#mothman likes to live dangerously

[teratosfavouritesnack]

mothman x afab!reader - slight dub-con, monster in heat, oviposition, impregnation, belly inflation, lots of cum, intoxication (getting high on his pheromones, kinda)

You've never heard those wailing noises before. You've been living in a cottage in the midst of the woods for a few years now, and while you're used to hearing all kinds of animal sounds, you've never been scared by such high-pitched keening coming from the dense trees that surround your house.

You didn't know what to expect when you decided to follow the sound. Fortunately, it was daytime and you were familiar with the area, so your sole fear was coming across a truly horrific sight.

All your worries vanished as soon as you found out the source of the noise. A towering, imposing creature clothed in fur stood beside a tree, or rather hunched over its trunk. There was nobody else. Only one of the mothfolk you'd heard so much about but had never encountered before. The antennae were furiously shaking, producing that high-pitched sound that had terrified you from a distance but now filled you with something akin to pity. The massive wings, a triumph of red, white, and blue that sparkled in the sunshine pouring through the foliage, twitched and heaved as if the creature's breathing was laboured.

“A-Are you alright...?” you asked hesitantly, your eyes wide in awe and locked onto the trembling figure.

The moth was startled by your voice, turning around to set their huge red eyes on you. You couldn’t help but notice how incredibly beautiful they were. The colors, the long dark hair, the big eyes, the imposing stature... everything about the creature both amazed and astonished you. 

“I... I'm fine,” they managed to say, their voice coming out rough and trembling. “I just... I don't want to hurt you, so please go away.”

Your brow furrowed at his words. 'Hurt'? Why would they hurt you? The mothfolk was among the most peaceful creatures of the forest, or so you’ve always heard. Perhaps they could be dangerous to strangers, attack out of fear or to defend themselves… but this one moth didn’t seem to be scared of you. You watched, puzzled, as their clawed hand reached for the bark of the tree and clung onto it as if to ease his tremors. 

“You look like you’re in pain…”, you said as you warily made one step forward, your worried and curious gaze still locked onto their shaking figure. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

A low groan escaped their lips, their voice came out strained and pained as they warned you again. “Please, stay back!” They squeezed their eyes shut for a moment, as if fighting against themselves upon what, you didn’t know. When the eyes opened again, they were glazed with a mix of desperation and shame.

“I... I'm in heat. My body craves... it needs…”, they trailed off just as their gaze raked over your figure before abruptly averting, unable to bring themselves to confess exactly what their body yearned for. “Just stay away.” 

They shifted uncomfortably, turning to support themselves against the trunk and only then did you notice the huge erection poking out from the thick fur covering their hips.

You swallowed and instinctively stepped back, your eyes wide with shock. You understood now why the mothman was so hell-bent on keeping you at distance, why he said he didn’t want to hurt you…

“Oh-! I'm sorry-! I didn't realize-!”

You had no idea what was going on inside of him. A shudder surged through his entire frame as he witnessed your reaction. He knew he must have looked monstrous to you: a freakish creature overcome by heat and driven by primal, animalistic instincts. Humans do not go through it, they cannot understand. The humiliation that gnawed at his insides became stronger, mingling with the furious desire pumping through his veins.

“It's okay,” he forced himself to say, even though nothing about this situation felt remotely close to being okay. “Please, just go... get somewhere safer.” But even as those words left his mouth, his legs trembled with the effort of holding himself back. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to lunge forward, to pin you down - the sole creature that had dared to approach him since this torture began - and claim you as his mate. To pump you full of his seed until you swelled with his offspring.

You should have done that. You should have listened to him and ran away as far as you could... Your instincts were screaming at you to go, urging you to leave but for some reason you didn't. He looked and sounded so desperate and vulnerable... You found yourself pitying him even more than before. You truly were out of your mind to even consider the notion of helping him… Except, he could have easily assaulted you from the minute he spotted you, and yet he didn't; instead, he made every attempt to push you away. That proved to you that he was kind. And a kind creature always deserves to be helped.

“What if I touch you?” you asked him, trying to keep your voice and heartbeat steady and the images of you being fucked sensless by a mothman out of your mind. “Would that be enough?”

“You... you truly wish to help me?” His voice was barely above a whisper yet thick with emotion. “Even though I am... this?” He gestured to his imposing form, to the rigid length of his arousal straining against his fur, as if to persuade you to see reason but you were already advancing. His eyes somehow appeared even larger as he watched you cautiously stepping towards him, until you were only a few feet away from him. From so up close you could see how distraught he truly was; his dishelved hair, his sweaty skin, his ruffled fur. Your heart ached for him. 

“I-It might be enough-,” he admitted with evident hesitation mingled with urgency, swallowing sharply as he called upon all his might to hold back from jumping you. You were so close, he could sense your sweet, tantalizing scent. “Feeling the warmth of your hands could be enough to ease the ache...”

The air seemed to vibrate with tension as you approached his fur with you hand. His breath quickened, his whole body tensing in anticipation. For a moment, he considered pulling away, hiding himself somewhere and suffer through the pain for the next days - but the ache in his loins was becoming unbearable. He wasn’t sure he could resist it any longer.

Slowly, almost reverently, he extended a clawed hand towards yours, guiding your fingers to the base of his throbbing erection. Even that light contact sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, and he bit back a groan.

“Here…”, his voice cracked with desperation. “Please, will you stroke it for me?”

Your eyes flickered down to watch as the long, dark red proboscis-phallus, stricken with bluish veins, throbbed under the feather-like touch of your fingertips. You felt your skin tingle at the touch, his skin somehow warm and cool at the same time, moist and slippery. 

Your eyes met his again as you started to stroke his cock, avoiding the swollen purplish tip. 

“Like this?”

A low, guttural moan escaped his lips and his eyes fluttered shut while he savoured the sensation of your hand moving along his aching length. "Yes, like that," he breathed, his hips subtly rocking into your touch. "More... please."

His cry boosted your confidence in your strokes, delivering even more waves of comfort and pleasure through his pained body. He opened his eyes to meet yours once again. There was a tenderness in your gaze that touched his soul, and he found himself drawn to you in a way he couldn't fully comprehend.

"Don't stop," he urged, his voice strained with need. "I'm so close… I’ve been on edge for days…"

You simply nodded in acceptance, feeling as if you would do anything he asked of you at that moment. It felt as if you were losing yourself in his big, mesmerizing eyes, in those glowing pools of crimson as vast and limitless as the universe. You were in awe at the sight of such a magnificent creature… at his raw response to your touch. You felt both powerful and utterly subservient.

When your palm touched his swollen tip and tenderly squeezed, the mothman felt the dam break within him. With a strangled cry, his body convulsed, his cock jerked sharply, and a torrent of eggs erupted from it, flooding your hand and wrist with his warm, slimy discharge.

"Oh Light, I'm sorry!" he gasped, horror and ecstasy warring in his expression as he watched his seed overflow onto your hand. "Too much, I couldn't control it..." Despite his words, he made no move to pull away or stop your ministrations. Instead, he leaned into your touch, his hips still thrusting weakly as the last of his eggs emptied into your waiting hand.

Your jaw dropped in shock as you felt the myriads of tiny slimy eggs surge onto your palm. You instinctively reached out with your other hand to collect them, but you couldn't avoid the sticky goo from staining your clothes and dropping onto the ground. You were panicked, unsure what to do, his apologies barely reaching your ears.

Your dismay deepened when you realized his erection hadn't softened; in fact, it appeared to be growing even harder than before. It turns out that simply touching him wasn't enough to quench his heat after all.

The creature watched in fascination as you scrambled to capture the stream of eggs pouring from his cock, your hands working feverishly to contain the slimy mess. Despite the chaos, a small part of him was thrilled at the sight; it was as if you were trying to protect his precious offspring. His lust-clouded mind could only picture how good of a nurturer you could be for his larvae…

"I-I can't help it," he choked out, fresh tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "I need to be inside you..."

Reaching out with trembling hands, he grasped your waist, pulling you closer until your soft curves pressed against the hard planes of his body. His rigid cock nudged insistently at your stomach, leaking trails of slick fluid across your clothing.

"Please," he begged brokenly, "let me put them inside you where it's safe... I promise I won't hurt you."

You were so shocked, so speechless that you barely reacted. You were still keeping your hands cupped, stuck in your instinctive yet pathetic intent to save the eggs, when he laid you down on the grass. The slimy mess inevitably dropped all over you, even on your face. A sweet taste similar to nothing you had ever tasted before met your lips, causing your head to spin, your vision to blur and your body to heat up all at once.

"W-what-?" you gasped, your slime-tainted palms grasping blindly for him. The mothman took your eagerness to touch him for consent, and so he pinned you to the ground, dwarfing you with his larger form, and then sought out your mouth, capturing your lips in a desperate, sloppy kiss. His long tongue plundered the warm cavern, savoring the sweet taste of his own sperm mingled with your unique flavor.

Murmuring wordlessly, he ground his pelvis against yours, the tip of his throbbing cock sliding along the crease of your hip. The friction sent jolts of pleasure-pain shooting through his loins, fueling his frenzy. Breaking the kiss, he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he peppered your skin with open-mouthed kisses. His hands roamed over your body, squeezing and kneading the plush flesh, mapping every unfamiliar curve and valley of your human frame.

“You have to guide me”, he breathed against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “I don't want to hurt you, but I need to be deep inside you…”

His huge hands grasped your knees, spreading them wider apart as he notched the head of his cock against your crotch. His body trembled with restraint, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought to hold back.

In your blinding and mind-dulling trance, all you could feel was the intense heat pooling between your thighs and the velvety touch of his fur against your clammy skin, and so you clung to those feelings, allowing them to guide you through the fog. One of your hands ventured down to pull your pants past your hips, while the other gripped hard onto his fur. Your panties slid down as well from the force of your tug. With eager movements, you spread your thighs wider for him and stretched your folds open with your fingers offering him a good view of your glistening cunt.

At the sight of your bare, vulnerable sex, the mothman let out a strangled groan, his cock pulsing with renewed urgency. His eyes glazed over, and releasing one of your knees, he brought a hand to caress your inner thigh, his claw tips lightly scraping the tender skin.

The intoxicating scent of your arousal wafted up to him, mingling with the musky fragrance of his own heated pheromones, clouding his senses even further. His sensitive head rubbed across your swollen folds, his keen eyes flickering anxiously from your flesh to your face to gauge your reaction.

Once he figured out you were not in pain but rather eagerly clutching further onto his fur, his control snapped, and with a deep cry he pushed forward, the swollen head of his cock breaching your slick entrance with satisfying ease. His antennae vibrated furiously as he sank into your welcoming warmth, your tightness enveloping him like a glove.

For a moment, he just stayed still, relishing the feeling of being fully sheathed within you, of finally tasting te soothing warmth he had been so desperately craving for days but the urge to claim you, to impregnate you with his offspring, proved too powerful to resist. Slowly, he started thrusting in earnest, each snap of his hips burying him to the hilt inside you. While his fur muffled the rocking of his hips hitting yours, the wet squelch of your arousal filled the air and only encouraged him to rut into you with even wilder abandon.

You were a mess of shameless mewls and whimpers, your fingers driving into his thick fur till you could almost feel the skin beneath, your hips feverishly meeting his in your desperate and blind search for release. A release that was growing at an unfathomable speed within your belly, spurred by the blissful way his inhuman cock filled your every crevice, generating that familiar yet exquisitely new kind of pressure that hit its highest point as his proboscis-phallus jerked and erupted inside you. The phenomenal orgasm that hit you seemed to merge into an even more earth-shattering one when he buried himself deeper inside you. You felt your womb inflate, stretching to accommodate each little gelatinous orb that poured out of his cock and found its home in your warm depths.

The sensation of his eggs taking root inside you, combined with the sheer volume of cum pumped into your fertile womb, sent the mothman spiraling into a euphoric haze. His antennae quivered uncontrollably, brushing against your face as he continued to grind against you, ensuring every last drop took residence in your fertile core. As the last spurt subsided, he collapsed atop you, his panting breaths hot against your neck, his bulk pinning you to the forest floor and his wings wrapping securely around you.

