Obsessing over fandoms is my hobby (22) &18+ MDNI

You and your friends were having a bonfire party, hosted by Anton, as it always was. He loved having all his friends in one place, and it was easy to go to the parties he threw. He always provided loads of food and some booze. People usually brought even more, and thus there was always an abundance of alcohol.

Tonight’s bonfire location was one of the parks at the edge of the forest. It had a big ass fire pit, grills, and picnic tables. And the forest was mere steps away, so anyone who wanted a bit of privacy had a spot to retreat to.

You’d been at the party for a few hours now. The sun had set long ago, and everyone was getting by, by the plentiful light of the fire. You are perched on a log listening to a story you’d heard a dozen times before, sipping from your brightly colored disposable cup.

“And I had to walk to my car without any shoes! It was nuts,” your friend finishes. You throw back the last few sips of your drink.

“Gonna go piss,” you announce, handing your empty cup off, “Watch this for me.”

Several recitations of ‘go piss girl’ met your declaration, everyone (including yourself) having a bit of a giggle over your group’s shared meme.

The park bathrooms were locked at sunset, so there were two options for bathroom at the bonfire: portapotty, or woods. You opted for woods. If you wandered into the woods, you could take a moment to yourself without all the noise and heat, and presumably without scrutinization.

So once you’d finished your business, you wander over to where you could just see the light of the fire and just hear the murmuring of the party. You lean against the tree you’d chosen, closed your eyes, and sighed.

Should’ve stopped one drink ago, you thought to yourself. You could feel the existential dread creeping in, as it so often did these days. You’d hoped that the alcohol would keep it at bay, but tonight it seemed to only make it stronger.

“You good?” a familiar voice broke the pleasant absence of others, and your eyes shot open as every muscle in your body tensed.

“I’m fine, Scott. Just needed a minute,” You snap.

Scott, your ex, scoffs. The noise makes you want to punch him in the throat. This man had not been good to you, but never with witnesses. When the two of you broke up, you’d told all your friends in common you ‘would never make them choose’, and you regretted it. You wish you’d made everyone choose, and you wished none of them would have chosen Scott, so this pathetic loser of a man was left all alone.

“We both know how you get when you’ve been drinking. How many have you had, 3? 4?” He said condescendingly.

“What are you, watching me?” You try to put all your disgust into your tone so that he gets the hint to fuck off.

Instead, he takes a step closer to you and reaches out to caress the side of your face. You feel sick to your stomach at his touch, and consider vomiting on his shoes. “I’m just worried about you, baby.”

Get your fucking hands off of me and go die in a hole, you think and briefly consider saying out loud.

Before you can make up your mind about if it’s an inside thought or an outside thought, something in the atmosphere shifts. The forest is suddenly darker, as if something has blocked the view of the bonfire. Your heart rate spikes and the small hairs on your body all stand up, flesh dimpling, as if you had walked past an air conditioner on full blast.

“What-” you start to say, interrupted by the splattering of something hot and wet across your face. As the smell of iron hits your nose, you realize Scott is no longer touching you. In fact, Scott is completely gone.

Panic sinks in. You are alone in the woods now, but it no longer feels like the reprieve you had initially sought.

A wet thud, and something seems to fall out of the canopy of trees in front of you. You stare in shock at the distinctly Scott-shaped form now laying on the ground several feet ahead of you, unmoving, a dark pool slowly spreading out underneath it.

A being made of shadow materializes next to the corpse. Your mind struggles to make out its features despite there being enough light left that you should be able to (you can make out the unnatural way Scott’s arm is bent and see the writing on the back of his band tee). Glowing eyes peer at you from the almost-human shaped darkness. You’d say it was a person in silhouette, but the details aren’t quite right. The limbs are too long, the fingers come to pointed tips and there’s something off about the shape of the face. Cold light catches on the creatures face, illuminating it just enough for you to make out the shape of a skull, glinting as if made out of metal. His hands – what you would call hands on a human – have something wet dripping off of them.

Your mind tells you to stay still. To not breathe. To not think. To not exist. That maybe it will go away, and leave you alone. That if you’re still enough it won’t see you – as if it isn’t staring right at you.

When it lifts its dripping claws to its mouth, a long and pointed tongue coming out to lick droplets of Scott’s blood away, something inside you snaps. You start running. Later you will realize you should have run towards the bonfire, to people and safety, but in the moment all you could think was that you needed to put distance between yourself and this thing. All your mind was screaming was “away”.

As you’re running, you feel as if a wind is blowing against you, as if tendrils of air are climbing up your spine. It culminates in a tingling feeling between your shoulder blades, and a pressure at the back of your head. It feels as if you are being watched. The sensation spurs you forward, your instincts telling you that stopping will only lead to something bad happening. Tree branches are whipping at your face and limbs, and you’re not sure if any have scratched you deep enough to bleed.

Eventually – inevitably – you trip on a tree root. The light has dimmed enough that you can only barely make out shapes. The moon light trickles down from above the canopy, creating small pockets where it’s easier to see, but even there everything is in that blue-grey-silver monotone it gets in the moonlight. There is no more warm light.

Your palms sting as you scramble up to continue running. You dare a glance behind you and see-

Nothing.

But the pressure is still there, the tingling between your shoulder blades getting more pronounced. So you keep moving. Slower this time, trying not to trip again.

