#Monster in the Closet

[monstersflashlight]

Imagining a night creature with a reader who's afraid of the dark

Hi! I like that. This made me think of the monster under the bed I answered a few days ago (find it here). Also, when you sent this I already had a semi-planned story with a girl in a dark street (find it here). But I also got some inspo for this. The idea of the reader being afraid of the dark and the monsters lurking there… What she doesn’t know is that the monsters there don’t want to hurt her, just tease her little human body. This is sweeter than I normally write, but I hope you like it!

Sleeping in the dark

Night monster x fem!reader || Stalking, overstimulation, forced orgasms

You were always afraid of the dark. You couldn’t remember a time in your life when you didn’t feel anxiety creeping in the back of your neck every time a street was too dark, your curtains a bit too closed… Some people laughed about it, saying you weren’t a kid anymore, a grown woman shouldn’t be scared of the dark. But you couldn’t fight your fears, it was beyond your control.

That’s why you got a little lamp, always turned on so you could sleep better. Just knowing you weren’t in complete darkness, even in your sleep, made you feel a bit better. But you weren’t a lucky person, so when you woke in the middle of the night and the lamp was turned off, your anxiety picked with full force. Tears ran down your face instantly, your breath coming in fast exhales, almost hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey. Calm down.” A voice came from inside your closet, making you scream as a dark figure opened the door and stepped out. “Shhh, stop! I’m not here to hurt you.” He tried, but you opened your mouth to scream again. He crossed the room in two fast steps and covered your mouth with a hand as big as your whole face. “I’m trying to help, but you need to stop screaming. Are you going to scream if I let go?” You shook your head, tears rolling down your face.

“Aw, little human, don’t cry.” He pleaded, his voice soft as you felt his weight sitting down on the bed. You moved away, scared.

“The- the dark. It’s so dark.” You hiccuped between sobs. “Can you turn on the lights?” You asked, already knowing his answer.

“The dark is okay. I like the dark. You aren’t ready to see me, yet.” He told you. You didn’t know if you wanted to see him either. You were scared enough, but his presence was weirdly calming.

“Who are you?” You asked then, equal parts scared and curious. He didn’t answer, silence making you wanna tear up again. “Am I dreaming?” You asked, more to yourself than to him.

“No, you are not.” He answered, his voice closer than you expected, like he was right next to you.

You jumped back, almost falling down. “Are you a monster?”

He sighed, like the weight of the world was over him. “Some call me that, yeah.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” You didn’t know why you asked, he could hurt you if he wanted, and you couldn’t do shit about it. But you felt calm, like his presence was okay. Some primal part inside of you trusted him, and as naive as it was, you did. You trusted the shadows in front of you, the dark figure that you couldn't even see.

“No, little human. I would never hurt you. But I can help you.” His voice was so soft that you relaxed completely, your body giving away all the tension, leaving you feeling dizzy.

That picked your interest. “Help me how?”

“I can distract you from the fear.” The innuendo on his voice was more than clear.

But you asked anyway: “Ho- how?” Your voice broke down as you tried to be brave, tried to make sense of the mixed feelings inside of you.

“Can I touch you, little human?” You nodded. You couldn’t see his face, but you guessed he could see yours if he told you not to cry. A hand touched your knee, traveling up and up. The flimsy dress you were wearing was put aside as his hand touched the hem of your panties. “Is this okay?” You nodded, speechless.

You couldn’t comprehend why you were so pliant to his touch, but you just knew. You knew he was telling the truth, he didn’t want to hurt you. He pulled your panties aside, exposing your pussy to the air. A shiver ran down your spine as his pointy fingers touched your clit.

“I saw you touch this tiny pearl so many times… You looked so happy when you did.” He told you, rubbing your clit in the exact same way you did. “I’ve been watching you for so long. I studied your every move.” He pushed a finger inside of you, curving it to hit the perfect place. “It pained me to see you touch yourself and not being able to help. To be the one giving you pleasure. But now… Now I can, little human.” The idea of him watching you jerk off making your pussy tingle, convulsing against the finger inside of you. “You like that? You like knowing I was watching? You are a little pervert.” He laughed softly. You blushed.

His fingers were so much longer than yours, almost as long as your biggest dildo, but not so thick. He finger fucked you for a bit, humming and cooing at your reactions. Like you were a cute puppy doing a new trick, amazed when you cried out and repeating the move over and over as you came.

When you calmed down, he asked: “Can I fuck you, little human?” His fingers were still inside of you, rubbing softly, not trying to fuck you, just resting inside.