A strangely exhilarating feeling flared up in your womb and propagated throughout the entirety of your body, causing your skin and insides to tingle. You felt no pain; in fact, you had never felt better. The best way you could explain the sensation is as if you were floating in the air among pillowy clouds, cocooned in the warmest embrace. This delightful feeling swiflty dragged you into a peaceful slumber, though not before you felt strong yet soft arms gather your trembling form and a gentle breeze blow through your hair.

a.n.: I feel like this is a weird one... mostly because I've never written about oviposition before and I haven't read much about it either so idk if this is how it's supposed to go lol but I guess this is my take on it, I hope you enjoyed it <3

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[shibaraki]

GOD’S LONELIEST CREATION ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: as head of the mothman study you’ve devoted countless nights to observing your subject from behind the glass. you liked to think those many months spent together contributed to a sense of camaraderie, but time is merely a cradle gently lulling you into false security— and shouta is nothing if not patient.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (mention of ovulating), monsters + cryptids au, mothman aizawa, implied monster hunting, captivity, cryptozoologist reader, possessiveness, dubcon to eventual enthusiastic consent, oblivious reader, monsterfucking, mating behaviour, breeding, mentions of size difference (he is 7ft; called ‘little human’ +‘little flame’), vaginal oral sex + tongue fucking (reader receiving), multiple orgasms, non-human genitalia, oviposition (reader receiving; but no belly bulging), unprotected vaginal sex, *slaps roof* you can fit so much plot in this porn!!

wc: 7k+

A/N: now with art of mothzawa!!!! thank you so much, feral!

Tucked away into the seam between Shizuoka and Musutafu is the UA Cryptobiology research centre. In the eyes of the public it was an extension of the nearby UA University and largely harmless. Cryptids kept there are not advertised, atleast, not the living ones.

The building is huge. An architectural giant, and a stain on the natural landscape. You’ve worked there for years yet still find yourself struck by just how foreboding it looks. Head ducked, you slip past the thin crowd protesting by the security gate, staff card hidden in the sleeve of your shirt.

While they are few in number their voices are loud and accusing. You flinch at the vitriol as you try to reach the scanner. There was a small earthquake in a nearby prefecture a few days ago which was the likeliest reason they had gathered here.

On days like this you couldn’t help the thought that no amount of scientific research would wipe away the countrywide consensus on cryptids. Very early on in your career you came to understand why your superiors lied about the live subjects. If these people knew the truth they could probably birth a calamity all of their own.

Unfortunately it is not only the monstrous who are a target. You lock eyes with a guard standing by the gates and slip your keycard into the shallow of your palm. Nodding in acknowledgement, he places the whistle hung around his neck between his lips and the moment you swipe in he blows, hard.

The gate clicks and unlocks with a short beep that is drowned out by the noise. You walk through and quickly push it closed behind you. Thank you, you mouth over to him, scurrying across the lot toward the main doors. He offers a flippant wave in return.

You enter the mouth of the lobby. It is a wide dome shaped room with high ceilings that houses most of the lecture rooms, and acts as a junction to other parts of the facility. Looking up, you can see each floor twisting into a spiral.

Centred is the reception desk; large and circular to make room for five staff members to be seated at any given time. Yamada is there today, dressed with his shirt cuffs pushed to the elbow, waist length hair braided up into a ponytail. He leans dangerously far back in his chair and twiddles a pen between his fingers. Your unease falls away at the familiar sight.

“Yamada,” you intone sternly. A grin pulls at your lips when he startles. The wheels on his office chair squeak as he rights himself. Wide sheepish eyes land on you and narrow in disbelief.

“Don’t do that,” he pouts, dragging himself closer to the desk, casting another nervous glance toward his coworker. “Bully! I could’ve broken my neck”.

“Then you would’ve thanked me for the two months paid sick leave”.

Yamada smirks, peering at you above his yellow tinted lenses “…Touché”.

You rest both arms on the countertop and lean over, holding a hand out to receive the sign in sheet. “You have a good weekend?” you ask, falling back into idle pleasantries while you skim over the names already on the register. Hatsume Mei. Huh, you think. She’s early.

“Kan and Kayama dragged me out drinking,” Yamada admits tiredly, massaging two fingers to his temples and closing his eyes, opening again to glare at your huff of laughter. “Sure love laughing at my misfortune, don’t’cha? I think you’re spending too much time with those ghouls”.

Signing your name in the next blank row, you give a brief glance at the watch on Yamada’s wrist to mark the time. “Comes with the territory,” you murmur, amused by the whine in his voice, setting the pen and register down on his desk with some finality. “Seen Mei today? She signed in already”.

“You bet. That girl is hard to miss,” he slides the sheets toward his front. “Speaking of…” you turn at the amused hum. His pen is pointed left like the needle of a compass leading directly to a familiar figure. Hatsume is clutching her clipboard with a tenuous grip as she scurries through the lobby, pink hair bouncing on her shoulders.

Her gaze finds you and she perks up. You lift a hand to return a wave as she beckons you frantically. It’s not entirely uncharacteristic of her. Hatsume was the rare type— she loved this job. Any small change or news could garner this reaction from her.

The excitable exclamation of your name draws the attention of the people around you, though the intern remains entirely unperturbed, almost tripping over her feet to get to you. “Mei,” you smile, instinctively stepping forward with arms held open in case she stumbles. “What’s all the noise about? Did something happen?”

“Food!” she pants heavily, grasping your forearm for balance. Her eyes are wide and beseeching as if the word alone was enough to explain her enthusiasm. It doesn’t.

Slow, you repeated, “…Food?”

The band keeping her hair tied back loosens while she nods. “It’s the mothman. He’s not eating!”

“He’s not…” you blink. “Oh!” The realisation trickles in, and you find yourself gripping onto Hatsume’s arms with bruising pressure as it washes over you. Your cheeks ache and she mirrors your grin.

Yamada clears his throat, interrupting before you have the chance to speak. “What’s so great about that?” he asks. “Wouldn't that be a sign that he’s sick or something?”

“No,” you breathe. Energy buzzes lightning-quick under your skin. Restless, you begin to shake Hatsume where she stands, and the two of you laugh in astonishment. “It means he’s hoarding!”

“Hoarding?”

“Mothman cryptids will take food back to their nests for their partners but,” the burst of joy dwindles, then. You worry at your bottom lip. “But… previous observations show that this behaviour should come after they’ve met a potential mate”.

“You think we should be worried?”

“I think it’s unusual”.

Hatsume doesn��t wilt. She shrugs your doubts off like water to a duck’s back, bouncing on the balls of her feet and handing over the clipboard. As always, the notes are verbose but organised. Detailed down to the very last time stamp.

There, written in pen, it states that at 11:58 the mothman was seen hovering by the food hatch. It clarified that there were no signs of aggression or posturing. Shouta was simply waiting. Shouta never waits. At 12:00 his usual weekly meal was given and instead of consuming it immediately as he normally would, Shouta gathered the food to his chest and took flight.

You’re rushing off toward the cryptid wing before Hizashi can press any further. Hatsume is at your heel, her quick light-footed steps echoing through the corridors.

The mothman enclosure is immense. Space is required— most cryptids can grow up to seven feet or above, and their wings even taller. Separated from your observation deck by a thick, bulbous glass window, you needed to crane your head just to catch a glimpse of the ceiling, which remained mostly covered by a canopy.

Flora covers the entirety of the forest floor. The foliage is so dense that sometimes seeing further is impossible, which in turn makes your job that much harder; but it’s worth it, for the sake of Shouta’s comfort. Unlike your predecessors, you strongly advocated for him. You viewed him as an individual, another sentient being with autonomy, and thought building a good foundation of trust could only lead to better data overall.

The facility is vastly different to the outside world. Blacked out nest boxes were placed around the area, hidden away for him to choose from however he pleased, as well as broad net columns where he can rest. Your team was instructed to begin adjusting the seasons months ago. Gradually, the temperature was changed to mimic fall. The fauna acclimated, dousing the otherwise dark and dreary forest in a warm colour palette.

Tawny leaves perched loosely on branches like a flock of goldfinches. Camouflaged behind them are two red dots emitting an unblinking glow. It is very unlike him to be this close to the deck so early in the evening. Waiting for more food, maybe. You note that thought down. You see his eyes follow the movement of your pen and smile.

Mothman cryptids are bipedal winged humanoids. They have always been notoriously aloof and difficult to study. Catching them outright was nigh impossible. They’re a highly intelligent species, and very sensitive to their surroundings. Your best bet was to inflict injury first and capture later when an infection set in.

Shouta was different from the start. So unlike his kin that you sometimes wondered if the research collated about him was permissible. He had been wounded badly by nearby collectors and managed to escape, but rather than relocate, he entered the facility of his own volition. You’d heard the stories. An eldritch being prying open the doors, thick steel bending like paper, the employees paralysed with fear, rendered unable to do anything except kneel under the intense pressure of his glare.

They had been so frightened that the shivering malachite bundle in his arms almost went amiss. A Peryton fawn matted with blood. Director Yagi supposedly spit blood of his own when he noticed.

Shouta never left after that.

Everyone figured the rumours were exaggerated. A mothman wouldn’t surrender itself for the sake of another, not even it’s own kind. That is the universal truth— all cryptids are incapable of empathy. Their sole purpose is to serve as the herald of death, and death bringers did not save life. They took it.

While you knew that to be ostensibly untrue it will never matter. Monster hunting was a tradition practiced for millennia. Accepting that they might be capable of emotion would cast doubt upon such practices. More than anything humanity needed justification for their wrong doings; condemning something as monstrous only renders such violence as heroic.

You, however, had a fascination with them since you were a child. Those unanswered questions and curiosities are what led you to cryptozoology, and ultimately, into cryptid behavioural research. Having Shouta’s care handed over to you was a dream come true.

Shouta was averse to people and made that known; keepers could be found petrified by the feeding hatch, trembling in place for hours if they weren’t careful. Which is why your superiors were greatly pleased by his reaction to you.

You couldn’t confidently say he liked you— could a mothman like anyone? But the cryptid was, at the very least, intrigued by his new handler.

Within the first meeting you recorded vocalisations that were previously undiscovered. Soft chittering and clicks, surprisingly pleasing to the ear; it had a hypnotic quality to it that could almost lull you to sleep. The common denominator was you— rather, Shouta only ever made those sounds when you were visibly anxious, and you often toyed with the notion that he was attempting to soothe you.

You tried not to indulge in such hypotheses as not to cloud your judgment. Humans had a bad habit of anthropomorphising the things they cared about. Countless cynics argued that animals do not love, they simply form attachments to those that provide for them. Shouta may only treat you better because you are the first human to show him sincere respect but that didn’t matter.

Whether your place in his life was just that of a nuisance or not, you cared for him and his wellbeing all the same. That’s what made this so invigorating— not only answers to questions that plagued your field for centuries, but the real possibility that your subject might finally have true companionship.

Your mouth twists as your thoughts drift, imagining the smell of decay percolating in one of his nest boxes now that he was hoarding. Shouta could eat anything within reason if he needed to, but his preferred diet was on the bitter side. Rotted fruits and the like which had a more acidic, sour taste to it, though he could be partial to dry pantry food in the hotter months.

Mothman have been known to feast on flesh, too, in desperate times. Though it is rare for them to acquire the taste for human meat; too mild and too rubbery.

If he truly is readying for a mate then he would soon need more food, materials and bedding. The foliage worked as a foundation but you’re aware mothman cryptids liked to weave silk or cashmere into the structure for the young to cling to and eat.

That gives you pause. Your grimace curls into a wide, exuberant grin, that you immediately shield behind the clipboard. We could end up with babies this year, you think. The first to ever be bred in captivity— a near impossible feat.

Shouta’s antennae are fluttering. Their movements fracture the stillness of the canopy and make known his position. You stare long enough for the dark blob amongst the trees to sharpen into a solid silhouette.

A mothman has a wingspan of around thirteen feet. These measurements aren’t entirely accurate, because Shouta refused to allow anyone to touch them, but the sheer size was obvious at a distance even where they remained tucked to his spine, cocooning him in darkness.

They are covered in loose tiny hairs acting as scales for insulation, while creating intricate, iridescent patterns along the inner forewings that can only be seen in moonlight when open— a gift saved in hopes of wooing a mate. Maybe you’d finally get a glimpse this year.

“Hey big guy,” you call out. Your voice jostles his wings and beckons him forward. Shouta balances himself on a thick cedar branch directly across from the observation deck, a rare sight. He is magnificent in the artificial daylight.

Hatsume releases an awed breath behind you. “Gah, he’s always so responsive to you! I’m jealous!”

Shouta barely acknowledges her presence. His attention is steadfast, pinpointed to your every move; unblinking, lest you disappear from vision. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just known me longer, is all,” you demurred, turning to her with a reassuring smile.