Eventually your adrenaline drops low enough that your limbs don’t want to keep going. You look behind you again and again you see nothing, just shadows and forest and moonlight. Your legs are aching  and your breath burns in your throat, yet still you’re gulping air down greedily. You find a tree that is wide enough to hide your shape and lean against it, heart pounding. You try to quiet yourself, and mostly succeed. The moonlight ebbs and flows, as it would any other night, but the forest still doesn’t feel right. You’ve spent a lot of time among these trees, you know them (and they know you). It’s too quiet, as if the trees are holding their breath. The shadows are wrong and you don’t know why.

You stood in the oppressive darkness of the woods, panting. You were leaning against a tree, trying to breathe quietly. You felt the warm, cooling presence of blood dripping down your arm where a branch had caught you. You weren’t sure if you’d lost the thing that was chasing you, straining to listen for it. No branches rustled or cracked, but still the hair stood up on the back of your neck.

This tells you that the creature is still close.

How had things come to this? You wonder.

And that is when you see the shadows shifting, about four trees away from you. You’ve never seen shadows move like liquid before. The shadow near the fourth furthest tree from you shrinks as the one near the third grows. As if pouring wine from one vessel to another. You can’t take your eyes off of it, following it as it gets closer and closer to you.

And then he’s standing right before you, not close enough to touch but close enough you can see his metallic-skull face, and see that it’s not his face but that he’s wearing a mask. His hair is dark and curly, swept back and held down by the straps of the mask. His face is dual-toned, silver and black, and on anyone else you would think it’s makeup but something tells you it’s not painted on. He is wearing a shining black shirt and fitted black pants.

 A creature with style, you think and have to stifle a semi-hysterical laugh.

“What are you?” You find yourself whispering, barely able to speak, your heart still pounding in your throat and your chest still aching.

He laughs, and the noise envelopes you like the fluttering of wings. The image of an unkindness of ravens fills your mind.

“You called to me. I came,” he says in his best non-answer, taking a slow step towards you. It strikes you as the way you would approach a skittish cat. Cautious, but relaxed.

“I called you?” You ask, not in doubt, but because your mind is moving slow. You remember being alone with Scott, you remember when he leaned in, and how sick you’d felt, and the rage that came bubbling up when he touched you. How you’d wished him dead.

The Creature was within reach now, just barely. He was close enough you could see his eyes, and that they were mismatched: one green and one white. Why was he the only thing in the forest which was still in color?

Your mind, finally, caught up and realized that the Creature had helped you.

You knew that no help comes free. You’ve been leaving cream and honey out for the Brownies since you were 7. Whatever this creature is before you, there is a price to pay for what it did at your behest. It does not matter that you did not consciously ask.

Knowing this somehow makes you feel calmer. Your shoulders uncurl themselves, dropping down from where they’d been hanging out up by your eyes. And you look into those otherworldly, glowing eyes. Whatever happens next is inevitable, and though you wonder if it is death, or if it will be painful, the inescapability of fate washes your fear away.

The Creature continues his slow approach. He is closer to you now and you can feel energy pulsating off of him, in a way you would feel heat if a human were this close. The energy is cold and almost electric. It crawls over your skin, feeling alive, tentatively brushing against your being.

The two of you stand in silence, looking at one another. You feel brave enough to break eye contact and take in the entirety of its form for the first time. In the light, the edges of the shadow that make up this creature had been much less defined. But here in the dark, there is a surprising starkness between where his shadows end and the shadows of the surrounding forest begin. And he’s shockingly…. Human shaped. Your gaze continues to wander and you find yourself noting the strong legs and thick thighs, and exactly how tight his well-fitted pants are. A warmth awakens at your core, gently pulsing, wiping some of the fatigue from your limbs. When your gaze falls back to its face, he is looking at you with what can only be deemed a satisfied smugness, causing your whole face to burn hot in embarrassment.

“And the price?” You finally ask, as if to distract from the fact that you were caught checking the Creature out. It pushes towards you again so there is hardly any space between the two of you, and you find yourself holding your breath as every nerve seems to come alive in your body, an almost painful and overwhelming sensation.

“I need to feed,” he responds.

“Blood?” You ask, and he laughs.

“Energy,” he reaches up and brushes back some of the strands of hair that had fallen into your face, “Your fear would have been… sufficient. But this? This is much better.”

Your mind is still struggling to reconcile how your body is responding to him when he leans in towards you, the side of his face pressed against yours. He takes a long inhale, followed by a decidedly satisfied sigh. The sound stokes the warmth growing at your core into a small fire.

The rapidly shrinking part of your brain that had been afraid mere moments ago screams that this should scare you further. Instead, you find yourself wondering what he would do if you pulled him close and how he would feel between your legs.

Your eyes are glued to the Creature as it pulls away from you, just enough space that it can look at you, and you at it. You find yourself reaching out to cup its face. Its skin is warm, not the cool you’d expected, in direct contrast with the cold of the metallic mask. For a moment you swear it looks surprised, but the smug satisfaction is so quickly back in place that you could have imagined it.

“Energy.” You repeat.

He shifts his face, leaning into your hand, gently grabbing a hold of your wrist. For a moment you think he will place a kiss in your palm, and your stomach flutters at the thought. Instead, that pointed tongue slides out and he licks the scrapes on your palm. It leaves an almost-burning, tingling sensation over your wounds. And an electric pulse through your groin.