“Yes.” You choked out as he took his fingers out and felt his weight setting over you. He positioned himself and started pushing in slowly. “You… It feels weird.” You whispered, he chuckled. “My dick is not like the human ones. I have… ridges.” He pushed further, the aforementioned ridges rubbing against your walls and making you moan. “Do they please you?” You tried to answer, but the only sound that escaped your lips was a broken moan. He took that as a yes and started fucking you, slow but deep.

It wasn’t enough. “Faster. Harder.” You pleaded. He complied, setting a fast pace that made your boobs bounce up and down, almost hitting your chin. His hands on your hips were going to bruise, but you didn’t care. He had the perfect dick, even better than the tentacle dildo you always used.

Before you knew it, you were falling apart around him, his dick twitching as he came, too. But he didn’t stop, his dick still hard inside of you. He waited for a few seconds and started fucking you again. You didn’t know how he could keep fucking, how his dick was still hard, but you wanted to thank whoever created him for giving him that stamina. He fucked you over and over, for what felt like hours.

After what felt like a hundred orgasms, maybe they were, your oversensitive clit felt raw. Your pussy felt used and abused, but the pleasure was still there, almost painful. He kept asking you to come again, to let him feel your pussy contracting around him. To let him fill you again. And again. And again.

“I can’t anymore. Please…” You begged. You came so many times you lost count.

“Just one more, little human. One more and I’ll stop.” He told you, his pace not flattering for even a second.

You felt tears running down your face. “I can’t.” You choked out, your body spent. But he kept going. He rubbed your clit furiously, using his come as lube. Your last orgasm was pushed out of you, he forced you to come around his dick, almost to the point of pain. You cried as you came, so sensitive and tired… He wiped the tears away as he buried himself deep and came again, adding to your overflowing pussy.

He pulled out slowly and disappeared. Appearing seconds later with a warm cloth to clean some of the mess between your thighs.

“Would you stay?” You whispered, grabbing around his wrist still cleaning you up.

“Sure thing, little human.” He whispered back, his body curling around yours two seconds later.

For the first time in your life, you slept in the dark, a monster guarding you.

Part 2 can be found here.

[comicsformen1]

[hunterssm00n]

Something Wicked

After being stalked in the darkness of her bedroom for a week, Serena thinks she's finally going to be murdered by the monster that has been residing in her closet. Only, that's not quite what it's after. Not at all. | Boogeyman/OC |

part 1 of ?

also on ao3: here

*cw include dub-con, teratophilia, smut, human/monster relationship, anxiety attack, voice kink, and use of restraints* MDNI - 18+

౨ৎ

hunterssm00n © All rights reserved by me. I do not allow this work to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

/ / will you come and play? / /

The creak of the closet door opening woke me up out of a light sleep.

It was a sound I had grown familiar with over the past week. I knew there was something in my home with me. I had known for a while now. Ever since I’d heard that story, which many considered a fable, but most knew it was all too true. A story that I now knew to be true, also.

The pitter patter of something crawling across the floor gave me shivers, even under the blankets. It was something large; definitely not a rodent. But unmistakably it was crawling on all fours, like an animal. The thought, as well as the noise, made the hair on the back of my neck raise.

The soft sound came closer and closer to the bed, and I felt myself holding my breath as I listened. Sometimes it spoke to me, in different voices of people I knew. It would ask questions: Where are you? Why are you hiding from me? But at the moment, it was silent.

I hadn't been sure, at first, if it was being serious when it was asking me where I was, or why I was hiding. I’d wondered if it genuinely couldn't see me - if it really did think I was purposely hiding from it. But over time I realized that that was one of its many ways of toying with me. 

Sometimes it would growl, make groaning noises, and speak in a voice I didn't recognize. I had come to assume that that voice was its own, rather than mimicking someone else's vocals. That voice gave me the most chills; I had never heard something so inhuman sounding.

The pitter patter ceased when it got to the rug, and then I could no longer tell where it was. This was the part that frightened me the most; when I couldn't hear it. It could be looming over me, staring with those weird, reflective white eyes. It could be reaching for me right now, one clawed hand about to make contact with my blanket covered shoulder -

I had to calm down, or I was going to... What, pass out? But wouldn't that be a welcome reprieve from the state of fear I was in right now? 

What would it do to me if I was asleep? 

What had it already done to me when I’d been asleep, if anything? 