But she is seeing beyond you. The hair on the nape of your neck prickles and suddenly a sinistrous shadow stretches across the deck. Mei flinches back reflexively and you daren’t look back. What was ephemeral fear in her features blossoms into wonderment.

Then, a tapping sound that echoes in your chest. It is careful and somehow that makes it all the more daunting. Brushing off the unease, you pivot on your heel, coming face to face with Shouta. Both wings have hunched forward to create a cocoon of darkness, his pale face barely visible.

Another tap, accompanied by a smooth rumble. His large hand is pressed up against the glass. You step closer and his wingspan widens just a fraction. The light reflects in his eyes. He is right in front of you, so contrivedly real-looking that it feels like it must be fake.

Call it curiosity, or stupidity, or an amalgamation of the two. You outstretch your arm. The pane feels cold where your body presumes warmth. You align your palm with his and it swallows yours, fingers splayed open, still unable to reach the width of his hand.

“Hi there…” you exhale, having to crane your head to hold his gaze. Shouta’s jaw shifts as he clicks his teeth and you are reminded just how impressive a mothman cryptid’s hearing is. “You’re acting all out of sorts, huh. Want more food for the nest, right?”

Dark talons leave marks on the thick glass, hairline fractures stemming from point of impact. His gaze darkens. Hatsume gasps when he shakes his head and you can’t blame her. Cryptids rarely communicated directly with handlers.

“No?” you repeat, brows pinched into a frown. Then, to yourself, “Nesting materials, then? Already? But it can’t be, surely”.

The choice is a difficult one. Every potential mate your team introduced Shouta to throughout the years has been adamantly rejected. There was never an effort to impress or prove himself. He either flat out ignored them or attempted to kill them. You want to enable his new behaviours— to encourage it, even — but there was no mate yet.

Pseudocyesis comes to mind. Though this situation is far different, you wondered whether something in Shouta’s environment had triggered these instincts.

The rich baritone in his purr vibrates against your hand. His eyes blink slow and beseeching, full of apparent hunger, emitting that dewy red glow. Distantly, you register the dull scratch of pencil to paper. Rambling whispers fall from Hatsume’s mouth as she writes, documenting everything the way you taught her to.

“I think,” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. Your throat feels dry and the implication behind your next words stings. “I think he wants me to go inside his enclosure”.

A sane person would immediately put their foot down and tell you no. Director Yagi himself would try to talk you down. However, Hatsume Mei is a far cry from sane. She barely considers her own safety, let alone yours.

“What for?” she chimes impatiently. “I noticed he has been keeping an eye out for a specific person all morning— it must’ve been you. Do you think he could really be sick like Yamada said? Since he’s humanoid we can test if our medicines work on him!”

“Mei,” you interrupt, your voice cutting through her exuberance. She shrinks somewhat and you feel bad for being so sharp with her. “No, I’m not sure if he’s sick. And no, our medication only works to an extent. The dose needs to be dangerously high and cryptids burn through it faster than it can be replaced”.

Shouta observes the interaction. The tension in his wings looks ready to snap, and the feathery fingers of his antennae have started to shiver. You take in the sight of your overlapped hands once more and step away, clenching it into a fist at your hip.

“Anyone who goes into a cryptid’s den doesn’t come out,” Hatsume comments, tone uncharacteristically somber.

“I trust him,” you reassured, leveling the mothman with a contemplative stare. He ducks into the fluffy plumage around his neck and glares. “Mostly”.

Hatsume snickers. The weight in your chest lifts and you smile at her. She’s still young. Too young to bear any responsibility for what might happen.

“Something is telling me I have to go in there. It’ll keep me up at night if I don’t,” you continue, adding emphasis with a pointed finger. “This was my idea and mine alone. Do not send anyone in after me. Capiche?”

She gives a mock salute, “Yes boss!”

Each wing with a cryptid enclosure has a staircase leading from the observation deck to a feeding room. You descend the stairs, too aware of Shouta’s stare, which followed until you were out of sight.

The room is dull. Devoid of natural light, furnished only by three large chest freezers and a closet full of linens. There is a hatch the size of a shoebox that can be pulled open to safely deposit food through, and adjacent is a vault door reinforced with steel and concrete.

You open the closet and parse through the fabrics. Admittedly a long shot as far as ‘I come in peace’ gestures go, but the only thing you can think might help. Silk slides petal-soft between your fingers and you tuck it under your arm, joined by another cashmere blanket, smooth and noticeably light.

The vault door requires both a code and a staff card. You input the code and swipe your card. The affirmative beep pierces through your equilibrium. Shouta is not harmless. But you are, and you’re hoping he knows that.

A loud click echoes into the feeding room. You grasp the handle and take one last steely inhale before heaving, struggling with the incredible weight. You curse the door as it groans on its hinges, alerting everything nearby of your arrival.

Mothman feast on anything. Vegetation and flesh, fresh or rotted, but legend always spoke of their hunger for misery. They coveted disaster and fed on it, babe to breast, and somehow grew hungrier the more they swallowed.

You step into the enclosure. The door shuts with a loud foreboding slam and locks automatically.

Shouta does harm to those who would harm him. He feasts on fruit. On cereal and rice. You’d watched him suck through ten packets of coffee jelly, but never misery. If anyone were to ask you, you would tell them that Shouta conjured the very opposite of misery.

You remind yourself of that repeatedly until your thoughts coalesce into white noise. The earth is soft beneath your boots. Something darts through the treeline, gone in a blink, and you feel the hair on your arms stand on end.

Easing into the surroundings, you cautiously call out to him, “…Shouta? You here, big guy?”

A low hum resonates throughout the trees. You feel it more than you hear it, almost like a caress. It coaxes a familiar warm feeling into the pit of your stomach, willing all tension from your muscles until the blankets pinned to your side unfold, falling onto the ground.

A coronal mist has set in, orchestrated by a chattering sound you know well. Your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. It’s harder to breathe now. Shaking, you try to advance. Your body is quickly paralysed by the innate urge to flee.

Shouta’s presence echoes throughout the brush and sinks it’s claws into you— throbs under your skin in time with your heart. But if you ran, would that make his blood sing? Would he interpret it as a challenge to prove his worth, or a rejection for which to kill you?

The air is temperate. That perfect balance between cool and humid. Lush oranges and yellows branch out into every corner. Light bleeds through the thinning canopy, the ground dappled with sunspots. This isn’t such a terrible place to die.

You don’t hear or see him. Like before, you feel him first. Fear washes over you and steals your breath. Shouta is at your back, shaping himself to your body in a way that boasts how large he is in comparison. You stay stockstill while he touches you, nosing gently at your throat.

Finding your voice, you croak his name. An eldritch purr shudders through him and he grasps at your hips, pulling them back against him. You exhale at the obvious press of his cock to your back. Those soft chitters you had come to love drown out the panic that follows your realisation.

You were the intended mate.

Death stands behind you, arms cinched around your middle, mouthing along the nape of your neck like he loves you. The line between instinct and desire is deceptively thin. You wonder if Shouta knows the difference, or if he equates love with the heat of your blood spilling into his mouth, seams undone by the touch of his lips.

Your legs collapse beneath you, hitting the floor. A grubby applause from the dirt dances around your knees. Shouta accepts your dead weight as though it were nothing, his wings enveloping you both in an abrupt darkness.

Minuscule scales shimmer and reflect the glaring bioluminescence radiating from his eyes. Before you is a sky soaked crimson and blood spattered stars. “Is this…” you start, voice caught in your throat. It should be harrowing. People would call it a depiction of hell. You call it beautiful.

Shouta tucks his nose into your jugular with a warm hum and you feel sharp teeth protruding beneath his lips. Neck ruffle tickles soft against your skin, keeping you tight to his torso, enough that you think he could consume you whole. He’s pleased. You can tell.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest. It’s as if you are a teenager again, sneaking out with someone to see a clear starry night. The moment is incredulously human.

A mothman does not bare his wings to anyone but his mate. Even in flight they are too fast to be seen. You are so enamoured by it that you don’t notice the shift in gravity until the force on your body lightens and your stomach drops.

You squeak. Frantically clinging to his shoulders and turning your face into his neck, Shouta makes a sound suspiciously like laughter. Your body sways in his arms as the too-corporeal trees rise to meet him. What you cannot see you listen out for; leaves rustling, groaning branches, any sign to indicate where you’ve landed.

When his wings retract the shadows do not recede. You’ve been brought to a dark place. A few metres above your head there is a long slit of light bleeding into the lofty space. You’re distinctly reminded of a grave. That thought makes your heart thump hard against your rib cage.

A calm tenor breaks the silence and you refocus on the figure above. Red eyes bleed into the darkness. Long black hair drapes over his shoulders and blends into the light fluffed ruff of his neck, reminiscent of a scarf that extends down his chest and back into his large wings, which he has tucked closely behind him.

Broad feathery antennae flicker on top of his head, so distinctly insect-like, but his body and hands are startlingly human— it would be, if not for the black tipped talons that grew from each finger and toe.

“Are you still frightened?”

You realise you’re being cradled with deliberate care, as if you might shatter. He treats you like this is the first time he has ever met another living thing. There is barely any pressure behind the claws curled at the base of your neck. All you can think is that he’s warm. Soft. Guided by wonder, inhibitions lost in a concussive fog, you reach up to cautiously touch his face.

Shouta had multiple nests. The team before you took over had planted cameras in all of them only for their recordings to be destroyed, pieces left strewn by the food hatch. It agitated him, thus you respected those wishes. But in doing so you also cut off any means of behavioural observation.

This meant you knew of them, but nothing more than that. You had no idea which nests he actually used. You had no idea how he spun them, or what they looked like from the inside.

What you have been lowered into is not a grave, though it is deep and narrow. The bedding yields, padded under your back, emanating the smell of upturned earth and petrichor.

This is his primary nest.

Your tongue feels too thick for your mouth. “You can… you can speak?”

A black tipped finger hooks into the collar of your shirt. You feel it sharp like a knife's edge, and the fabric rips with barely any pressure. Shouta snorts. And then, “Your kind is strange. Presumptuous,” he traces over the swell of your breast. “And soft”.

There’s only intent to satiate his curiosity, but you feel something dangerously warm coil low in your belly. The broad, feathered antennae atop his head curl toward you, almost prehensile in nature, as if they can sense it.

“You can’t,” words fail you as his tongue glides over your pulse. “You’ve never spoken before. You can’t blame me for being surprised”.

“That wouldn’t be logical,” he murmurs. You exhale shakily as his teeth nip gently at your lobe, pressing what could be a kiss to the shell. “It’s not as if your primitive ears would be able to hear me through the glass”.

The baritone of his voice frissons down your spine and you find yourself clenching your thighs. Shouta braces over you until he is all there is— and you are all he sees.

You argue fruitlessly in attempts to maintain self control, “We could’ve talked through the speakers”.

“We could have. But then the other humans would know this part of me,” he replies plainly. “Is that what you want?”

You’re a little embarrassed by the immediate ‘no’ that rolls onto the tip of your tongue. You bite it and let your silence answer for you. A disservice to your team and to your research— you seek truths and yet the truth is you are secretly happy that this is yours and yours alone.

Shouta huffs. He brings your foreheads together and your knees part reflexively to make room for him as he settles between them. The shine in his eyes has dimmed into a simmer. It reminds you of a pyre after the fire has burned; the glowing ash left to cool overnight.

“If I had not played along and acted beastly you wouldn’t have paid attention,” he continues. You tremble as he slots against the cradle of your hips, a suggestive pulse felt between your legs. The size of his body forces your legs wider around his waist. His cock is heavy and the heat emanates through your work pants. He doesn’t move, and he waits.

“You…” you’re breathless when it hits you. “You could’ve left all this time”.

He rises slowly at your words and tilts his head, beckoning you to continue. There is an unwavering composure about him that leaves you uneasy. You got the sense he knew your thoughts before you voiced them.

“You stayed and cooperated with our research. Even though… Some of them treated you like an animal. You could be anywhere but here”.

Shouta gives a disapproving chitter. The sound devolves into a hum. He settles a large hand on the top of your head and leans back into your space, uncomfortably close, as if to impress the answer upon you. “Here is where I am supposed to be”.

He’s not a monster, just something that wants to belong.

Your hand smooths over his cheek to his hair, the other guiding his palm to your chest where your heart sits. He squeezes at your chest, curious. Gentle fingertips brush the antennae rooted in a crown of thick black hair. The sweet resonant purr surges and you watch the touch shudder through his body in awe.