“Energy. Life energy, fear, anger, or-” He says, the hand gripping your wrist tightening as he pulls you forward so your bodies are flush to one another, and you gasp before you can stop yourself. “Arousal. Sexual energy.”

“So you do drink blood,” you say, mind focusing on exactly the wrong thing and the Creature laughs its unearthly laugh again.

“Yes,” he says, and brings your other bleeding hand up to his mouth, “Though this would be terribly insufficient.”

Doesn’t stop him from licking up the droplets that have begun to coagulate on your palm. As he does so, you can feel his hardness growing against you. Human enough for that, then, whatever he was. Your bodies are too flush but you do wonder how visible it would be in his attire.

“So, I can give you my- sexual… energy. To pay my debt,” you answer, trying to clear your mind of the fog of arousal that was building, trying to be clear on the terms of this agreement you’d accidentally found yourself in. Struggling to think that anything else is even what you want in this moment.

Unearthly, mismatched eyes sparkle in the dark as they look to you, amusement and something darker burning in them, “Yes.”

Well, that’s that then. You grind your hips against his, causing him to groan. A thrill runs through you as it lets go of your wrists, hands shifting to your hips, claws digging into soft flesh as it holds you against it, not breaking eye contact for one second. The heat at your core burns hotter.

“How much will you need?” You ask, your voice thick with the growing desire you can feel building in the both of you.

“More than this,” is all he answers, leaning into you, its mouth a mere whisper from your own.

You’re the one to close the distance, and somehow it feels as if he can’t. His lips are surprisingly soft, though the kiss is anything but gentle. Ravaging, as if he were starved and you were what fed him. As if you were life itself for him. Your hands delve into the thicket of curls tucked under his mask’s strap as his mouth devours yours.

Your mind is filled with sensation: Soft, claiming mouth. Silken curls in your hands. The feeling of claws retreating away from your tender flesh, yet fingers still left gripping your hips. The harsh bark of the tree against your back. The way your legs still shake, spent from running.

He must have noticed your legs as well, because the next thing you know you’re being lifted up off the ground. Your instinct is to wrap your legs around the Creature’s torso, and you don’t fight it. When you lock them, you feel the Creature sigh into your mouth, content to be nestled between your thighs, happy to have your ass cupped in its hands.

You pull away, and it doesn’t look too pleased about it at first, but the petulance of denial melts away when your hands move to its chest and you hum delightedly at the feeling of silk against strong pectoral muscles. He laughs as he dips his head down towards you again, trailing kisses from your jaw down your neck. He nips at your pulse point and you gasp, fingers grasping the soft material of his shirt, an electric thrill running straight from his teeth on your neck to your groin. It nuzzles into your neck, sighing another satisfied sigh, and it is as if your arousal is scented, seeping out of your skin.

And for all you know, for this creature, it is.

You find your hands in its hair again, pulling its face back up to yours, want leaving your lips feeling untended. As you greedily take its mouth, it pushes you further against the tree, grinding hips to hips. You whimper into its mouth, and that only makes it grind more avariciously.

When he pulls his mouth from yours, you find yourself feeling bereft. Is this all he needed? Is his hunger filled? You try and tell yourself perhaps it is better things don’t go further. You know this is a lie you will hold to yourself if this is all you get.

“Is this sufficient?” You ask, your walls already coming up, preparing for the rejection you expect.

“No. I need more,” is his firm answer. Relief floods you as he pulls you away from the tree, laying you amongst the roots where a surprisingly soft bed of moss and leaves lay. You wonder if somehow he summoned it for you.

You waste no time and begin pulling your shirt off, exposing your breasts to the cold night air. You always loved how blue they looked in the moonlight, as if you were yourself something more than human.

Slowly he moves down your body, mouth brushing exposed skin, nuzzling at neck and then collarbone until finally he nestles himself between your breasts. He does another of his deep inhales, only this time instead of sighing he lets out a deep purr. You feel as much as hear the vibrations of it against your skin, goose pimples rising all along your breasts, nipples pulling taut.

It nuzzles into the tender flesh of your right breast, and when those mismatched eyes look up to you, you can feel your heart race faster in your chest. One hand comes up to gently cup your left breast, and you see that its fingers have changed from the long-claws you had seen earlier. They are now shorter, closer to human length, and the claws are softer, more rounded – as if they had been shifted to be less lethal.

His pointed tongue flicks out and over your nipple, and you find yourself gasping and arching up into the sensation. As the inhuman tongue wraps around your bud, you feel electricity running along your nerves, every sensation suddenly much more intense, and all of it feeding back into your growing arousal.

You look down at the Creature lavishing attention upon your breasts, and the sight of such a thing brings the flame of your arousal into a roaring blaze. Its eyes are closed, as if it is savoring the taste of you with its unnaturally long tongue, circling and engulfing. You grasp its curls in your hands, as if you could hold it to you forever.

He swaps to your other breast, as if it would be a crime not to give proper attention to both beauties. As he does his work, other parts of you long for attention, and you find yourself whimpering and seeking out any friction, trying to grind your hips against his. But the pressure and weight of him is so much you can barely move beneath it.

“Needy little thing,” it purrs against your skin, a smile on its face and a multitude in its voice.

You respond by whining and wiggling underneath him, which only causes his lascivious grin to grow. He shifts, pulling back so you have just enough space to move beneath him. Your instantly grinding against him, seeking that precious friction. He watches you with eyes alight with an internal fire, and you can feel just how affected he has been by your activities, grinding against the length of hardness you feel on him, aching for-

“More,” You demand.

