NotOne-Sleepiness in Ponyville sidestory: Month of the Moth

>Another day, another... another...
>Okay, you got absolutely nothing done today, but that's fine. The lack of accomplishment certainly didn't diminish the daily excitement that comes with living in Ponyville.
>The sun has long since set and it's about time to hit the hay.
>Well, there are some things you need to do first. Like turn out the lights.
>All of them.
>Ever since Twilight and the other elements tamed Everfree, and creatures long forgotten have been seen rising from its depths to rejoin the modern world. The most species was actually a pony subtype.
>Mothponies.
>Skittish things they are, always darting about and losing their minds over the slightest fright. You daresay they make even Fluttershy look like the epitome of calm.
>Of course, some managed to push aside their jumpy nature and join society. You've even met a few.
>A loud crash from the den of your home pulls you out of your reverie. You sigh when you realize that you have forgotten to turn off the lamp in there.
>Another thing that set the Mothponies apart from their cousins is the total disregard for personal space in the presence of electric lighting.
>It's days like this that you consider getting a bug zapper, you think ruefully, only to shoot down the cruel thoughts and admonish yourself silently a moment later.
"Anyone there?" you call towards the den, already knowing the culprit.
>"N-no! Nopony here! I-I mean... um..."
>You just shake your head and head for the origin of the voice.
>Just before you enter the room, distressed squeaks and the fluttering of light wings meets your ears.
>Once in the den, you find that nothing in the cozy room is out of place, save for the open window and the bright lamp by your reading chair on the ground, turned to its side.
"Roslin? Roslin, come out," you call, folding your arms and waiting patiently.
>For a few moments, it seems like your call is going to go unanswered until you hear the pitter-patter of muffed hooves.
>Right above your head.
>You snap your head upward and are met with a set of wide, orange eyes hardly an inch from your face.
>"Uh... um..." the Mothpony above you nervously stutters with a few twitches of her garden tiger patterned wings.
"Having fun up th-"
>"Eep!"
>And just like that, she loses her grip on the ceiling.
>Oh this same old song and dance again...
>With practiced ease, you hold your arms out and catch the light mothpony before she can tumble to the ground, sending bits of moth dust out of her long, orange fur with a quiet "pomf".
"You know, if you want inside, you don't need to break in."
>”I-I didn’t break in!” Roslin denies as you turn and carry her out of the den, “I mean, I didn’t mean to! I saw the light on through your window and just sort of…”
>If you can get away with it, you would have snorted. Roslin lives on the other side of town.
“Really now?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, making the mothpony sink into her chest fur like a turtle would its shell, “I know you, Rosy, you have more self-control than that.”
>She sputters at the nickname and tries vainly to cover the reddening of her ears with their long tufts.
“Now, I think you need to be going home. We all have things to be doing in the morning.”
>”What? Wait! No!”
>She struggles in your arms, forcing you to put her down lest you accidentally hurt her.
>”Anon! I can’t go back out there!”
>Every time she uses this argument.
“Oh? And why not?”
>And every time…
>Roslin looks up at you, eyes slowly filling with unshed tears. “It’s dark outside…”
>…She wins.
>Your shoulders begin to slump and the will to fight back is slowly replaced with sympathy.
>Really, you shouldn’t give up so easy. But…
>You turn and begin walking, knowing that the mothpony is sure to follow.
>A glance back shows you that she’s doing so with a grin, but that’s not what draws your attention.
>The large, ugly crease in one of her beautiful wings is what your eyes first land on. She got that the first time you managed to force her out…
>You could do nothing afterwards but watch her limp home in the dark. Just thinking about it makes your chest ache.
“Are there any other lights on?” you distractedly ask over your shoulder.
>”None that I can see.”
>Finally, your rather plain looking bedroom door comes into view.
>Roslin takes to the air behind you with a few flutters of her light wings, easily rising over your head before coming back down in front of you, where her wispy tail brushes your nose and tickles.
>She takes the doorknob and opens it with a twist. Then she looks over to you, her face a mask of expectation and thinly veiled excitement where it held nervousness just a moment ago.
>Seems like women keep their bipolar tendencies across species.
>You walk into the darkened bedchamber just like so many times before, and not even bothering to change your clothes, fall face first into your large and very soft bed with a relieved grunt.
>An instant later, an orange blur follows you in and settles directly to your side, emitting adoring squeaks all the while.
>No matter how many times you hear the sound, it will always put a smile on your face.
>One of your hands wanders to your nightstand where it turns on the alarm clock, while the other snakes down and grabs the discarded blanket by the foot of the bed
>With one flick of your second arm, the blanket goes falling over the rest of the way off of the bed.
>With a warm mothpony, you won’t need it.
>Now that the invitation was totally clear, Roslin inches closer and settles her silky-soft body against you with a content sigh.
>Truly, there was almost no way to describe unbelievably rich texture of mothpony fur.
>It was like taking the most luxurious hides of only the most delicate creatures and combining them together into an eternally fresh coat that would never degrade.
>The tufts of a mothpony would separate almost like liquid when touched, letting every impossibly fine and forever cool hair run over the skin of the one touching them.
>And it was far from common to know what such a feeling is like considering the shy nature of the mothponies.
>And yet here you are, just some random man, and yet you’ve been allowed to feel such a thing for the better part of a month.
>Never will you understand Roslin’s fascination with you.
>Just as you think that, you feel her warm head rest itself in the crook of your neck, where her mane runs over your cheek.
>Self-consciousness springs up within you. Will Roslin mind the rough stubble on your face? Compared to what she must feel all day, your face may as well have been sandpaper.
>Alas, if she minded, then it did not show.
>You look down at the orange coated pony, whose vermilion eyes are closed already as she appears to be drifting off. In a way, it’s touching that she trusts you so much that she drops her ingrained skittishness.
>Something gradually overcomes you as you look down at the mothpony who quite literally flew into your life, filling you with an urge you would never felt before.
>Slowly, your arms move on their own, encircling the sleeping orange pony with such delicacy that she doesn’t so much as stir.
>They finally come to a stop when your hands meet again, but then your arms move once more, this time pulling Roslin close to you as you turn to lie on your side.
>The full sensation of her silky coat against your front almost paralyzes you from the overload of feeling, yet you keep pulling her tighter to yourself until nothing could possibly force itself between you and Roslin.
>In her sleep, a smile filled with pure joy and adoration grows upon her face. A moment later, it’s hidden when she unconsciously presses her head under your chin.
>The only thing you can hear in the silence of the room is Roslin’s gently beating heart.
>Your own eyes quickly grow heavy as the mothpony’s fur captures every bit of heat between you and her and refuses to let go of it.
>Had you drifted off any faster, you would have missed the impossibly faint “I love you…”
>...
>Oh Roslin, why did you have to go and complicate things?
>That’s all you get to think before blissful dreams overtake you.