Your blood sings, reacting to his desperate call with a burst of exhilaration. A thought crosses your mind— had it been you he was chasing, or this feeling?

Was this how it felt to be a predator?

“Here. With me…” you rasp, wetting your lips as your eyes fall to his mouth. Shouta smiles and you have to temper the urge to touch his teeth. “I’ve worked here for a long time. Why wait until today?”

“Courting takes time. And though I was sure of you I knew you weren’t ready,” he rasps, rocking up against your sex. A gasp catches in your throat and his antennae flutter in response. “I can smell that you are now”.

“Smell?”

Shouta hums an affirmative. “All creatures have a cycle. Your body changes over the weeks,” the hand over your heart descends to your stomach, resting above your waistband. The repetitive stroke of his thumb is doting, almost. “Soon you will be ovulating”.

You are torn between horror and amazement. The craving to write this down was insatiable. Truthfully it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Shouta could know that— he was finely tuned to his environment. That was the entire purpose of chemoreception.

Regardless, that knowledge instills a sense of vulnerability in you. The scales felt tipped entirely in his favour and there was nothing you could hide from him. It was equally liberating and frightening.

A quiet trill pulls you from your thoughts. He must pick up on your anxiety, because mothman crowds you back against the nest and you sink further with a weak smile, your fingers threading into his fur. Wildflowers and long grass borders your periphery. You hadn’t much chance to appreciate his hard work in the dark.

“Shouta,” you faltered. Perhaps you should be more concerned that giving yourself to him was never a question. “Are you sure it’s me you want? I’m just a human”.

“I see that,” he stated dryly. “But you are my little human. My mate. This is not up for debate”.

Memories surrounding your tentative relationship over the years come to the forefront of your mind. How purposeful and gentle he was, the obvious preference for your company, his willingness to share his secrets and weaknesses just to see you satisfied.

The pregnant pause is mistaken for hesitance. Shouta brings your hand to his throat, inner wrist tickled by the plumage. Soft hair trails up his neck and thins by his jaw. Behind him, his wings unfurl and stretch. Pushing the heel up to his jugular, you feel six deliberate clicks. The rhythm of each is individual, some pitched and others deep, and the silence between is different in length, almost similar to morse code.

“What did you say?”

“Your name,” he rumbles.

There is underlying significance you aren’t privy to, yet you feel it all the same. You meet his gaze. Skin feverish, breathes coming quicker. Your hips twitch helplessly and he bites back a croon.

“Okay. Touch me, ” you slowly coil your arms around his neck and bring him into an embrace. He goes doubtlessly, engaging you with knees settled either side of your hips.

Shouta cuts your clothes off carefully and with ease. The simple hook of a talon and they tore like thin paper. His tongue, long and tube-like at the tip, glides between your breasts, flicking over your nipples and watching with fascination. It’s as though the roles have switched. You are the subject now.

You laugh breathily as he nuzzles into you, palming at your soft stomach. Shouta works his way down your body, giving a curious churring sound as more of your body reveals itself. He tears away your pants, but rather than discard them, he tucks them into the borders of the nest.

The air feels good on your skin, cool where it kisses your arousal. “Hold yourself open for me,” he says. “I want to taste you”.

An overwhelming wave of embarrassment washes over you as he guides your hands to the back of your thighs, ankles hooked over his broad shoulders. Pressure behind his claw-tipped fingers, Shouta gently pries your folds apart to demonstrate his wishes. “Like this”.

You moan, bear down on his tongue at the first lick as it glides over your clit, a shudder rolling through your body at the threat of his teeth. He descends again and again with bottomless yearning, no longer hunger, rather like an elastic compulsion pulled impossibly taut.

A pleased chitter vibrates against you. His wings extend and shudder, looming above like tapestry. “So good,” he breathes in, shameless as he noses along your cunt. “So warm. You smell even better than usual”.

The muscles in your thighs clench as the narrow tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You push down into your heels with a weak cry of complaint and he obliges, gently pushing inside you.

Your breathing falters. “Sh—Shouta,” you croak, reaching down desperately to grasp his plumage the deeper he sinks. It feels never ending, flexing and twisting experimentally as he draws out, still keeping his lips pressed up against you.

Gradually he builds a rhythm. Observing raptly from his place between your legs, his gaze never strays, gleaming when your hips buck into his mouth. It’s his expression that spurs you on— that rapt, intense desire.

Shouta stretches you on his tongue, the obscene slick sound of saliva echoing throughout his nest. The tension low in your belly coils, taut, and you feel it pulse. Your toes curl and you let out a loud, broken moan that sounds like relief.

“Don’t stop. Feels so good,” you keen, balancing right at the crest. Shouta’s pace grows anxious the closer you get, his big hands palming at your thighs, talons pinching skin. He forces them wider as he presses his weight into you with a long groan. “Yeah. That’s it, make me cum. Oh fuck—!”

A moment passes without air, yanked under by the force of it. Your body wrings tight and the tension snaps. Undone, loose at the seams as he takes you through the aftershocks quaking through your body.

You return to yourself, registering the quiet hum reverberating in your skull. Shouta nuzzles your sensitive clit before making his way up your torso. He smells like sex. His ruff, chin and cheeks are wet with arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he licks over the seam of your lips, and shivers when they part to meet him.

The kiss is strange; not quite a kiss, more a press of mouths. You suppose it can’t be helped with teeth like his. His effort is far more endearing than it has any right to be.

Brief fatigue washes over you and settles into a giddy afterglow. The black spots in your vision dissipate. A short, soft chitter comes from his throat. The noise is familiar— they’re exactly like the sounds he would make when you were anxious.

“I’m okay, Shouta. You— You’re a bit too good at that,” you reassured, taking his face into your palms and feeling it in his cheeks when he smiles. The shifting wings behind his head draw your attention as they flutter. He’s near enough for you to reach out and stroke them.

They’re breathtaking. The texture is unlike anything you have ever felt before. You pause at his squirming, “Does it hurt?”

He huffed a laugh. You think that will never get old. “It doesn’t hurt”.

“Feels nice?”

“Too nice,” he says, stroking your hips. Lifting your hips, you grind lightly over his cock. You swallow, noticing how much it had grown, now completely unsheathed. Shouta reflexively chases the feeling, bucking up against your sex. You both hiss at the sensitivity.

Timidly, you ask, “Can I see?”

He nods.

The size is daunting. His cock is curved, long, but more notably it is thick. Fleshy in colour and hot, leaking a clear liquid over your hand. Ribbed around the shaft, the slight bumps slide under your palm as you bring your fist up to the narrowed head. No spikes. Good. If you met God you’d thank him.

It is crowned by sensitive skin, not unlike a human’s, but in gently pulling it back you find it reminds you more of an ovipositor. Shouta’s rumbling deepens, head hung between his shoulders. Drapes of long dark hair fall to curtain his face. His antennae quiver in place, wide red eyes looking back at you.

You feel yourself ache with unfulfilled arousal. Pressing your thighs together does nothing but tease. Shouta watches you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs, his chest heaving as you glide him through your wet folds, drenching yourself in his slick.

The cryptid pushes into you with a gentleness that is almost terrifying in its intensity— so out of place for a supposed harbinger of suffering. “Careful, little human,” he rasps, an ever present humming in his chest.

A pleasant tingling sensation begins to spread throughout your abdomen, relaxing your muscles, like sinking into the soothing heat of a hot bath. You’ve long shut off your avid questions, rendered thoughtless and pliant by the pressure. “Oh,” you exhale, struggling to keep your eyes open. He’s barely halfway in.

Shouta pulls out slowly and rocks back in, repeating the motion as you open up to him. You crane your head, jaw slack as you moan, reaching out to the immense silhouette above you. Everything about him is big. It’s all you can notice. He’s taking handfuls of you, kneading the fat at your thighs, hooking around them and pushing your knees toward your chest.

“Look at you,” his voice is thick and trembling. You whine, watching the way you swallow around him, clit swollen and twitching. “Perfect,” he rasps, the mix of your arousal dampening the fur around his base. He pulls out again, tantalisingly slow, and your legs start to shake.

“Shouta,” you choke, not knowing what it was you were asking for. He gives it to you anyway, rocking forward in one harsh movement, setting a pace that splits you in two. You can almost feel his cock is in your throat; touching parts of you you didn’t know existed; carving out space for himself and making a home of it.

The earlier mindfulness is gone. Shouta sets a divine pace. He shifts on his knees, gripping at your waist with his talons pressing into skin, pulling you down onto his cock. Praises have dwindled into a language you cannot understand, but you recognise those six successive clicks— he’s calling your name, over and over.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ah. What is—?!”

The hypothesis is reaffirmed by the sensation of him stretching you further, widening inside you, inflating as something pulses through his shaft, abandoning his body and slipping into yours. Your mouth falls open as heat prickles across your skin and what feels like a second orgasm crashes over you. You’re left suspended in a free fall that never seems to end.

It feels too good to panic about. Sperm packets or eggs or both— whatever they are, they’re smooth, cooling where they gather inside of you, and right pushing up against your sweet spot. Tremors wrack through your limbs and Shouta appears no better. His upper lip curls, wings fully presented and twitching.

Weak, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle him to your chest. Your fingers brush over the apex of his wings and with barely any exertion, he slams you back onto his cock, a loud groan drawn from his chest. His pelvis slaps against your clit and in a moment of lucidity, you feel the ground rise to meet you.

Rigidity bleeds from your muscles as you cum again, soon replaced by a wave of exhaustion. You grimace at the uncomfortable bloated feeling in your belly. Shouta is muttering, antennae curled and brushing the swell of your cheeks. You can hear his voice. Muffled, as if you were under water, “You did well, little flame”.

Thinking aloud, you mumble, “What if they don’t take?”

He nudges your chin, gathering you into his arms to cocoon you both, “I’ll make sure they do”.

[2-dsimp]

Monster rule 101: Don’t play with fire around your Mothman!—————-:—:————

Mothman! Dabi x monster hunter! Fem reader

—————-:—:——————:————:————-:——

🔞MDNI🔞

C w: Humiliation, asphrodiasic, slight mind break, degradation, praise, NFSW, monsterfuxking, overstimulation, breeding, impregnation, usage of cunt

—————-:—:——————:————:————-:——

You were on a mission.

A very dangerous mission that was a code gold also known as Legendary. Meaning that the monstrous threat was equivalent to a whole country being wiped off the map. However, due to certain circumstances only one solider could be dispatched to deal with the golden threat.

The reason for that being because of how hyper sensitive the Mothman is to overcrowding within its territory. The team dispatch leader decided to proceed with the utmost caution lest they trigger its frenzy mode. Which would ultimately result in the loss of lives country wide, burning underneath the raging pure blue flames of the otherworldly demon.

<< Have you located the Mothman? Over >>

“Yes I’ve got eyes on the area sir, permission to proceed?”

<< Permission granted. Over >>

You were chosen out of a select few individuals for being the cream of the crop, to carry out this dire mission to save all of mankind. If you could succeed then you’d be set for life! Having the fame and the riches that come along with it, all in exchange for exterminating the deadliest bug humanoid in existence. You’d say that’s a fair trade, since it was high risk high reward type situation.

But as you approached the abandoned cave you could feel a sense of dread wash over your entire being.

You were being watched.

You could feel the sweat accumulate upon your lush chocolatey skin littered in goosebumps. Then you heard a sharp chuff that echoed off the walls, seemingly the Mothman enjoyed watching you squirm from his focused attention.

Venturing even deeper into the unknown you tightly grasped at your equipment, a tool of reassurance you could say. That happened to be a flamethrower. Yes, out of all the weapons you chose a hazardous contraption that resembled a dragons breath.

Why? Mostly because you thought it’d be cool to go out in a blaze of glory should you happen to fail in your conquest to get the target in check. But it was also strategic in a way, since moths were attracted to light. You’ve had to find some kind of way to draw them out.

Too bad you didn’t get the chance to use it before you’re snatched into furry arms that secured you to the monsters chest. Which vibrated from his snarky greeting.

“You took too long enough for my liking doll, now shall we get down to business already? “

You could feel his bulge press up against the your ass, rubbing between your cheeks.

“I’m feeling a bit pent up”

He rasped impatiently into your ear, boy did his voice do wonders as it spiked your arousal. But you had a job to do, unfortunately. Gathering your composure you asserted yourself to the monster.

“You already know why I’m here right? Mr. Mothman.”

You could feel him chuckle darkly against your neck, highly amused by your sense of professionalism. Even while having his dick steadily grind against your back, covering you in clear fluids. Making your thighs shake in excitement.