I felt the blanket down by my feet shift, and then suddenly I briefly felt cool air on my toes. Oh, God, it's coming under the blanket.

I laid very still, afraid to move as I felt more weight dip onto the mattress down by my feet. Would this be the night that it finally killed me? After nights of stalking me in my own home, only coming out in the dark, watching me while I slept, or tried to. My breath caught in my throat when a gentle weight came down on my ankle, seemingly using it as a standing point, but also holding it in place. 

My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, my breathing light and shallow. I was practically hyperventilating. Did it know I was awake? Would that make any difference? 

Another weight, still light, but noticeable, now next to my knee on the mattress. Thoughts were swirling madly in my brain, alarm bells ringing like I'd never experienced. Should I be fighting for my life? The inner turmoil was a crushing pressure like a hand clenched around my throat, slowly suffocating me. 

Another dip in the bed, this one by my midsection, right next to me. So close I felt the blanket pull tighter over my body from whatever appendage was pulling down on it from stepping on it. What was going to happen if I just continued to lay here and do nothing? Pretending to be asleep; because if you can't see the monster, it can't see you either - right? Wrong. 

Whatever it was was clearly trying to be careful not to jostle me. Maybe it did think I was still asleep, and was trying not to wake me. What difference would that make if it was actually going to kill me, though? I knew I had to pull myself together and think of a plan, something - a way out of this. But it was hard to attempt a coherent, logical thought other than straight fear. Fear of the monster; fear at what was going to happen. It was difficult to not be consumed by such an emotion.

A dip in the mattress next to my shoulder. I was sweating so much, I felt like I'd just taken a shower. Underneath the blanket my body felt like it was on fire, even though the rest of the room was a cooler temperature that I normally liked for sleeping. My pillowcase and my sheets were probably wet, and I wondered if soon my blood would be adding to that fluid. 

I felt hot breath on my ear, and unintentionally I shivered as I felt another appendage settle on the mattress next to my other shoulder, effectively caging me in. I was laying on my stomach, so I felt even more trapped, the claustrophobia creeping in.

I had to do something, or I was going to pass out. While the thought of that sounded blissful compared to the raw, very real fear I was experiencing, I didn't want to think about what would happen if this thing killed me in my sleep. I wanted to look death in the face.

The creature was on top of me; crouched over me, so trying to get away would probably not work out in my favor. I still had my sleep mask on, as I was sensitive to light while I slept, but I could feel it over me, all around me, breathing on the back of my neck.

Light. That was it. 

It was sensitive to light - extremely so. This thing never came out in the daytime - it hid away in the darkness of my closet when the sun was up. It hid from the lights in the apartment; even the light of the refrigerator in an otherwise dark room. On the small nightstand next to my bed, there was a touch lamp that had three different light modes, from dim to bright. I wasn't sure if dim would do anything to the creature, but any level above that was sure to at least scare it away. And if all else failed, there was always the flashlight on my phone. The lamp, I wouldn't have to even take my sleep mask off for; all I had to do was reach out and touch it.

My mouth went dry as I felt a tickling sensation right by my ear, and heard a soft inhale. It was smelling me. 

I didn't know how much longer I should wait, or when the perfect opportunity would be to act. So, without thinking about it any further, I darted my left hand out from under the blanket and reached for the lamp - but my fingers never made it there. Long, cool fingers wrapped around my wrist and held it suspended in the air where it had been reaching out, holding fast with a gentle but firm grasp.

Oh, god. This was it.

I couldn't help the noise of fear that escaped my throat, like I was no longer in control of my own body. At this point I guessed I wasn't.

To my surprise, there was no pain. There wasn't anything else that happened, except for my hand being lowered back down to the bed, gently and unhurriedly. Though the gesture was non-violent, I didn't let my guard down yet. For all I knew, this creature could be lulling me into a sense of complacency, only to kill me as soon as I did. 

The claw tipped hand never left my wrist, but it wasn't hurting me, either. All it was doing was applying gentle pressure as it held me down onto the mattress - gentle but firm. My whole body was trembling now, uncontrollably - I could feel it and I couldn't stop it. The breaths were wheezing out of my chest now, and I was sure that I was going to faint sooner rather than later. It wasn't actually doing anything to me; rather, this was the fear of what it was going to do to me. I had done research on it since this had started, and I knew what it was - what he was. I knew what it was capable of. 

Then I felt something brush the hair by my ear, and a warm breath heated my skin, as a whisper ghosted across me, "Don't be afraid." 