“More.” He agrees, nimble fingers undoing the button on your jeans, and your hands join his to pull the cursed things off of you.

He looks at you, nearly naked and desperately wanting, and lets out a deep sound of appreciation. You feel your cheeks heat up at being appraised so, and also it makes you want him even more.

It brings a hand up to your panties and applies pressure with just one knuckle, slowly moving it up and down. With its other hand it holds you down so you can’t buck your hips as you so long to do, wanting more pressure, more speed, wanting more.

Humming softly in appreciation, its mismatched eyes flick up to your face as it adds what you’re craving. More pressure, more speed. The tension at your core builds and still your sex aches to be filled. The Creature removes its hands and for a moment you feel emptier than you ever have before, but it is brief, as hands descend back onto you, the sharp, deadly claws back as it shreds your panties off of you, exposing your wet pussy to the cold night air.

You watch as, before your eyes, the fingers shift once again to their softer, more tender form before reaching for you. Gently, it parts your lips, taking in the sight of how wet you are for it. You can see the smug satisfaction on its face as one finger gently works to spread your juices up to your clit, slowly circling it and watching as your hips buck up into its touch.

“Such a beautiful mess you’ve become,” it purrs as it plunges one of its ethereally-long fingers into you.

“Fuck,” you whine, cunt alight with the pleasure of penetration. The Creature slowly curls its finger, applying pressure onto just the right spot to make you whimper, all words failing you now.

He slips another finger in alongside the first, and slowly moves them in and out of you, watching as you come apart in his grasp. He slides a third finger in alongside the other two, stroking your insides with deft hands. You cling to him, moving your hips to match his rhythm, and together the two of you build at the tension in your core. Your eyes are locked with his as he rubs at that aching, wonderful, torturous spot inside you.

“Don’t look away, vitto mia,” he whispers, voice thick with desire, working your clit with his thumb, feeling your cunt clench around his fingers as you whimper beneath him.

Looking into those mismatched eyes, his fingers deftly working at your core, the tension quickly approaching release: it’s as if you can both feel your impeding climax. His smug look has transformed to that of concentration, as if he were solving a particularly interesting puzzle. Power and lust smolder off of him, like heat off of pavement in summer.

His fingers inside you, his thumb swirling around your clit, move together in exactly the ways you need them to. You’re fighting the urge to look away from him, to hide behind closed eyes as your orgasm approaches, but the intensity of his gaze does not let you.

“I’m going to –”

“I know,” he answers, “Come apart for me, prediletta.”

And you do. The pleasure peaking and cresting, crashing through you, your cunt clenching around his fingers. Your pleasure screamed, intensity to match intensity. The orgasm lasts what feels an eternity, yet not long enough. You watch as the Creature pulls its fingers out of you, purring happily as he laps up your slick.

You sit there, panting beneath him, and realize you don’t want to be done.

“More?” You ask, and the Creature’s eyes flash greedily down at you.

“More.” It responds.

Having gotten a taste of you, the Creature wants more. He crouches down over you and hooks his arms under your legs, pulling you up as he moves down, so he is face-to-face with your bare cunt. He lets out a trill of glee, eyes fully glued to your pussy.

“Fuck,” you say out loud, eyes wide as you watch his preternaturally long tongue slide out of his mouth, the barely quenched fire within you roaring back to life.

He locks eyes with you as he runs his tongue along your slit, reveling in the way your legs shake. You whimper softly when that dexterous muscle swirls around your clit, whining when you feel the vibrations of his laughter against your sex. In the wake of your orgasm, every sensation is heightened, and even just the feel of his hands digging into your thighs is enough to drive you wild.

The Creature seems to get lost in its lingual exploration of you. For the first time in this encounter, things seem to be about what it enjoys and not just what will please you. It’s tongue thoroughly licks every bit of your folds, swirling and darting in ways you don’t think are possible for a human. Then, it dips its tongue ever-so-shallowly into your entrance. You gasp, grabbing those dark curls as if you could pull it any closer than it already is.

Glowing, mismatched eyes lift up to your face, an intense look of hunger burning there. He pushes his tongue deeper into you, watching as you come apart. For a moment, he stills and seems to just revel in the feeling of being in you in this way, in being able to taste and feel you so intimately. You tug on his hair lightly to encourage him to continue, and again his laughter vibrates against your sensitive parts. He obliges, writhing his tongue inside you.

Your encouragement seems to spur him into a frenzy, and he buries himself in your pussy and dedicates his entire attention to it. His enthusiasm – along with his physical attributes – translate into the most intense head you’ve ever had. You not only feel the physical pleasure of having such a prehensile appendage within you, but also you feel his desire for you as if it were a physical heat, as if only you could satiate this being’s need.

The Creature pulled away from you and turns its head to the side, placing a surprisingly gentle kiss on the inside of your thigh. It looks up at you from between your legs, mismatched eyes eerily glowing, lust upon their features.

“I want to feel you come on my face,” it growls, voice thick with ardor.

You lick your lips and all you can do is nod in agreement, words failing you.

He nips your thigh before shifting his focus back to the organ at the apex of your thighs, greedily devouring you again. Cries of pleasure escape from your throat, and you can feel your orgasm building faster than it had before. You laugh softly as your core tightens, tension reaching a peak. You hadn’t thought he had just been fucking around before, but now that he seems to mean business you can see how leisurely he was taking it previously. You feel like an instrument being plucked by expert hands, playing a masterpiece you didn’t even know you had in you.