“Obviously, but just call me Dabi, dollface. You’re gonna wear it out in a few moments might as well get a lil practice in ya?”

You were dumbfounded. Could he be implying what you’re thinking—

“Judging from the look on your pretty face, I’m guessing your little agency didn’t fill ya in on our little inside deal huh?”

He purred

You could feel his loosened grip completely leave your body. Allowing you to be able to face the Mothman hunched over in all of his 7ft glory. He had tuffs of black fur covering his toned ripped chest, arms, and legs. His overall body type was lean and slender. The dark colored wings sprouting at large from behind, before being folded back neatly into place. To avoid you from seeing his jagged scars littered across them.

“All I can say is that you’re in for one hell of a ride once I get my hands on you Baby. So Outta the kindness of my heart I’ll give you a 5 minute head start—”

He paused, as you gave him an warm embrace of your own. Grinding against his bulge that continued to grow even further against you. He looked down at you in disbelief, but it wasn’t before long until he connected the dots.

“ Don’t tell me, You’re one of those monster fanatics aren’t ya?”

To be quite frank yes. You were an absolute fan of monsters, you fantasized about getting close and becoming friends with one. But now you were gonna be the mate of a code legendary?? You couldn’t believe your luck. Plus it was the mission you were given, so as the loyal solider that you are. You gratefully accepted your fate with no questions asked.

The Mothman merely laughed in the irony of it all, a monster hunter wanting to be fucked by a monster it was so priceless. A devious smirk planted on his face As he bended over down to your height charred lips barely touching the shell of your ear only to whisper darkly of a precautionary warning of what you’re getting into.

“ You do realize that I’m in heat right doll?”

He reached his hand down running his tempered claws down the fat of your thick ass giving it a tight squeeze before hooking your leg up to leave some room for him to freely press his huge twitching bulge against your moist mound.

“I’m barely hanging on by a thread, so Don’t hold anything against me if I lose control got it?”

It wasn’t long until you were on the brink of being fucked to death by the Mothman of your dreams. face pushed down into the cocoon like nest he prepared in advance as his extended feeler limbs sprouted out from his sides, to grasp at you from behind hooking onto your waist. Keeping you grounded on his intrusive dick. While his primary arms wrapped around you tightly to play with your breasts that jigged violently from his ruthless thrusts from behind.

“You’re sucha pretty lil thing for me aren’t ya?”

The strong pheromones that wafted off from his wings made you feel so vulnerable and helpless within his smoldering embrace. You couldn’t keep count of how many times you’ve came alone from him just penetrating your cervix. It was as if you were on cloud nine enjoying the way his cum covered cock kept digging even deeper inside your snug snatch trying to ensure that you’d get pregnant with his brood.

“Your slutty pussy just can’t seem to get enough of my dick, don’t worry doll I’ll make you take all of it”

He murmured eyes staring down dangerously at the way your pliant body bended to his ministrations. He payed close attention to the way his dick continued to be devoured by your juicy cunt. That sucked and messaged his thick cock inside the hot mesh of your inner walls determined to be flooded with his baby batter.

“ Mmh D-Dabi please I can’t—!”

You babbled dumbly with drool hanging down from the corners of your fucked out plump lips. As the intensity of his rapid heavy thrusts began to increase its assault against your quivering quim.

You tried to crawl away from yet another approaching high that was dead set on crashing down on your senses. But his firm grip on your neck yanked you back into reality.

“ Aye Dollface don’t ever try to fuckin crawl away from me again, you’re mine you got that?”

Dabi hissed, giving you a sharp tug on your butterfly locs and a harsh bite on your shoulder as a fair warning.

The cave was emitting loud strange sounds from the inside, alerting to anyone from around the area to vacate the premises immediately. In case the Mothman were to come out of his home and start wrecking chaos. But little did they know that Stowed away deep inside the cave for a whole week did you lay beneath the Mothman in all your naked glory.

Freshly fucked all the way to Sunday during his still ongoing heat cycle. Where the only thing covering you was his semen that painted your caramel skin from your breasts down to your overused cunt stuffed to the brim with his cum that trickled out from your puffy pussylips. Only to be pushed back in by his long veiny dick just to ensure that the next of his kin would live on inside your womb.

Hey At least you prevented a worldwide tragedy, right?

[wilwywaylan]

Happy Barricade Day where our lovely characters have fun in the park and go to a protest that goes perfectly well before going to the park and laying in the grass and everything is perfect and...

I had that idea floating around since Feuilly's week last year, and this is as good a Barricade Day drawing as any :D I call it the "Because" drawing because of the pose they used during the song "Because" in the movie "Across The Universe".

That one took "only" 19 days to do, and I'm very, very proud of it !!!

Bahorel's awesome shirt comes from @crow-songs-at-dawn.

Happy Pride, everyone !

That one also has a text by @crow-songs-at-dawn that goes with it !

--

Nothing or no-one could resist Prouvaire's puppy eyes. This was a well-known fact among the Amis : when their resident dreamer wanted something really, really badly, he'd use his ultimate weapon. Even R knew to stop ranting about the bleakness of life and the futility of the cosmos when those heterochromatic eyes turned to him. So when Montparnasse felt the puppy eyes turn on him, he crossed his arms and shook his head.

No. It's not happening.

Please?

A picnic in a park with all your friends sounds like a special kind of hell. Will I have to sign a petition?

Three, at least.

Oh joy.

Must you be so dramatic? It's just for an afternoon, it'll change from your usual nightly hobbies, I know. Montparnasse rolled his eyes and :

I'm not sure I'd enjoy spending all that time having Enjolras look at me like a disapproving parent, or lecturing me about something or other that really doesn't need to be his problem.

I know he can be intense.

He likes the sound of his own voice. A bit like - whatshisname - Alphabet Boy. Prouvaire cocked his head and tried to hide a smile.

You're just being difficult on purpose. You like R and don't even try to deny it.

Not enough to share a martini with.

You don't share martinis with me, either.

You don't like martinis.

I like you when you've had a few, though…

Flirting won't get me to say yes to -

But Prouvaire didn't let Montparnasse say another word before pushing him down on the bed and kissing him. They were still undressed and it was a sunny summer morning, and kissing Montparnasse was always one of Prouvaire's favourite things to do. Usually because it got his grumpy night-owl boyfriend to mellow out and smile. Ah, there was the smile he was looking for, along with a crinkle in those dark eyes.

Me trash-talking your friends turns you on a little, does it?

Only because I know you're not really serious.

Is that a challenge? Alright then. Someone really should tell Pontmercy that the entire "starving student with a heart of gold" aesthetic wasn't cool even when it was.

No-one says "cool" anymore, 'Parnasse.

Of course they do. What they don't say anymore is anything on the lines of "fantastic" or "amazing", or whatever else Mothman seems to have read in Pride and Prejudice. Or those wierd interjections Joly seems to emit like some sort of human shaped infrawave.

Prouvaire couldn't help but smile and placed a kiss on Montparnasse's collarbone.

You're horrible.

Promise, I won't tell them you find me hilarious.

I'm dating a criminal, I like to live dangerously.

I applaud your bravery. But I'm still not spending the afternoon with them. Seeing so much sweetness makes my teeth ache.

Cosette and Marius are adorable, I know.

Still amazes me she'd choose him, she seemed to be the only sensible one of your group. I suppose appearences are decieveing, she chose Eponine as well, after all.

So did you at some point, if rumours are true. Did Montparnasse feel the tell-tale signs of a blush creeping up his neck? If he did, he ignored them and countered with a cocky grin.

The same rumours like those who say you and Muscle Man had a burning romance before he turned his sights to the resident squirrel?

Well, you've seen the muscles Bahorel has, you can understand the attraction.

Hmmm… I've seen more attractive since.

Now who's attempting flattery?

Prouvaire managed to slip out of bed and out of Montparnasse's arms. It was soon going to be time to leave if they were going to be on time for the picnic. Everyone would be bringing a dish and he'd spent a good chunk of the previous evening making rice salad and some special brownies. Enjolras would frown at the extra ingredient but even he would eat some because he was nowhere near as tight-laced as Montparnasse tended to think. Rummaging through his drawers while getting dressed he found something he'd forgotten he ever had and threw it towards the bed, smiling as the other young man caught the object. And then turned those pretty brown eyes towards him.

How are heart-shaped sunglasses supposed to make me change my mind?

They're not, I just think you'd look really really good in them. You'll be turning heads.

I do that already.

Sue me for wanting to show you off. There came an almost amused laugh. This was a very good sign - he could read Montparnasse like an open poetry book and they'd be on their way to Montsouris Park together. He just needed a little more time.

Come on, get up.

Jehan. I'm not coming.

Please? Don't you want to see how verbose R can get after a couple of space brownies?

Does the man ever shut up is the thing I'm more interested in.

Bossuet and him have been known to talk an entire night, I've been witness to a few of those conversations, and Musichetta has said so herself.

Why are all the women in this friend goup attracted to wierdos?

Says the one who dated Eponine.

Better dating 'Ponine than, I don't know, Pontmercy. I'd have died of boredom.

Oh, you'd have found a thousand ways to spice things up. So, will you be wearing black, or black to our little picnic?

I hate you so much.

Montparnasse finally relented and got out of the messy bed and started to dig through his clothes. Those damn puppy eyes had won again.

I swear if Gavroche says one single thing about these sunglasses, I'm gone.

You get riled up so easy by a ten year-old.

He's extremely annoying. Perhaps Feuilly can take him on his next boring museum trip and lose him there. Prouvaire came closer and grinned, playing with the heart-shaped sunglasses on Montparnasse's nose.

You're finding less and less reasons to rag on my friends, it's funny.

Some are less annoying than others.

You didn't find anything to say about Courfeyrac, I noticed.

He wears a bowtie.

The audacity~

----

Happy Barricade Day, everyone :D

[chemicallywrit]

Happy #AudioDramaSunday! A day late lol, I was slow this week. But Kingmaker Histories is back! Super Suits is back! Starfall is back! So much good work this week! Let’s goooooo

🪐 I have been listening to Leylines since it started because I love Good Story Guild, and Leylines is so cool. It’s a prestige family drama wrapped in a neat scifi concept and this week’s episode in particular really drive home the family dynamic that makes this show special. Listen to Leylines and cry about brothers with me.

🐺 Stories from Ylelmore continues to absolutely kill me. I think Rion’s problems with his werewolfism resonates with a lot of different real life challenges to being alive—racism, transphobia—but in this ep it felt like a potent nod to ableism as well. At what point does someone get to do something risky for their own mental wellbeing? At what point do one’s friends get to deny your choices to protect you? I don’t want to see what this is going to do to the kids’ friendship, except that I have to know.

🌊 Tales from the Fringes of Reality always presents us with these small perfect images of family care or unexpected friendship, but Paul Warren’s sentient moss is maybe the best thing I’ve ever heard. The focus this episode on slowing down, appreciating the moment, and resting really struck a chord. It was perfect.

😈 Forgive Me! is SO GOOD. This episode bright in Jeffrey Cranor, always a treat, to tackle fears both real and intangible that religion brings into our lives. I was raised religious and…woof. Like this character is right, the candy-coated Sunday School version of the Bible is incomplete, and does nothing to prepare a kid for the real and actual danger in the world. Especially in light of the recent hurricanes which are likely exacerbated by climate change, how are we supposed to react? It has a pretty satisfying ending for a question without many good answers.

🌝 Dead Space: Deep Cover ended this week as well, and oh jeez louise. This makes me want to play the video game, and i don’t really do video games. Highly recommend, it is a scifi horror treat.

Hey! My sweet baby kitty Mothman had a vet bill come up this week that I was less than prepared for, so if you like the stuff I make (like Inn Between, The Dead, and Re: Dracula) and this post, could you consider buying me a ko-fi?

Obligatory cat pic! Hark, a podcat!

[whereserpentswalk]

They say there was a monster hunter, who had killed countless cryptids and entities, who fell in love with a vampire. They fell in love when they were fighting, but as they rolled around it soon felt as if they were playing, and soon they kissed, and he forgot about her fangs that could have so easily bitten him. And for once he chose not to kill a monster.

And she told him that she could be with him, and be his lover, for as long as he wished. But she reminded him that she was a free being, that she would never be tamed by him, and never made to put down her weapons, and be made to be like a human bride. She would never be able to marry him by any law, never have sex with him or bare his children, never take him as her only lover, or his god as her only god, and when he died her life would still be far from over. And he agreed with his words, but hoped she would change her mind some day on all things.