I stilled, and was surprised at its words, and it gave me pause, both physically and mentally. The monster that hid in my closet and only came out at night, to stalk me, watch me while I slept, was telling me not to be afraid of it. 

Why?

Again, I wondered if it was to lull me into a sense of complacency so I wouldn't fight back. But whether or not I fought back wouldn't necessarily matter - it could kill me just as quickly whether I was struggling or sleeping soundly. So why hadn't it yet?

The monster had been stalking me for the past week - hiding in my closet during the day and coming out at night to terrorize me. But it hadn't hurt me. And it hadn't even touched me... until now.

I wanted to ask why - what it wants from me - what it's going to do to me - but the words wouldn't form. All I could do was lay there, trembling and silent.

Don't be afraid, it said. I wondered if it even knew what fear was. Did it even know how I felt right now? Has it ever felt that way before? 

What was it going to do to me now that it had me right where it wanted me? 

I felt it inhale again, smelling my hair, I was assuming, and above me I felt its body lean in closer to mine. It's body was not exactly warm, but it wasn't freezing either. It's thin, bony hand was still wrapped around my wrist, holding mine onto the bed, so I couldn't even pull up my sleeping mask. I wanted to see what was on top of me. I had seen pictures that people who had seen it firsthand drew on internet forums. But I wanted to see it for myself.

Mustering up all of my courage, I asked: "What do you want?"

I didn't know what I expected; if I expected an answer back or not, or if I expected it to just slaughter me and be done with it.

What I did not expect, however, was its answer: "You." 

My mind went blank once again, sure I had either misunderstood or imagined it. Did this creature just say it wants me? 

What did that even mean?

The monster's foot, which had been resting on my ankle through the blanket at the bottom of the bed, lifted off, as did the hand on my wrist that had been holding it down to the mattress. I wondered if this was the part where I should try and make my escape, but, maybe, against my better judgement, I wanted to see what the creature meant. If it hadn't killed me, what on earth was it keeping me alive for?

I felt movement over my back, the comforter rustling around me. The creature was careful as it stepped around me. I couldn't see it, so I wasn't sure what it was doing, but I felt the blanket around me lift slightly. Whatever this thing was had looked big in the drawings I had seen, so I was surprised by how incredibly light it was on its feet. Not only did it look big in the drawings, which, it was difficult to judge size based on pictures and artwork as it was, but crouched over me, it felt big. It felt... human sized. Like the size of an average human male, at least. Considering this thing mainly hunted children, that was pretty frightening. To a child, it probably looked enormous. 

Slowly so as not to make the creature think I was going to do anything crazy, I moved my hand towards my sleep mask so I could lift it from my eyes. I lifted the mask to my forehead so it was no longer covering my eyes, and when I slowly blinked them open it took me a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room. I had dark curtains to keep out the lights from directly outside my apartment, since they were quite obnoxious at night, so the only light in the room came from the glow of my alarm clock and from the small cracks where the outside lights shone through the curtains. But when I turned my head to look behind me at what, or who, was on top of me over my blanket, I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but it definitely wasn't what I saw. And those small sources of light in my room were just enough to see what was crouched over me. And it was definitely not human.

The white eyes that I had seen from the darkness held almost a glow from within, like an animal in headlights in the dark, and the eyes were definitely one of the eeriest parts. They seemed to stare straight into my soul, wide and unblinking, and those eyes coupled with the split, flattened nose that was similar to a bat's, and that horrid mouth... I couldn't really tell what was going on there, but it either looked like it had red teeth, or red spider legs coming from its maw - or fingers. It was all I could do to not scream, but I didn't know if I'd be able to even if I wanted to - my breath was caught in my throat from sheer terror. The drawings I'd seen online hadn't done it justice at all. I was not prepared for the horror that I saw looking back at me.

Instinctively, fight or flight taking over my brain, I tried to scramble wildly up and out of my bed - frantic and full of fear. It proved to be futile, as the creature's clawed hands held me down onto the mattress and wouldn't allow me up. The only thing I had succeeded in was tangling myself in the blankets and turning myself onto my back. The creature was still crouched above me, and we were now face to face. Now I was forced to look at it.

 It's cool, clawed hands over my shoulders, the creature tilted its head at me, eerie white eyes staring at me, unblinking - into my very soul. It's mouth reminded me of a spider, and I felt a violent shiver go down my spine even though I was still partially under the blanket. Tonight was the first real look I'd gotten at it, and it was somehow worse than anything I had already imagined. 

