by the window longer than you meant to. The garden lay still in the dark, the kind of quiet that pressed in against the glass. A hush. You rested your cheek against the cool pane and let your eyes drift across the hedge line, the outline of the old tree, the faint movement of leaves. Nothing stirred. Still, the feeling of being watched tugged at your thoughts, soft and insistent.
Eventually, your tea went cold again. Your shoulders ached, and so you gave up waiting.
You left the curtains open.
Something about the night air made it easier to sleep, even if it meant waking up cold. You left the window ajar, hoping maybe another moth might find its way inside; half-hoping, really. Half-dreading. You climbed into bed and turned your face toward the open air, arm curled beneath the pillow. The scent of damp grass drifted through the room.
You must have fallen asleep at some point, though you couldn’t say when.
What woke you wasn’t sound. It was something else, a shift in the air. Pressure, presence, the unmistakable feeling that you were no longer alone.
You sat up slowly.
The room was lit only by moonlight, spilling across the sheets in soft silver. The curtains rippled faintly in the breeze. At first, you thought the shadows were playing tricks. Then your eyes adjusted.
Someone was standing in the corner.
You didn’t move at first. Couldn’t. The shape was tall—taller than anyone you knew—with a lean build and too-long limbs. Wings framed his silhouette, folded close behind his back, wide enough to brush the walls on either side. His body was covered in fur the colour of midnight, so dark it seemed to blur at the edges. His eyes—his eyes were wide and bright, pale as moons.
You opened your mouth to scream.
He moved before you could.
He dropped to his knees in a single, fluid motion. Wings bowed low, arms lowered to his sides, palms open in surrender. His voice, when it came, was soft and careful.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Your heart thundered. Your breath came too quick, too loud. “Who are you?” The words broke loose in a whisper, harsh and trembling. “What are you doing in my house?”
“You know who I am.”
“I don’t know you. I’ve never—“
He raised one hand slowly, tilted it so you could see his inner wrist.
Your name was there.
Written in your own handwriting. Except here, it almost glowed beneath the soft gleam of moonlight.
Your mouth was dry, your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
He looked up then. Properly. Met your eyes. “I waited,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know how to… without frightening you.”
You shifted under the duvet, sitting upright now, legs drawn close to your chest. The air felt thin in your lungs, though the window was open and the night smelled of damp earth and green things.
“Stand up,” you said, though your voice was small. “Please.”
He rose slowly, careful not to unfold the full span of his wings. They shimmered faintly in the dark: brown and cream and silver, soft as smoke.
“I don’t understand,” you said. “What are you?”
His head tilted slightly, the long curve of his antennae shifting with the movement. “I’m fae,” he answered. “Moth-kin, though it’s been a long time since anyone used that word. My kind don’t linger near humans anymore.”
“But the name on your wrist. My name—“
“Soulmarks still exist among us,” he said. “They’re rare, much rarer than in humans or elves.”
You folded your arms across your stomach, fingers twisting in the fabric of your pyjama top.
“Shai. you waited all this time… are you disappointed?”
His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture softened. The fur at his shoulders lifted slightly, then settled.
“No,” he whispered, “I’ve always loved you.”
You stared at him. At the moonlight on his skin, the slant of his cheekbones, the slope of his neck. His hands were resting on the ledge beside him; long-fingered, claw-tipped, but still delicate.
You reached forward before you could think better of it and pressed your hand lightly to the back of his.
His palm turned upward, cautious but sure, and your fingers slid against his. His skin was warmer than you’d expected. Not cold at all. Warm like stone left out under the sun. Velvet-soft, but solid beneath.
You turned his hand in yours, slowly, until his wrist faced upward. The skin there was pale beneath the fur, finer, more translucent. Your name curved along it in looping script, silver-edged in the moonlight. The lines pulsed faintly with warmth beneath your fingertips.
You traced the letters.
He watched you in silence, eyes soft and still, the rise and fall of his chest slow and careful. When you looked up, he was already reaching for you; tentatively, reverently. His hand hovered near your own wrist, waiting for some small sign.
You gave it. A tilt of your arm. The faintest nod.
His touch was light, more whisper than pressure. He traced your name in return, letter by letter, as if committing it to memory. Your breath hitched.
“Shai,” you whispered.
It filled the air between you, the shape of it carried on the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.
Something shimmered behind his eyes. Not tears, but maybe he was just good at holding them in.
“I’ve waited so long to hear you say my name.”
Your hand slid up his arm before you realised you were moving. His wings lifted slightly as he shifted closer, and you leaned in, closing the space between you in quiet, aching increments.
The kiss wasn’t smooth. His mouth was wide, his shape unfamiliar, but he tilted his head to meet you, breath warm and shallow. His fur brushed against your cheek, soft and ticklish. You felt it between your fingers, thick and plush where your hand curled behind his neck.
He kissed you like he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. Careful, but unafraid. Steady.
Your heart tumbled in your chest.
His mouth parted under yours, slow and sure, and his breath caught; sharp, then softened into a low exhale. His lips were plush at the centre, edged with the faint brush of something firmer, stranger, but it didn’t matter. Every instinct in your body leaned into the closeness, into the way his hands came to rest at your waist..
Velvety fur gave beneath your touch, warm and luxurious, and when you shifted forward slightly, his wings lifted in response, brushing against the backs of your arms. The kiss deepened for a breathless moment, your teeth grazing his lower lip, his hand tightening ever so slightly at your side.
When you finally pulled away, you were flushed and half-dizzy, lips tingling, pulse thrumming under your skin. You hovered close to him, your foreheads nearly touching.
He was grinning. It lit his face from within, softened the angles, made his eyes go gentle and warm in the moonlight. You’d never seen anything so radiant.
Your hand moved of its own accord, fingertips lifting to brush against one of his antennae.
He flinched and then went still. A low, unmistakable sound rose in his chest, a sound that could only be described as a purr.
Your lips parted in surprise. “You like that?”
His grin twitched, too pleased to hide. “Very much.”
You stroked along the length of the delicate feathery antenna, once, twice, and his eyes fluttered closed. His wings twitched around him like they couldn’t decide whether to flare or fold, and he leaned into your touch with a kind of reverence that made your throat tighten.
Then, you let your hand settle at the base of one, thumb brushing the curve. “Good to know,” you murmured.
“You’re cruel,” he whispered, though the words sounded far too fond to mean it.
He shifted slowly, careful not to jostle you as he moved. His knees bent, long limbs folding as he eased down onto the mattress beside you, the bed dipping beneath his weight.
The wings that had loomed so wide and watchful now curled in closer, folding around you both like a shroud of velvet and shadow. The light filtering in through the open window caught on the soft edge of them, casting a shimmer across the duvet.
You followed without thinking, drawn into the space he made. His arms opened, so you fit yourself into him instinctively, knees brushing his thigh, your hand pressed lightly to his chest where you could feel the slow rhythm of his pulse.
Your mouth found the place where his collarbone met the slope of his neck. You kissed him there, soft and unhurried. His breath hitched, the muscles beneath your palm tensing for a moment before easing.
Shai hummed; a low, soothing sound that seemed to vibrate from somewhere beneath the skin. The warmth of it wrapped around you as his wings tucked tighter, cocooning you both. You buried your face against the crook of his neck, and he let you.
Sleep crept in without warning. One breath blurred into the next, and then the next. The weight of him around you, the way your wrist pulsed faintly with remembered warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, all of it anchored you.
You hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
Somehow, you did. Curled into him, held safe in the dark, his name warm on your skin.
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