It is in fast order that you can feel the familiar signs of impending orgasm. Your hips move with the Creature and its deft tongue. Your entire body tenses as you cry out as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you.

You collapse back onto the forest floor, your whole body shaking in the aftershocks. After a while, you dare to glance down at the Creature resting happily between your thighs. Laughter burbles up out of you as you see the cockiest expression you’ve ever seen on anyone before: He’s clearly pleased with himself.

Feeling bold, you grab the Creature by the shirt and pull it back up to you. You can feel its smile against your mouth as you hungrily devour it in a kiss, tasting your essence on its lips. At this point, all thoughts of debt and payment are gone.

Your hands begin to wander down the Creature’s body, tugging at his shirt, which he obediently removes for you. Your hands explore the now-exposed flesh, mesmerized by the sight, pausing to appreciate the firmness of his chest yet the softness of his belly. Your hands continue lower, reaching your goal, that hard length you’ve only just barely encountered. When your hand grasps it through the soft cloth of its pants, the Creature growls into your mouth, a sound you more feel than hear.

You reluctantly pull away from your kiss with the Creature in order to undo the laces of its pants. As soon as they are loosened, the Creature is swiftly out of them. The two of you now stand naked before one another, on as equal footing as you’ll ever be. Your gaze is captivated by the Creature’s phallus. You weren’t sure what it was going to look like. Up until now it had felt more or less like the human versions you had encountered. And it…mostly looks like the penises you were familiar with (well, all the uncut ones). However, at the base of this one, was a bulge, the thought of which sends a thrill up your spine as you imagine yourself stretching around him, being filled by him.

You reach your hand out to grasp the Creature’s cock, savoring the silk-over-steel feeling. You are pleased by the deep noise which erupts from the Creature at your touch. Your gaze lifts to its face, the heat at your core awakening again at the sight of such intense eyes boring into you. Slowly, you start stroking his cock, the feel of it in your hand sending pulses of electric satisfaction through you. Low growls of pleasure emanate from the Creature, further spurring your re-kindled arousal. He starts to match your rhythm, hips rolling sinfully, in such a way as could only be described as fucking your hand. It makes you want him in you so desperately, your empty cunt aching to be filled again. You shift so you two are aligned for such a thing, releasing your grasp on his member, looking into those burning white-and-green eyes, silently begging him to understand what you want.

The Creature smirks, and shifts so his cock rubs up and down your dripping slit, lining it up with your entrance. He looks into your eyes as he stays there, completely still, pinning you down so you can’t so much as shift an inch – no matter how much you want to, and every nerve in your body is screaming for this.

“Beg for it,” he growls at you, spurring shivers of pleasure throughout your being.

“Please,” you whisper back, voice cracking after so much use. “Fuck me. Now.”

He doesn’t move, and you whine, trying to shift, but the pressure he has on you only gets heavier, keeping you pinned in place.

“Please,” you whimper, pouring all of your heady need into the word.

That’s when he gives in, slowly pushing in, inch by inch, savoring the feeling of your heat wrapping around him. Enjoying the view of you coming undone beneath him. He pauses again when he’s deep enough that the bulge at his base is resting against your entrance. This part he takes even slower, letting your delicate tissues slowly stretch to accommodate the girth of him. It hurts, just a little, but the pain only seems to feed into the pleasure. Finally, when he is fully in you, you hear him sigh contentedly. You feel stretched by him, at the absolute limits of what you could possible take, and it feels amazing, pleasure pulsing at your core, cascading throughout your body.

Then it rolls its hips, pulling out and plunging mercilessly back into you. You moan shamelessly, a low and throaty sound. It rolls its hips again, and again, panting as it feels the heat and wet of you engulf it.

You reach around and grab the Creature by his ass, urging him on, rolling your hips in matched rhythm with his. The coil at your center is tight again, tension building, as you’re watching this unfathomably powerful creature lose itself in you. He speeds up, flesh slapping against flesh, moans melting into moans, the two of you creating a beautiful cacophony of lust.

After a time of this danse erotic, you see something shift in his face, and his strokes get more frenzied. You cling to him, as he fucks you into the ground. You are yourself on the precipice when you feel him stiffen above you and a warmth fills your cunt, but suddenly there’s more pressure inside you, and it sends you over the edge, your pleasure strummed higher and higher, and the waves of an orgasm are quickly crashing around you.  Your cry of pleasure is barely out of your lips before the Creature’s mouth is upon yours, as if it could, too, devour this sound.

The two of you lay there, panting, in the wake of your activities, still interlocked. Its body is heavy over you, the weight and presence of it a comfort.

“More?” you ask, voice crackling and hardly there. He laughs, and the many layers of sound in the laugh wrap around you and make you smile. It turns its head in order to be able to lay a kiss on your temple.

The bell had long since been removed. When you moved your things up into it, it was just a hollow shell of a room with exposed brickwork and old timbers.

And you’d loved it.

Sure, it needed dusting, but after you were done with a deep clean you quickly made it yours. Ornaments were hung, incense was lit, a rug was thrown down, and soon you had a perfect space all to yourself. A tiny slice of perfection up in the tallest tower of the Ministry. You’d been quite content until the noises began.