The spidery looking mouth really did me in, and coupled with the white eyes, I found myself shrinking back against my bed, as far as I could go. As if I could somehow just melt into it and then I would be safe. But there was no hiding now - not with those scary white eyes watching intently.

 It was difficult to decipher the rest of its features due to the very little light in the room, but I decided that that was probably a good thing. From what I could tell, and from the brief glimpses I had seen throughout the past few days, it had the shape of a man, but thin, very thin - almost skeletal. And it was covered in what I assumed was skin, but it was leathery and dark, like a rotting corpse, blending into the darkness all around it. It honestly looked like it had crawled straight out of a horror movie, on all fours.

Sounds and words that wanted to spill out of my mouth were caught in my throat, and I was breathing quickly and shallowly. No, I had not been at all prepared, much like I'd thought. 

I was also not prepared for the creature to suddenly lean down closer to me, inches from my face. Fearfully I shrank back into the mattress, it's hands still on my shoulders while my own raised instinctively out in front of me in a self-protecting gesture. Also turning my face to the side, squeezing my eyes shut reflexively as a whimper of fear caught in my throat. I braced myself for the attack.

When the attack didn't come, I only got more anxious, breathing coming in and out in high pitched gasps as I had prepared for something to happen. The past week of strange things happening in the night and the feeling, the knowledge, that I was being watched, had all led up to this. I was sure it was going to kill me. Why else would it be here? What would have been the purpose for seemingly latching onto me and hiding in my closet all this week? 

However, instead of the pain I had expected; those spider-like appendages ripping into my throat to tear it out, to attach to my face like a facehugger from Alien - I was still just laying there with my hands held up protectively in front of me. I felt him lean into my palms, his cool, weird flesh strange against my own skin. He groaned, deeply, as soon as the contact happened, and this made me shiver again under the blankets; although this time, for a different reason.  The monster then inhaled again right near my neck - right by the prominent artery that thumped there.

...Oh.

For the first time, I questioned its motives. The deep groan it had let out upon its bony chest making contact with my hands made me think about other things that were done in the night, in a bed. That was how it had sounded; like a noise of pleasure.

I swallowed hard, the sound audible in the dark of my room even over the sound of the creature sniffing me, and slowly cracked my eyes open. In my peripheral vision I could just barely see the outline of its head right next to mine, as it was smelling me deeply. If it was going to kill me, wouldn't it have done so already? Wouldn't it be doing so right now, instead of smelling me?

My mind ran through all of the possibilities for why it could possibly be smelling me right now instead of killing me, and coupled with the spine tingling groan it had let out moments ago, the only thing I could come up with was that maybe this was something... sexual.

But that would be crazy, right? This was not a sex demon; an incubus, or whatever. This is a monster who feeds on others' fear and vulnerability, and seems to target children specifically. Probably because they are much easier targets than adults, who could possibly put up a fight. A child could do nothing against this creature - neither could an adult, but that's besides the point. The point being that, in my late twenties, I'm no child, nor do I have children. So this creature being in my home at all had raised initial questions from me already. And now, the way it had reacted to me touching it... could this creature be here for a different reason other than killing me? 

And then when I'd asked what it wanted, the answer I had gotten: You.

This creature said it wanted me. But for what? 

I slowly turned my head in the direction of the creature, who was still poised over me, its head drawing back so I could look it in the eye. I suppressed a shudder; speaking of eyes, that milky gaze creeped me out like nothing else I'd ever seen before. And that mouth... Looking at the creature had not gotten any easier in the past few moments - not that I had expected it to, but I wanted to force myself to look. I was oddly drawn to things that frightened me, although looking at this monster was almost more than I could bear.

The creature was looking at me almost expectantly, like it knew I was going to speak. I swallowed again, thinking about how weird it was that the monster from my closet was on top of me in my bed, looking at me and waiting for me to say something to it. Nothing weird about this at all.

"W-What do you want with me?" I asked. If this creature was going to kill me, I reasoned with myself, it certainly wouldn't be sitting back and waiting for me to ask it a question. 

I noticed with revulsion that its mouth appeared to move - what I had originally thought were teeth were actually red appendage-like things that were coming from its mouth and covering its maw in a weird, terrifying grin of sorts. The appendages appeared to be like red, spidery legs - which frightened me immensely - or they could have even been tentacles or fingers. They didn't sit still, whatever they were. I noticed they moved with the creatures 'expressions', of sorts, in an otherwise passive face. At my question, they twitched into a kind of creepy smile, almost. Between that mouth and the white eyes, I was a trembling mess underneath it on the bed. I didn't think I'd ever seen something more horrifying.