As as the hunter was still young, he let her hunt with him. She could see and hear better than any human, and knew where her fellow unseelie lurked. She could hypnotize a mothman as he shot at it from the ground, and could track a werewolf in the darkest of nights. And they would run together across city streets in the moonlight, and for a time their love was true. And all the local bars and local artists began to know their names well, and as the cold autumn night winds blew in their hair, they knew eachother at their best. Soon they had an apartment together, and he would brush her hair in the morning light as she slept.

At first they thought they were alike. But as he saw her hunt more, saw her mouth open wide into a mess as fangs and sharp teeth and then fold back to human shape, saw her run naked to chase down a stray goblin, and saw her sexless body naked, with scars from where her humanity was lost, he began to see her as a wild beast he had on a leash. And as she saw all the things he hunted, how willingly he would trust the testimony of humans, and how little he would show ugly things mercy. There were many creatures she had to convince him not to kill, as many as there were creatures she helped him kill, and she too felt she was hold a leash with a wild beast at the other end more and more as time went on and on.

And as he got older and older, and he began getting stranger and stranger freinds. Strange to the vampire at least, to the monster hunter they were very normal. No longer did he know the poor, the students and teachers and programmers and artists. Soon he had freinds who worked in finance, in law, who ran startups, or women who lived like pets in their husband's laps. And suddenly he wanted her to look presentable to them, even if they knew she was a vampire she couldn't be the kind they would be afraid of. Her mouth couldn't open all the way, it had to remain in a human looking state. And she couldn't spread her wings, and she had to move like a human, and dress well around them. And when they ate she couldn't drink blood, she just had to be served mortal food, and state at it as she ate nothing. And he'd pet her little head as he answered so many questions for her.

And as he got older still he began to have richer and richer clients. Fewer people in danger and more and more people looking to get rid of "problematic elements". And more and more did the hunter look at the vampire and realize that he was older now, and she was still young. And he wondered if he should have told her to transform him when he was still young, and make him like her, of the unseelie kind, forever young. Yet he thought he was too late for that, not knowing how much older he still had to grow.

And eventually, as he was older, and his clients ever richer, he told her that he was moving. He didn't ask her. He told her. And it was assumed she'd move with him. And he took her to a town, just outside of the city limits, where you needed a car to leave. And there was nothing to do at night, and no cryptids or entities but her. And there was a big house with a TV. And he would drive into the city to hunt, without her. And she would no longer walk the city streets, free and wild, and she would no longer have freinds outside of him. And she was alone, for the first time in centuries she had nobody.

And once, after they had lived together in that town for years. As he had grown older, he told her that it was time she finally slept with him. He pointed to his body and explained to her that he had needs as a man, and she had duties as his wife, and it was the first time he ever called her his wife. And as she told him no, he pulled down his pants, and began to force her mouth open. And it did open, but he had forgotten how wide it did open, she had made it look human for him for so long, and soon the bottom half of her face had once again shown itself as a mess of sharp fangs and many jaws.

They say she flew back to the city that night. And say that his body still sits in that empty house. Cold and abandoned, stripped of pants, and drained of blood, doomed to be forgotten.

[power-handmaiden]

Day 283: Lesbian Ankylosaurus Skater Rims My Bowl And By Bowl I Mean Butt

HELL YES THAT'S MY FAVORITE DINOSAUR!!

ANYWAY, I mentioned in my post about "Mothman Quarterback Ghost In My Tight End: A Trans Buckaroo Tale" that I love tinglers about sports for reasons that I didn't entirely understand. I think this one in particular made it click for me. A lot of tinglers are about creativity- and Dr. Tingle has a very expansive view of what counts as a creative pursuit. (LThis is something that was discussed in length at the live event I attended this year- to Chuck Tingle, creativity goes far beyond visual art, music and literature. It's an act we all take part in by virtue of being alive, all of the things we do that affect the world around us and our own inner worlds. Athletics are clearly another form of creativity by this perspective, and that's a view on them that makes Dr. Tingle's writing on them so enjoyable. For someone like me who's not into team sports this connection to creativity is a lot less obvious when football is concerned, but it's as clear as day when the story is discussing a skateboarder practicing her tricks and developing her own personal style. (Now that it's clicked I can apply it to so much. The dynamic between a football team is a creation of the coach and players. The atmosphere among the crowd at a baseball game is a creation of the fans. I GET IT NOW....!)

This tingler concerns itself with both the negatives and positives of paying attention to others' creativity. There's always the danger of comparing oneself to others too much, as the protagonist does at the beginning of this tingler, but it's a powerful act to participate in the exchange ideas that culture is built on. As is the message of so many tinglers, it's about finding the balance. In this case, the balance between finding inspiration without tying too much of one's own importance into how one compares to those who inspire them. I love the way this tingler makes a statement on this aspect of artistic inspiration, not with another writer protagonist (no offense to all the writer protagonists), but with a different angle in a one-sided sports rivalry.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

wait what if httyd reader was kinda the black sheep of their tribe due to them having to constantly hide the fact they are a dragon hybrid

due to the tribe they were raised in they believed dragons were beasts that would kill them the first chance they got and its only when they finally succeeded in shooting down a dragon/dragon hybrid to prove that they belonged with the rest of their human tribe

they immediately ran to see what they had to show off knowing the dragon/hybrid would still be alive due to only being shot with a net…they knew they’d need to finish the job themselves they just didn’t know if they could force themselves to go through with it for others approval

in the end they ended up finding they shot one of the teens down and couldn’t bring themselves to kill them when they saw their reflection in the weapon they wield…they didn’t want to do this…they didn’t want to be this…

they apologized endlessly to the dragon/ hybrid teen as they patched up and nursed the injuries they caused fully expecting the teen to attack them or just leave them and return to their own family when they’d finished only to be surprised and terrified when the dragon/hybrid teen grabbed reader with their claws/ with their teeth and flew off with them unbeknownst to reader that their new friend caught a glimpse of the wings they kept binded beneath their shirt as they were nursing them back to health

-

wow this turned out so much longer than i expected sorry XD

Oh... That's it, this is becoming a full AU... Good job, @mothmans-kingdom...

Reader didn't want to stick out. They wanted to fit in. Yet no matter what they did, they never seemed to get along with the others of their tribe. They viewed dragons as beasts, hideous monsters, demons, who would eat them and burn down their village if given the chance. And Reader... Reader thought dragons were beautiful. They were dangerous, yes. Deadly, even more so. But... Reader knew they couldn't be entirely bad. Their hidden wings, and filed talons told them otherwise...

They finally had the chance to prove themself, to prove they belonged in their tribe: They had to shoot down a dragon, or a hybrid. Reader didn't want to do it. They didn't think they could live with themself if they did it. But... as they were about to turn away, to stop the trigger, someone pushed them, sending the crossbolt flying, up and up and up, straight into... a hybrid. Its shrieks were loud, wailing and mournful and angry, as it crashed out of sight... And all Reader could feel was dread.

The next day they set out to find the poor beast. The woods were thick and deep, hiding most of the trail, yet a few broken branches and scuffed dirt led Reader straight to the being. And Reader, looking at them, couldn't plunge the dagger in.

The beast looked like... like them.

Wings along their back, sharp talons for nails, a tail that twitched in pain, and eyes... Such sad, lonely eyes, that stared deep into Reader's soul.

And Reader decided to heal them, rather than kill them.

Apologies spewed from Reader's mouth, and Reader quickly knelt down, pressing their head down in submission, and slowly asked to look at the wound... They looked back up, and when they weren't bitten, they gently felt the wounded area. With careful hands, they brought the crossbolt out, apologizing and promising to never do such a thing again. Their rag was pressed into the wound, and Reader tore a strip from their shirt to wrap around the wounded leg, patting it and making reassurances to the poor hybrid.

It kept looking at Reader, shocked and quiet, curious. Once Reader patted their leg, telling them it was done, they got up, testing their weight on it. They wobbled a bit, their face scrunched up for a second in pain, but it settled. They warbled something at Reader, then offered a small smile and a clawed hand out... Reader shook it, careful not to scratch their hand open on the talons. The hybrid kept warbling and hissing and chirping, and Reader sighed. They apologized once more, turning to leave...

Then talons caught them, dragging them into a warm embrace. The hybrid made a sad, questioning noise, and Reader told told they had to go back to the village-

The hybrid hissed, their eyes turning to slits, then with a flap of their wings, they rose, bringing Reader with them... Reader couldn't help but bite back a shriek, whining lightly as they tried not to look down. A warble came from the hybrid again, and slowly, the two were off, leaving to another island, far over the waters and away from the village Reader called home...

The hybrid had been on their first dangerous raid the other night, yet had unfortunately been shot down. Their parents and siblings and friends kept crying out for them, yet they couldn't move due to the pain in their leg blinding them. They cursed and wailed, begging the Great Dragon Gods to free them, to save them, or to at least grant a merciful death...

The next day, they met their attacker. It was some scrawny, trembling thing, possibly close to their age. Huh. At least it wasn't a baby that took them down... Yet the teen never plunged their dagger in. They made upset, apologetic noises at them, even lowering themself, sniffling. It was then they got a peek at the wings hidden under their shirt, cramped and hiding from the world. Looking closer, they saw the nails of the teen, filed and suspiciously sharp... So they were a hybrid, too...?

Oh. Oooooh...

The humans must have taken them, them, and when this teen saw that they were the same, they apologized! It made sense. They must feel so confused. Scared, maybe? Did the humans force them to hurt them? Or was this other hybrid trying to prove themself?

Soon, they were making a questioning noise, and pointing to the weapon sticking out of their thigh. They didn't say anything, just letting them work as they slowly pulled it out. If a pained cheep left their lips, it wasn't like the adults could hear them. Soon their leg was being patted by a rag, soaking up their blood, and the teen was apologizing again in their strange language. They tore a piece of their shirt off, and fastened it around the rag on their leg, making a make-shift bandage. Ha, they were clever, too...

They couldn't help themself as they chirped their thanks, and testing their leg, bit back another pained noise. Their caretakers wouldn't let them out of the nest for weeks after this... Yet they were able to walk, just slowly. Their new friend? made an apologetic noise again, then went to leave...

They took that time to snatch them into a hug, wanting to thank them and figure out where they were going... Their new friend kept trying to explain, their voice even reaching the right pitch to match their language for a minute, enough to make out village-town-home...

No. NononONONO!!! No more bad humans! With an angry hiss, they grabbed the poor hybrid, flying up and away from that forsaken island. They tried to reassure them, telling them about their home and caretakers and friends, wanting to calm them, if only a little...

Oh, the others were gonna love this new friend! Maybe they can be siblings! They're so happy...

[themushroomgoesyeet]

I apologize for breaking schedule already; this took me a while to figure out and I guess I accidentally forgot to actually write this up yesterday (Sunday is going to be the day that I post these, unless I decide otherwise btw)

Anyway!

Arcana characters as cryptids

(see I told you it wouldn't all be Disney)

Asra - the Loch Ness Monster

Water theme? Check

Mysterious to a mind boggling degree? Check

Is it a dinosaur that the asteroid missed? Is it an ancient Celtic creature with nebulous shape-shifting magic? Is it just a hoax? Who knows! Certainly not us, and I feel like this fits Asra's "no gender only magic and adventure" vibes

Both of them have an increasingly frustrating ability to disappear at random and only be seen when they want to

Julian - Mothman

Big, blanket shaped, black and red color palette, sexy for some people

Did I just describe Mothman or Julian?