The longer you’ve been here, the surer you’ve become that you aren’t imagining them. To begin with, they were circumstantial: a glint of heterochromatic eyes could be passed off as a sun glare, the squeaking of floorboards was plausibly just because the room was old. But then you were sure you heard noises, and not the sort that mice might make - though they undeniably are up here with you too, roommates that you do not want - but instead, those of something much bigger. Scuffling noises. Chitters. Bestial and large.

But what could it be? A ghoul? Possibly, but they tend to be louder with their hijinks, and this creature seems almost shy. A demon then, leftover from some summoning gone wrong? No, you’d expect that to be more obvious: fire, brimstone and the like. At least a bit of hell-smoke. What’s under your bed feels almost… familiar.

Tonight your hypothesis is confirmed.

It starts like any other evening. You pad around your room, stripping off your habit to allow the cool air of the belfry to soothe your warm skin after a gruelling day of gardening beneath the hot sun, setting up some music on your laptop as you get ready for bed. A Ministry-made dinner sits comfortably in your belly and sleep is tugging on you like a lover begging you to meet them beneath the covers. You apply your skincare products, fold up your habit for tomorrow’s use, go to put your headphones on charge–

Your sweaty fingers fumble the case and it hits the ground with a loud clatter, sending one of your earbuds skittering across the floor and under the bed. You groan. Without thinking, you get to your knees to fish it out.

Two bright, surprised eyes meet you beneath the darkness of your bedframe. 

You scream in shock and launch yourself backwards, hitting the far wall with enough force to knock the breath out of you and leave you lightheaded. The eyes keep watching, but you can see them shift shape as the lids around them twitch with a dozen different expressions.

As it feels like all of the air is forced out of the room, like you’re going to suffocate with fear, like this is the end, especially as a claw extends from the shadows beneath your bed towards you…

There’s something clasped in it. Your earbud.

The creature leaves its great mit extended, your tiny little device a white comma in an ocean of black. You look from its talons, inches long and razor-sharp, up the darkness of its arm all the way to its eyes again.

Oh. You recognise them.

Horizontal-slit, rectangular pupils, like those of a goat, but set in two different irises. Ones you’ve seen around the Ministry. Ones you’ve seen in videos from onstage.

Ones you’ve seen at Black Mass.

“Papa?” you ask and, even obscured as it is, you’re sure you see it wince.

“Eh, yes. Hello.”

The voice is the same as the one you hear preach on Sundays, even if slightly raspier. Your brow furrows as you pluck your earphone from his hand and watch as the limb slowly retracts into darkness.

“Thanks.”

“No worries.”

The two of you stare at each other. He makes no move to come into the light.

“May I ask an… indelicate question?” you manage. The eyes blink, but the two of them are ever so slightly out of sync, as if it’s an effort for the creature to do it.

“Of course, shoot.”

“Why… are you under my bed?”

You hear him sigh. His pupils flit to the side, unable to hold your gaze.

“It is dark and quiet and I like the coolness of the belfry. It can be exhausting, you know, being Papa. Up here I can get away from it all. I hope I am not intruding.”

You let this sink in. Then you shrug.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Papa parrots. 

“I mean, okay, sure, you’re not intruding. If this place makes you happy, I won’t tell you to vamoose. I’m happy to share.”

From the way his eyes contort, you think he’s smiling under there.

“Oh, thank you. I won’t be a bother.”

You pull on your pyjamas - keeping yourself decent in front of Papa though, realistically, if he’s been there for a while he’s probably already seen you nude - and crawl into bed, dragging your blanket up to your chest. You click off your bedside lamp and the room is plunged into near-darkness, held back only by what silvery moonlight falls into the room through your old curtains.

Papa is oddly quiet. You can only hear him in the ambience of your room if you strain your ears, his little snuffles and clicks.

“I might put on some ASMR, if that’s okay, Papa?”

“Please do. I like the noises they make. It gives me… what is it called? Tingles.”

It’s absurd to hear the monster under your bed say the word ‘tingles’, but you manage to suppress a laugh just in case he thinks you’re mocking him. You set up your phone to your favourite channel and lie back.

“Goodnight, Papa.”

“Goodnight.”

You fall asleep with surprising ease. The next morning, Papa is gone. You wonder if you’ve scared him off, but you’re relieved to find that he’s back under the bed by the time you turn in for the night.

So it goes on.

You make idle chit-chat every night, but he never comes into the light. He is quite content to hold a conversion from the shadows. Soon talking to him becomes something you look forward to: he’s a good listener, always keen to hear about your day and how things are for the laity, the bits and pieces he doesn’t necessarily get to see as Papa. In return he opens up a little about his responsibilities, though they mostly seem to boil down to ‘act as a perfect figurehead and do what the upper Ministry tells you to’. He seems a little stressed about it all and it hurts your heart.

Then he starts to do you favours. 

Your crumpled laundry is neatly folded on your bed when you get back from work. Incense is burning away when you get home, meaning you’re immediately greeted by the soft scent of sandalwood. One evening you complain about the mice which plague you with their incessant skittering presence, and the next night you come home to a series of little grey furry corpses lined up on one of your windowsills, pink claws grasping towards the sky at nothing.

Maybe you could have done without that specific one. But you appreciated the gesture and the problem was stopped, so you couldn't be angry.

