A Moth to Flame Pt.3 [M4F] [Teasing] [Wholesome?] [Flirting?] [Dom/Sub Energy]

Transcript

Ah, Rosie, you didn't show up for supper. Again, you are just poofy from your literal mudfluff. Not your way.

You look adorably fine, my dear Rosie. Where are you up here in the gardens with cut flowers and journals open? Oh, you're caught in a particular good book, huh? Which book? Ah, the book of chemistry, yes, yes.

Well, what have you learned? Yes, yes, that's right. All that makes up these precious flowers can be reduced to chemicals.

With the right mixtures at the correct parameters, you can use these to help heal wounds. Very good, very good. Oh, did your wings just light up for a moment? Well, I am not a moth expert.

Not yet, at least. But I can't think of any species that cause bioluminescence, especially not a Rosie like you. A lunar moth would be able to replicate the glow, but that still isn't natural bioluminescence.

Ah, now, now, I'm not calling you foolish. Come here, come to Ashton. There we are, good Rosie.

Oh, no, no, no, no, do not feel stupid for not knowing these terms. Most of the common human folk that lives nearby wouldn't know it either. All it means is that some creatures glow in the dark for one reason or another, like little stars.

I actually created my own ecosystem of tiny creatures that do so. Would you like to see it? Yes, yes.

Do you see that orb over there? Yes, the crystalline orb, my dear. It's been sitting in the sunlight all day.

Now, we need to go somewhere dark, so. .. Do you trust being in the pitch black with me, darling? I'll be able to see you so much better than you'll be able to see me, however.

My dearest Rosie wants to see the stars, does she? Well, their dearest Ashton will provide. Let me just carry you in here.

Yes, I believe this was once an art studio. No hanging lanterns or torches, just us, the dust, and fate. Would you mind the door, please? Now, to punish you for trusting me, or perhaps reward you for trusting me? Either way, here, the stars for my beautiful, adorable Rosie.

Ah, there they are. Dinoflagellates, they are called. Little plankton that soak up sun during the day and then bloom at night when the water is disturbed.

It is a little pretty, isn't it? Ah, but look at how the light runs through your wings. Hm? By webbing? What about it? Ah, you want to see the light dance off of it? Hm, very well.

Do be in love and lift my shirt, won't you? I do have to reach down to my lower back, after all. Rosie, those are my abs.

Not my spinneret. Yes, yes, yes. There, go on, take my webbing and decorate as you see fit.

I'll stand right here, just in case you trip over those cute little feet. Hm, hm, hm, hm, hm, hm, hm. Hm? Ah, all done, dear Rosie.

Yes, I close my eyes. May I see your creative handiwork, my dear? Very well.

My, it's beautiful, Rosie. You are. ..

You are somewhat tangled in me now, darling. Oh, no, no, no. You've practically wrapped us together.

Please relax yourself, Rosie. You'll get caught up in my webbing if you keep struggling like that. And it's not as if you aren't used to being flushed against my chest, my dear.

Though, this is a bit more intimate than normal, isn't it? Oh, Rosie, the moment hasn't been ruined, no, no. I mean, look at how beautiful the room is with you in it now.

There we are, all free from the webbing. Come, let's get back into the light so we don't trip over each other. And here we go.

Yes, the orb, so you can see the stars whenever you please. Oh, and Rosie, do feel free to make the art studio your own. I sadly hardly paint anymore.

Yes, I can show you, if you like. But you'd best be careful, my dear Rosie. I might start getting the impression you actually enjoy spending time with me.

You're welcome, pet. My, you're something else, my dear Rosie. Most of your elves are too focused on dancing about, trying to attract maids and all of that jazz to worry about the arts or sciences.

I suppose you wouldn't really have time in that environment. Still, you've put yourself in my shoes. Still, you've pushed to learn so much since you came here.

I am very proud of you, my little Rosie. Yes, yes, stand there and look baffled at a legitimate compliment from me. This scary, I am sure.

There we are. There's the Rosie, calling me a big, mean asshole. Can't finish the day without hearing that, after all.

If I were nicer, I might hear nicer things. Such as? Sweet dreams.

I hope you rest well. I had a nice day with you. Or even, I am with you through all bad dreams.

Oh, goodness me, Rosie, those are much nicer than being called an asshole. I do prefer our current dynamic, I feel. Knowing you go to bed so frustrated, just seething in confusion and desire.

Ah, Rosie, whatever.