Both also have a bad habit of materializing from/melting into the shadows

I think if Julian were to find this post likening him to such an edgy, mysterious creature he'd be thrilled

Muriel - Bigfoot

I mean is there really even a question about this one

Literally all you have to do is make Muriel hairier and have bigger feet and you're all set

Both of them live out in the middle of the woods & don't seem to care for company

Bro basically is a cryptid to some Vesuvians

Lucio - Goatman

I feel this needs even less explanation than Muriel's tbh

Especially since a nice chunk of this fandom double as BuzzFeed Unsolved fans

Fuck you goatman

Nadia - sphinx

Ok so I'll admit this is where I started running out of ideas

Hear me out tho

I know that some of you will say that sphinxes are mythological creatures and not cryptids, and personally I disagree; I bet in a thousand years archaeologists and the like will look back on our cryptid studies and be like "man, these guys had a weird mythology"

So long story short sphinxes are just ancient cryptids

There are two flavors of sphinx, both of which I think fit Nadia well

Greek sphinxes were usually portrayed as guardians - usually of cities, gates, and doorways - and (in the case of Oedipus) challenged people with riddles. As ruler/protector of Vesuvia, I think it's safe to say that Nadia slots into the guardian role quite nicely

I'm not as familiar with Nadia's route but I imagine she'd also enjoy riddle games

Then there's the Egyptian flavor of sphinx; while these are also guardians (of tombs and temples specifically), they are also representations of Pharos and their closeness to the gods, as well as symbols of their strength and ferocity

And of course we love the strong & independent queen that is Nadia

Portia - Tonttus/Nisse/Gnomes

For those who don't know, Tonttus are creatures from Scandinavian folklore; they look like tiny men with white beards and colorful, conical hats

While their description doesn't fit Portia (aside from being incredibly small in stature), their actions and temperament certainly do

If treated well, Tonttus will become guardians of homesteads and farms, helping with chores, caring for livestock, and warding off danger and misfortune.

If treated poorly or insulted, Tonttus will instead cause mischief in the place that they live, playing tricks, stealing from the family, and sometimes even killing livestock

Now Portia may not go as far as killing animals, but she's definitely got a short temper at times and is a wild prankster

I almost forgot about these homely little creatures but I'm glad I found something that fits Portia's cottage core vibes so well

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

Okay a different Au where all the listeners are cryptics/Eldritch horrors.

Like boo kept it a secret since they didn't want to freak out Al. Well they're more like a hybrid but have a longer life span bc of the cryptic part of their biology. Instead of a gun killing Derek it was Boo showing him their true form. The horrid screams Derek let out was all everyone needed to not go in. They're a shadow one bc of a fic I read.

Casper being a powerful ghost that can make their body physical think Danny Phantom. So when Charlie called them Casper they un ironically loved it. But when they're really pissed they'll make everything float in the room and forbid anyone if they tried to hurt their rat boy.

Even Rook deciding to play around with Auron but ends up falling in love and being very protective over him. They could be like a...playful spirit like a Kitsune. They weren't joking when they told Auron they were dangers as him...obviously more. But he has slight control over them.

Finn obviously gets with a plant cryptic or eldritch horror. Like a plant person, after watching how much he loves plants they decided to chat with him. When a plant just isn't doing well they use their powers to help it grow stronger. They also have a secret garden for him.

Story!Finn gives me like a time or owl eldritch horror. Since we know he's a mage and probably lives longer. His lover might also have a part in playing with that. But they help with overseeing everything in the universe and is trying to fix his mistakes. But mostly is just living their best lives with him.

Seth to live out his promise of bedding the mothman gets a moth crypid s/o. They are able to use glamor to hide some features and their wings are hidden away easily. They show him one night and he's geeking tf out. Lil cryptic nerd. And no we don't know mothman but he could he a distant cousin.

Faust has a star type eldritch horror s/o. Since they lived for so long they wanted to come to earth to do whatever. Streaming came easy since they were use to so many people's attention being on them. They like this silly blue haired man. They show their half true form bc the real one will drive anyone mad. A star tattoo is on their forehead as their 'third' eye.

[adobealmanac]

Hello! I am working through reading through the information on your blog. The search function on this app is notoriously horrible though. Might try to use my laptop. I would like to know if you have any thoughts on the term cryptid

Personally I believe, through experience, that beings that get put into the cryptid category or spirits or gods who would have been revered in antiquity by indigenous people, and still are, and I still do them

But that because of the lack of offerings or resources or praise or worship that they have become accustomed to, thanks to colonization, they are now in a reduced state with limited influence

Uhh. All of the beings who are Gods to me are put in this category. Wampus is a cat goddess. The other one doesn't like me to share his name as much I think but he is devil like. A psycho pomp, guardian of crossroads, teacher of witchcraft, Lord of the outcasts, etc. I would also like to know, genuinely. What you think about this. I want to pray to El chupacabra. Have the Jersey devil and the mothman. Lol. I don't need validation as such but I guess more specifically, what do you think of the term cryptid, and can El chupacabra potentially be honored or worked with, without the destructive aspect? I believe so, personally. Have a good one 🤍

Cryptids - Cultural appreciation or appropriation?

You stated this issue very well. Many creatures that are considered to be cryptids are often removed from their cultural contexts therefore limiting the extent of what their power is -- their origins and folk traditions are effectively lost due to this. One common one I consistently see being forced into the "cryptids" category is La Llorona. She is not a cryptid, but is a vengeful spirit from the Southwestern USA and Mexico. People often use the term cryptid with her.. which just sort of lumps her into a category in which she does not belong. You can't hunt her, for she is already dead. Nor can you spot her, since seeing her is essentially a death sentence.

Due to this "cryptidification" there have been numerous pieces of media that have been published by people outside of her culture that represent her inaccurately. I personally dislike many of the movies where she is the villain, as.. to me she is more-so a vengeful spirit that is easily avoided. She doesn't seek out people, but if they stumble into her territory, well, that's on them. Also, in the movie she is defeated. That is just inaccurate in my opinion, as she isn't exactly defeatable. She is avoidable, but you couldn't kill her even if you tried. I do not like these portrayals, as they misrepresent her and provide incorrect information according to her true story.

In essence, cryptid hunters or cryptozoologists should focus more on the cultural aspects of the beings they intend to hunt or research, as that is a key component to who these creatures are and what they represent. Instead of simply reading other crpto-fanatics own views on the beings. Stripping the cultural background from any entity is in essence only looking at them through a two dimensional lens. You simply cannot fully understand a "cryptid" without looking into the folkloric traditions and tales told by the people who grew up with said being. Essentially, they should try their best to learn from the culture rather than appropriate from it.

Onto this idea of worshipping more "harmful" or "evil" entities, such as El Chupacabra. I've touched on this idea for La Llorona in a blogpost before, however I do not believe all entities can be talked about in the same way. I urge people not to worship, invoke, or attempt to seek out La Llorona as she is intrinsically dangerous. However, I do believe you can work with aspects as her, or a more archetypal version of her, as it is not exactly sentient in the same way that she is. I think El Chupacabra could be worked with if you really wanted to, although I'd strongly urge you to protect any pets you live with prior to working with him... heh. As El Chupacabra does not harm humans, I think its plausible to work with him, so long as you are respectful and protected of course. To be frank, I could see him being immensely useful to work with for farmers, as they could potentially offer him things to keep him away from their farm. But, to each their own.

All in all cryptids are quite the interesting subject when it comes to anthropology and.. "cryptozoology". They provide an interesting accessibility to otherwise little-known folkloric beings, however that is not always good. I do believe that working with certain beings that are categorized as "cryptids" could be worthwhile.. however do stay away from La Llorona.. lol. I hope this provided some sort of insight for you, please do let me know if you have any further questions or comments! Thanks for asking this question, as I found writing this to be quite interesting.

[barry-j-blupjeans]

Day Three - Myth

There’s something incredibly disconcerting about being able to see your own breath when you breathe out. For someone like Lup, it was always a reminder of where she came from. Cold, windy nights on the street with Taako, hidden in the back alleys of a city that never really went dark, unless you knew where to look. The chill was part of the reason they had moved away. Starting a fresh life somewhere warm had always been the goal.

It didn’t get cold out here. Even in the winter, the lowest it would drop would be the mid-forties. Lup hadn’t seen natural ice in years.

But here she was.

To be completely honest, being a YouTuber wasn’t the hot shit that it was made out to be. To be even more honest, Lup and Taako often put their lives in major jeopardy with the cryptid hunting videos. They had never actually gotten any solid evidence that the cryptids they were looking for existed, but that’s what video editing was for. Instead, the danger came from being out in places like the woods she was in now. Far enough away from town to lose even the shittiest of wifi, deep enough into nature that no one would know where to find her.

They took a lot of measures to make sure they never got separated. And now Lup was out in the woods by herself, with her way too expensive camera and a sweater not heavy enough for the chill that had settled over the area.

And the camera wasn’t even working. It had been static all night, but now it had dissolved into straight nothingness. There was nothing Lup could do to get the view back in focus, or back at all. Maybe if she hadn’t been so focused on it, she would have felt colder. Maybe she would have watched her step more carefully.

Maybe-

There was a flash of red from her left. Lup staggered slightly, then stopped walking. She aimed the camera towards it, just in case. If she was about to get murdered or some shit, then at least they’d have video evidence.

And she’d not be going down without a fight, thanks to the obsessive amount of pocket knives Magnus had given her. They had gotten her out of more than one shitty situation before and she could do it again.

The temperature seemed to drop lower. Just being able to see her breathe was something, but now the cold was starting to seep into her lips and fingers.

Logically, she should stay put. She hadn’t strayed far from where she lost track of Taako. Or Taako lost track of her, or whatever. But there was a dread creeping up her throat that had started with the static and increased with the chill. If it came down to fight or flight, she couldn’t exactly choose the latter and leave Taako behind.

And it was only when the screen of her camera cracked into shards that Lup realized. Oh.

Fuck.

Despite doing this for several years, they never really encountered a cryptid before. Like, duh. It’s not like they exist. If the Mothman was real, someone deffo would have gotten that guy on camera. If Bigfoot was out there somewhere, he’d probably be trying to buy some fuckin’ Air Jordans or something. If the Red Robe existed, then he would have been recorded already. The flimsy excuse of him “breaking cameras” was supposed to have been a convenient sidestep.

But here she was. Cameraless, freezing, and stuck staring at the red, hooded figure emerging from the trees.

He was fucking terrifying. Where there should have been a face beneath his hood, there was a curling ball of static that dripped down his chest. What could have been hands looked more like inky black claws, curved and pointed, much like the dozens of pocket knives Lup had on her. Past his knees, the robe began to fade away, leaving a wisp behind him, tangled up in static and empty air.

It was horrifying. But when he spoke—

When he spoke, Lup figured that the most awful part of it all was the ache in her chest.

“Lup,” he said, in what might have been some sort of twisted joy or disbelief. “Lup, you came back.”

Fight or flight, baby. And Lup was all out of flight.

She pulled the pocket knife out of her sleeve.

[absent-enigma]

mothman Horror x reader compilation pt 5

For some reason, Horror was half-hiding while watching you. Your confusion only ended up drawing disappointment; Horror dejectedly shuffled back to the door.  

“Safe?”

“Yes?” Seeing Horror focus on your kitchen, you added. “The house is safe.”

A car alarm went off. 

Horror lurched forward, grunting as he got stuck in the doorway, wings flared out, fur bristling and his eyelight a tiny red speck.

You spent the next half-hour convincing Horror the noise wouldn’t hurt either of you, and the next ten convincing yourself that allowing Horror into your home for the rest of the night wouldn’t be problematic.

-

Once his mate had assured him that the blaring noise assailing his sensitive antennae would bring no harm, Horror focused on entering your dwelling. You’d already told him it was all right, and he waited patiently while you opened the ‘patio’ doors wider to accommodate his bigger frame, wings and all. When you stepped back, Horror tucked his wings close to his body, and held his lower pair of arms beneath his ribcage. It was a tight fit, but Horror managed to squeeze inside between the two open doors, scraping off minimal scales from his wings and red fur from his shoulders. 

Horror dismissed the outside noisiness in favor of inspecting his mate’s ’home’. Straight away Horror scented food, eyelight roving over the cupboards (he thinks). Another rectangular thing emitted noise, where even more food appeared to be stored. Horror released a satisfied huff. You had something here to eat.

But was this place safe?

“It’s late, big guy.” You yawned. “I need some extra sleep after all this excitement.”

Horror silently agreed that you needed the slumber; your appearance was one of weariness. Obediently, Horror followed after his mate while you shuffled into the next room, which was an open cozy space. To Horror, it only faintly smelled of a nest where one would sleep. Horror watched with amusement as you face-planted onto a piece of bedding (a sofa, he thinks it was called) and spoke, muffled.

“Ah, hello there, mismatched surface. I missed you.” 

A low chuckle rolled out of Horror at that, further mirth rising over the way you tangled yourself up in a blanket that had been tossed over the back of the sofa.

That was new.

Horror could have sworn you were more methodical when you settled under your bedding. 

The sight was still endearing.

-

You eyed the dusting of scales and fur caught on the doorframes and the floor of the kitchen. 

Tomorrow. 

You’d deal with it tomorrow morning.

The exhaustion was enough anyway for you to not worry too much about letting Horror into your home. 

Funny, that it was the mothman who was staying with you this time. 