You pass Papa in the corridor a couple of times when he is being Papa. His pupils are round when he’s out and about, and there’s no evidence of the claws he was sporting when he handed back your earbud. Yet it must be the same man, because his mouth twitches into the barest hint of a smile for you, and only for you.

Your little secret with Papa.

Things change in the autumn.

It’s been one of Those Days. Primo worked you to the bone in the gardens, you were blamed for mistakes made by other Siblings, and by the time you’d finished sorting the mess out? Everything at the canteen was stone cold. The belfry has never been more inviting than it is right now as you crash through your door and kick it shut behind you, throwing yourself face-first onto the bed so you can scream your agonies into your pillow. 

There is a pause when your throat is sore and you’ve finished letting out your roar of rage. Then, from under the bed, a tentative and quiet “are you alright?”

Oh right, Papa lives there, doesn’t he. In the misery that’s been your day you sort of forgot about that. 

“Sorry, Papa. I’m quite fine. I’ve just had a hard day.”

“Can I help?”

Affection germinates in your heart like one of the flowers you’ve spent all day cultivating, and for the first time since you woke up, a smile tugs at your lips.

“I don’t know, Papa. I don’t think so.”

You hear Papa hmm in thought, then from the corner of your eye you see one of those long, shadowy arms extending out from under the bed. Rather than reach for anything on the floor, though, it reaches up. Five razor-sharp talons rest gently on your bedpost before one by one lifting and tapping back down. Clack clack clack clack clack.

“Some ASMR,” Papa offers, and you find yourself chuckling at how sweet it is.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Is it relaxing? Do you have, mm, tingles?”

It is, and you do. You let the sensation of sharp nails on old wood send little vibrations down into your soul. You could let it lull you to sleep… but something in you decides it wants to test the waters just a little. Just to see if they’re warmer if you go deeper.

“Papa?”

“Yes?”

“May I try something?”

“Of course.”

You reach out until your touch graces the tip of those claws. Papa freezes like a deer in the headlights - how ironic, considering he could easily rip one of those creatures apart - which allows you to carefully link your fingers between his. There is a bit of a stretch, they are large talons, but he melts into your embrace as your palms meet.

“Is this alright? This makes me feel relaxed,” you whisper.

“Oh… yes, it’s fine. If it makes you feel relaxed…” Papa replies, his voice just a little choked. You recognise that voice. You’ve had enough lovers to know what it really means. It means, oh, but I’d do anything you want if it makes you happy. Yes. Anything. 

What an intriguing voice for Papa to have, the thing which is both the head of your church and the creature under your bed. What a gorgeous timbre on him.

You fall asleep with your knuckles nocked in the spaces between his.

The two of you hold hands when you drift off, now. After the first couple of days of you seeking his touch out, of him finding the reassurance you want this, he now offers his hand to you the moment that you get on the bed. He’s a little cat-like, you suppose, sparing with his affection until he is ready to go all in.

You wonder if he feels it, too. The ache in his lower belly when you touch. The way it roils like an ocean storm, begging to be calmed. You’re pretty sure there’s only one way it’s going to be calmed any more, and that’s by having the creature under your bed be claimed in it. You’re sure he must reciprocate your affection - why else would he stay, if he did not? Why else would he hold your hand like it was an anchor? - so now it’s just a matter of finding out if he wants you as badly as you want him.

It’s a lazy early evening when you float the idea. His hand is entwined in yours and you use the spare one to leaf through a magazine, reading out the articles he may find interesting. You do a lot of reading these days. Papa likes your voice, likes when you talk to him, and you are happy to fill the silence with whatever it is he wants to hear.

You finish the paragraph and close the glossy cover of the magazine, placing it on your bedside table. Without thinking you use your thumb to caress his own and you’re sure you feel him bristle with excitement.

“Papa?” 

“Yes, my heart?”

Another indicator: the pet names. He rarely calls you by your given one. He much prefers a hundred little sweet alternatives. You don’t know if he’s even noticed it, but you certainly have.

“Can I see you?”

This time, when he bristles, it is with trepidation.

“... you wouldn’t want that.”

“I would, Papa, I promise.”

He tries to withdraw his hand from yours but you resist just a little, grip him a tiny bit tighter, a silent cry if please don’t go. He relents and stays still.

“I am not a nice thing to behold, dearest.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will, I’m monstrous when I’m not in my cassock. It might hurt you to look at me.”

“I’d rather find that out myself.”

You can tell he’s crumbling. You go for the kill.

“I want to know what it feels like to touch you properly, Papa.”

With a groan you hear him break.

Another hand joins the first, gripping the bed for purchase to pull himself out. And so Papa… unfolds.

He is hard to look at, but in a sort of non-euclidean way. His body bends and warps the space around it, a plane of both pitch darkness and pale skin. Long legs which twist in the wrong way yet move with the grace of a ballerina. Elbows too gangly, knees too knobbly, neck too stretched. Vertebrae which stick out from beneath the thin muscle of his back. Yet there is that mask which you know from your days around the Ministry, and those mismatched eyes which you’ve become oh so soft for.

He is perfect.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, once you’ve spent time taking him in. You blink away the start of an aura migraine which is determined to overtake you as you try to make sense of him and just let the way he is… sit for a moment. Eventually you adjust. He is not some monster, not to you.

“Oh, but you’re beautiful, Papa,” you whisper, and the noise which comes out the back of his throat is like the beating of a beetle’s wings. Somehow you know he is bowled over by the idea of you thinking that.

