#mothman oc

The cabin was quiet. Too quiet.

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.”

You stroked his hair, kissed his forehead.

“Then stay.”

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credit to @issysh3ll for the divider

𝕴 һᥲძ 𝗍᥆ ᥴһᥲᥒgᥱ і𝗍.

𝕱᥆r 𝗍һᥱ sᥲmᥱ rᥱᥲs᥆ᥒ і𝗍 ᥕᥲs ᥲᥣᥕᥲᥡs… ძᥲmᥲgᥱძ.

𝕴ᥒ𝖿ᥱs𝗍ᥲ𝗍і᥆ᥒ.

𝕸᥆𝗍һ.〢〢

…𝕹᥆—𝕸᥆𝗍һmᥲᥒ.

𝕬ᥒ іrrі𝗍ᥲ𝗍іᥒg, ⍴ᥱrsіs𝗍ᥱᥒ𝗍 ᥒᥙіsᥲᥒᥴᥱ ᥕі𝗍һ ᥲ ᥴ᥆m⍴ᥣᥱ𝗍ᥱ ძіsrᥱgᥲrძ 𝖿᥆r ⍴ᥱrs᥆ᥒᥲᥣ ⍴r᥆⍴ᥱr𝗍ᥡ.໒꒱

𝕿sk.

𝕴𝖿 ᥡ᥆ᥙ’rᥱ s᥆ ᥴᥙrі᥆ᥙs, ძіrᥱᥴ𝗍 ᥡ᥆ᥙr ᥴ᥆m⍴ᥣᥲіᥒ𝗍s 𝗍᥆ һᥱr : @mothman-2901