Your bed would have been preferable to the sofa, but if Horror wanted to watch over you like out in the wilderness, then sleeping in the living room would have to be good enough. 

Horror appeared amused by your ‘dramatic’ collapse onto the sofa. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Horror diligently check the immediate area (for danger?) before settling in front of the sofa. This confirmed  your assumption that Horror did intend to keep watch while you slept. Oddly enough, having a giant of a skeleton mothman around did make the house feel a little safer. 

“Sleep.” Came Horror’s gruff, if quiet, insistence.

“I am.” You said as you buried your face into the throw pillow.

“Hmm.” Horror sounded unconvinced. 

“I am.” You insisted.

“Right.” Deadpan, amused.

“So deeply asleep that I’m sleep talking to you Mr. Mothman.”

“Yeah?” Horror chuckled. “How often that happen?” 

He was indulging you with the play acting. 

“Just today.” You can’t help but smile at the continued slow, gruff chuckling. 

“…better do something for you about it.” Horror’s wings could be heard unfolding with a soft swishing noise. “So you can rest.”

A light gust of air had you turn to peek at Horror, who had shifted back from the sofa. His wings were patterns of gray-brown, white, black and red. You shift onto your elbows, wrinkling your nose at the small shimmering that fell from the wings to land on you; inspecting the fine smattering of scales, you wondered what made moth wings powdery-feeling. You gave Horror a quizzical look. “Any reason you decided to give me a powder bath?”

“To help you sleep.” Horror sounded like he was teasing you, socket scrunched up, eyelight bright, and smile twitching ip into a wider toothy grin.

You started to laugh, wearily slumping back onto the sofa, though you’d forgotten you'd tangled yourself up in the blanket, causing you to flail around until you settled again.  

Horror was quite pleased by your sleep-deprived laughter as he joined in with his own steadier rumbling chuckles.

Your sleep was guarded with attentiveness and serious concentration the moment you’d drifted off to sleep.

Horror was determined to provide the best protection he could against any possible threats. He was the perfect size to protect the sofa you lie on, as its position allowed Horror to see the door he’d come in, as well as another at the front of the dwelling. 

Horror preened, eye socket half-squinting as he fluffed his fur up and his wings fluttered.

He would watch over you.

Rust, Horror’s brother, would be proud of him for his diligence to his mate’s safety.

-

Surprisingly, the sofa didn’t make your rest uncomfortable overnight. Stifling a yawn, you opened your eyes to see muted yet colorful folded wings. 

Horror. 

The skeleton mothman’s shoulders were covered in reddish fur down to the shoulder blades, leaving the rest of the thick ribcage and spine visible, before the fur began again to vanish into an old pair of large shorts. 

Horror’s antennae, one fluffy and one tattered, raised to wiggle in your direction.

You were lucky that this was the weekend, so you could hopefully convince Horror to not follow your every move outside or inside your house. 

-

Horror slowly turned over when he heard you wake up, reminding himself he needed to be ‘friends’ with you no matter how he wanted to pull you into his arms and nuzzle your sleepy face all over, but…he refrained. 

With great difficulty. 

A distraught noise nearly escaped him over not being able to greet his mate properly, but Horror reigned it in.

Patience. 

Enjoy this opportunity to court you all over again, and the milestones that came before.

“Did you sleep at all, or did you stay awake?”

Horror hummed in lieu of an answer as he blinked at you.

-

“Maybe you should get some rest?” You ventured, when you were just sleepily stared at. “Horror?”

“M’awake.” Horror yawned, teeth parting wide before clicking shut. Stretching his limbs and wings, Horror rose to follow you down a hallway. 

“I can handle the bathroom myself. Nothing scary there.” You turn to stare up at Horror. “Why don’t you go find something to eat in the kitchen? It’s the area by the patio.”

Horror acquiesced to your request.

After a shower, you check on Horror in the kitchen, where you find him busily inspecting every single cupboard while humming some unnamed tune. 

-

“Find anything interesting?”

Horror was sheepish over you catching him nosing around.

“No threats in the cupboards.” You’re teasing him. “But if you’re hungry, I have human and monster food.”

An offering of food? 

Horror shouldn’t eat your food without offering something in return, but it would take him time to go out and find a proper offering.

“Either's fine.” Horror said, shaking off the idea. It was true. Horror’s ambient magic was much healthier than before, so he could. He wouldn’t say no to a burger; his brother wasn’t around to balk over grease.

“A little of everything, then.”

-

Breakfast was surprisingly quiet. 

While you ate, Horror occupied himself with a smoothie in a mixing bowl while rumbling contentedly. He also had toast, after he’d raptly watched the bread go into the toaster to pop back up. 

As you’d mentioned to Horror, all you had planned for the day was chores. Specifically, catching up on the never-ending launder you’d dropped into a large pile in the basement near the washer.

Unsurprisingly, Horror followed after you, though he became stuck in the basement doorway, causing the stairway around you to be lit mainly by the red glow of Horror’s eyelight.

[kedsandtubesocks]

WE'RE STARTING SPOOKY SEASON EARLIER IM SOOOOOO EXCITED OMG

okay okay i wanna hear your opinion on pedro boys and what monsters they would be !!!!

LETS START SPOOKY SUMMER OFF RIGHT AND IM SO GLAD ITS WITH YOU BB thank you for sending this amazing ask in 🥺🎃 ✨

Okay…this is something I know we’ve talked about many times in our deep discussions but now that I think about the other boys I’m like “…oh shit” so here we GO LOL

Javi P: a type of were-creature, I love the idea of Javi having the ties to a Texas and Latino based monster and as someone who’s great tia swore she saw the chupacabra and then knowing there’s a monster/beast I’ve heard legend about living in the hill country, theres something familiar and close knit tradition about were-creatures based in local and cultural urban legends that fits Javi’s vibes about being so connected to his home

Pero T: yes he is a peak werewolf but I will say this until I write the fic but he is a lake monster, creature from the black lagoon style, he lurks likes his isolation and is aware to his surroundings. He would do perfect as a lake monster simply surviving as a grumpy hiding monster under the waves

Marcus Pike: DRAGON!!! Grand beautiful majestic creatures that hoard precious things? Marcus is all about the arts and seeing the beauty in everything, those vibes just make me think of him as this beautiful grand dragon that hoards art until he finds you his most precious treasure

Dave York: something demonic, he always reminds me of the Lucifer figure - this perfect soldier who followed orders until he questioned his existence and is now disillusioned and corrupt living on his own terms now

Frankie: my sweet werewolf boy, loyal big and forever protective and will bare his fangs whenever he feels threatens and has a bit of a temper, also can you imagine how COZY HE WOULD BE??

Din: ghost, he’s a ghost that’s simply living in this strange beskar armor but his spirit is so strong and righteous that it stays alive and haunts his armor. But he is tender and speaks with the softest whispers in the wind, like a echo you wonder if you even heard in the first place

Joel: a ghost like Din but a much scarier version, like a spirit of vengeance that is violent and fierce, powerful in its rage but a known protector that watches over anyone who walks home alone at night, he sits in the trees with eyes that are so dark they blend with the night

Jack: Vampire, suave a bit extravagant and luxurious and I only am doing this cause I want him to make all the stupid vampire puns and even has fake vampire plastic teeth he playfully uses from time to time, also can you imagine him slick gelled hair back super classic Dracula style?? 😮‍💨

Dieter: shapeshifter, he’s a man of many faces and many roles that you wonder if he even knows what his true self looks like anymore, goes into how he’s an actor and I think there’s so many layers to dieter that he keeps up to make sure no one truly knows him

Ezra: eldritch space creature, has many eyes speaks in many voices that seem out of this realm but he is kind and moves very gently. He is wise beyond his years and is interested in all things human, but like any eldritch creature it can be tricky and turn on a whim when need be

Javi G: Mothman!! Super sweet and chattery and is kind of an odd ball but simply wants to be left alone in the woods but remains curious about the world around him, holds a certain charm to him but is still a dangerous creature underneath it all

Wow I ramble away with these I’m SORRY

[negativepeanuthoarder]

Cryptid AU

Okay I realized I never posted my Cryptid AU on here so. Here goes XD (Transcribed from my priv twt)

"Mmm ok Halloween fic idea DNN Sapnap takes a summer job working on a farm. He starts seeing/hearing weird shit but Sam tells him not to think or talk about it (you know that whole thing of “if you see something no you didn’t”)

Yeah so he goes riding one day and gets thrown from his horse and is about to be murdered by a Scary Forest Thing but then this massive wolf-man thing and this humanoid mothman looking creature appear out of no where

They’re Dream + George who’ve been trying to lure Sap into the woods for months. It was first so they could kill him and eat his soul but now it’s because they low-key kind of have a crush on this adorable human who sings to himself and takes such good care of the horses and is a total sweetheart and basically they decide to kind of claim him and keep shooing off other forest things that try to hurt him. Sapnaps leg is broken and he’s in pain and understandably terrified when Dream picks him up and even more so when George scoops up

BOTH of them in order to fly back to the edge of the farm where they leave him. Sam finds him out there and is like “what the fuck I thought the Forest Things Got You” and Sapnap passed out from pain and fear. The next morning he wonders if it’s a dream

But it’s not because Dream and George show up near his window and give his hat back and also follow him around during his chores. Sapnap is spooked and keeps trying to bring this up withSam who keeps telling him to stop because talking about it is dangerous.

Dnf being there keeps attracting MORE monsters though and it’s getting dangerous for Sam to the point he tells Sapnap to just go talk to them. Dnf express that they’re entirely obsessed with protecting him after he got hurt in the woods and to Sapnap’s own surprise

He loves their gesture. He keeps hanging out with them and they with him until one day he just… walks into the woods and vanishes. Obviously he went with DNF to live in their den out in the forest

(Not at all inspired by my own wanting to leave reality no not at all) and also they really just wanted a human bf. The thing is though he starts becoming not human the longer he’s with the two of them

Which he’s fine with because his not humanness helps keep him safer. Also the three of them cuddle against Dreams fluffy dog tummy and under George’s mothman wings

AND THEYRE SO PRECIOUS

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

SAME ANON FROM THE CHILDHOOD READER WANTING TO PROTECT AJAX AAAH!! MY HEART… I LOVE THAT SO MUCH!! Foul Legacy getting love and comfort makes my heart go Q__Q <3 <3 I love the idea of FL falling for reader once he returns hELP PLEASE??? Imagine they would ruffle or pet Ajax' hair when they were young after the abyss and Legacy is just <3 <3 just little small things for him (that they'll definitely do with FL now, free affection <3)

Ajax may be strong and dangerous, same goes with big mothman, but that is not gonna stop reader from protecting them. owo (I hope it's okay to send another rambling aah! I live for childhood AUs so much and I love the scenarios you make!! ;v ;)

HEHE YOU ARE SOSO WELCOME I ABSOLUTELY LOVED WHAT YOU SENT IN <3333 (original ask here!!!)

you being a source of genuine affection for Ajax... when he returns from the Abyss, he's clearly changed, and no one but his family wants to be near him. no one but his family- and you. all the other children your age fear his newfound violent tendencies and stay as far away as possible, but you have no shame in jumping on him in a hug, swinging your hands back and forth together, or ruffling his hair, your innocent childhood combined with your protective nature. and Ajax, oh, he craves the small things you do for him, the wonderfully casual way you spend time with him instead of walking on eggshells like everyone else. whenever you squeeze him or playfully pat his head, he feels safe, like his fall into the Abyss never happened, and he can almost believe it if it wasn't for the creature chittering ecstatically in his mind- Foul Legacy's not used to even the slightest bit of affection, and it overwhelms him at first as he falls for you as much as Ajax has

when Ajax gets sent to the Fatui, he eventually grows accustomed to the lack of contact, the way his coworkers either regard him with fear or distaste. when he returns to you and experiences your affections again, now wholeheartedly love, he feels like he's melting into your arms and nearly cries. Foul Legacy's not used to being protected- in the Abyss, life is ruthless and cold- and furthermore he doesn't really need to be protected, but when you look up at him with a slight frown and tell him that he's worth being protected, no matter what, he almost breaks right then and there. the sensation of you holding him, an Abyssal monster who only escaped by latching himself to a mortal, like he's something precious makes him tremble with emotion- so many emotions he's never felt before- and he allows himself to indulge and lean into your touch, the same soft pets you give Ajax. eventually Foul Legacy lapses into slumber and vanishes, leaving a tired, teary Ajax in your arms, who pulls you close into a tight hug, begging for just a moment longer