“Will you… will you call me ‘Pet’?” he manages. His mouth is full of sharp fangs when he speaks. You don’t know why they excite you so much.

“If I can touch you.”

“Yes.”  It is a beg.

You reach out and rest your hand over the flat plane of his pectoral. His heart beats like a rabbit’s. Curious fingers begin to map out the shape of his skin, simply allowing him to be. His breath hitches every time you find somewhere new to explore and you wonder if anyone has ever done this for him, just sat there and felt.

So far, you have not looked between his legs. He appears to be nude, though, so when you see there is a… stirring there… you can only be thrilled.

“Satan below, I’m sorry,” he chokes, as if trying to will it back into its sheath. Instead of replying with words, you reach up to cup his jaw in your hand and trace your thumb over his lips, then use it as a marker to plant a kiss. His body goes still before he lunges forwards, wrapping himself around you the best he can, limbs all knots and bows as he centres you in the tresses of his embrace. A tongue darts out to taste your mouth, warm and soft, and you open up to receive him. 

“Oh, oh,” he manages between kisses, cradling you like you are the most breakable thing in the world as you trail affection all over his face. You are made of stronger stuff, though. You run your hand southwards along his chest, towards that place between his legs…

He bucks as you touch him, and your eyes widen in wondrous delight. You glance down to inspect him properly.

“Papa - Pet - why are there three of them?”

Were his skin not shadow-swallowed, you’re sure you’d see a blush creeping up his chest. The appendages pulsate and twitch in excitement under your gaze. 

“Only one of them is meant to go inside. The other two… aren’t.”

He seems so shy about it, but another flurry of kisses eases his nerves.

“What are they for, then? Please tell me, Pet.”

“They’re for… clasping.”

“Clasping what?”

You know you’re teasing now as his embarrassment blooms like a lily. You kiss him properly again, locking lips and touching tongues, before carefully pushing him backwards so he can lay on your bed. He stares up at you in rapture as you peel off your habit. You feel like a work of art as he traces his claws so gently up your sides. Your underwear follows and soon you’re as bare as he is, your chests heaving in tandem and the air thick with want.

“Show me. Show me all of it, Pet.”

Eat me, drink me, let me see the light.

He carefully guides your hips down a little, to where his appendages squirm and reach out to your warmness the way that flowers face the sun. The two smaller ones seem to have some kind of suction cups on them: tiny teeth with leech-like mouths. You gasp as they attach to the inside of your thighs, literally anchoring you to your monster-lover, holding you firm and spread. His main one - his cock, you suppose - wriggles and seeks out your hole as if it has a consciousness of its own, more tentacle-like than phallic. It leaks wetness. Lubrication to make the stretch more easy.

“Are you sure?” Pet whispers, and you nod with certainty.

“I told you I want to feel you, Pet. All of you.”

To settle this as fact you reach down to help guide him inside. He’s warm and slick to the touch, throbbing and eager. It wraps itself around your fingers for a second before it finds your hole. The tip circles you then it seats itself inside you, pushing and thrumming, his claspers dragging you down as his cock goes up. Within moments you are stretched beautifully, seated on Papa’s lap, mounting him like he is a throne you’ve conquered. 

You hold your hands out so he can lock his fingers between yours. He chitters in delight, so happy you’ve accepted him in every way he can be accepted, his claws warm and sure when they meet you.

It is so easy to ride him. His claspers keep you suctioned down on his cock so all you need to do is make long, languid rolls of your hips to feel him bump around where you need it most. You groan and throw your head back in delight, your pleasure only eking out more noises of excitement from him. 

“I’m so full, Pet. You’re making me feel so good,” you coo. He gnashes his teeth together in excitement.

“I am?”

“Yes,” you gasp at one particularly deep thrust. It feels like he’s buried in your guts. You don’t mind, not at all. You want him to take over every inch of you, you want to take over every inch of him, you want nothing at all to be left between the two of you but sex and slick and moans. You fuck him for an age, the pressure of your orgasm building as pre dribbles down his shaft and floods between where your hips meet. Honeyed words drip off of your tongue and you mean every one. He is gorgeous. He is perfect.

And when he whispers, “I love you,” you know that’s true, too.

“I love you, Pet.”

Something throbs at your entrance. Sweat-soaked and exhausted, you cock your head down at him.

“Oh–! Can I knot… can I knot…?”

“Can you not what, Pet?”

“No, I want to knot you.”

You almost come right there and then. You nod so hard you might give yourself whiplash and the swelling at the base of his cock is shoved into you, filling you so full you think you might be torn into pieces by his love and then brought back together by it, too.

He comes with a roar. It floods you. The knot means none of it drips out, so all you can do is watch yourself get fuller with his seed, a visible bulge as you become the receptacle for his monstrous release. Your orgasm is so blinding you think you might faint for a second.

And then it is all cuddles. He is bringing you into that wrap of limbs again and there are kisses, oh! there are so many kisses. Whispered words of love and affection chirruped from both of your throats as his knot deflates and you coat the bed in your coupling.

“Don’t go back under the bed,” you beg, voice hoarse, and he presses his lips to yours.

“No, not ever. Never again, my love.”

If people think it is strange that Papa has taken a paramour from nowhere, they never speak of it aloud. If they think it strange that nowadays his pupils are goat-slit and his fingers seem clawed as he attends to his Papal duties, well, they never comment on that, either.