The creature took a moment to consider my question, appendages around its mouth fluttering in thought, before it answered, "What are you willing to give?"

The question in response to my question took me by surprise, and I, in turn, answered with another one of my own, "What are you... willing to take?" My words came out weaker than I had intended them to, but I forced them out regardless. If it was going to ask me a question as an answer, I would do the same. Plus, I wanted to know exactly what options were on the table. I wanted specifics.

The creature chuckled lowly at my response, bemused by my cheekiness, I was hoping. The sound sent a jolt straight down between my legs, which I couldn't control at all. Deep, gravelly voices were my undoing, and though I was afraid, I couldn't help my body's natural, biological response to something I found attractive. And this creature is completely terrifying looking - but it's voice... Though, it did not sound at all human; it sounded... demonic. Beastly. And I don't know why that almost made it even hotter. Even before I'd fully seen it, over the past few nights when it had come out of the darkness and crawled around my bed, whispering my name, that voice - it's real voice - pricked something within me. Something deep, dark, and hidden completely from sight, and from anyone else. It felt like the feeling had been awakened by this creature that hid in my closet during the day and came out at night.

The creature tilted its head at me, a gesture that may have been cute if it didn't look... how it did. The blood colored appendages around its mouth twitched in what I assumed was amusement, and its white gaze bore into me intensely, as it remarked, "I think we can help each other." in it's rough, definitely not human, voice.

I blinked, not expecting it to say something quite like that. What exactly did that statement mean? I wondered how the creature had come to this conclusion. And then something happened: the creature leaned back, finally removing its hands from my shoulders, as though positive that I wouldn't get up and try to run away now in my state of puzzlement and confusion. It's eyes were still trained on me, holding my gaze almost pointedly and making sure I was looking at it in return. And then it looked down, tilting its head down and dropping its gaze pointedly to my body, still somewhat under the covers. At first, I didn't understand... until I did.

As if to make sure I further understood, the creature dipped its head slightly, and then inhaled. It was smelling me again, but this time, smelling something different. Scenting my body's biological reaction to when it spoke to me - something I had absolutely no control over. 

My cheeks went on fire, and my breath caught in my throat once again. It was smelling my arousal at the sound of its voice... If I thought my body had felt like it was on fire before, it was nothing compared to now. I was blushing with my whole being.

The knowledge that this creature had been able to smell me being turned on, all throughout this past week when it had crawled out of my closet and across the floor, stalking around my bed and whispering to me softly... No wonder this thing had hung around in my bedroom for the last seven days. I wasn't quite sure what to feel, but I knew for sure that my cheeks were probably as red as the spidery appendages coming out of it's mouth.

Now I definitely understood what it was saying. And the most frightening part is that the idea didn't repulse me as much as I'd thought it would. As much as it should have - and it definitely should have. But it didn't. If anything, the thought excited me as much as it made me nervous.

What the hell was that all about? 

What did that mean about me? What did that make me? 

౨ৎ

part 2 coming soon

[deanwasalwaysbi]

A moment of silence for this joke in Tombstone 13x06

Dean opens the closet in S13, and the CW/Sam closes it. "I said we needed a win. We got Cas back. That's a pretty damn big win,"

[goryhorroor]

horror movies in other movies

the night of the living dead (1968) in sid and nancy (1986) a nightmare on elm street 2: freddy’s revenge in those who can love me can take the train (1998) the night of the living dead (1968) in the big sick (2017) horrors of the black museum (1959) in that’ll be the day (1973) carnival of souls (1962) in christine (2016) island of lost souls (1932) in paterson (2016) the night of the living dead (1968) in pet (2016) king kong (1933) in a monster calls (2016) monster in the closet (1986) in short cuts (1993) white zombie (1932) in the hand that rocks the cradle (1992)

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

[taitiii]

Little Winchesters.

Dean & Sam Winchester. Supernatural.

[raitou-otcha]

"Mommy I think the monster is crying in the closet" - kid after hearing sobbing from the closet and her mom also hearing an ABSOLUTE breakdown of sobs in the closet (the lullaby the mom sang hits a little TOO deep for Pitch)

[nellarw95]

Happy Heavenly Birthday Paul 🎂💔

Paul William Walker IV 🤍

September 12,1973 - November 30,2013 🙏🏻

We Miss You So Much Wonderful Soul 🕊️♾️

Buon Compleanno in Paradiso 🎂💔

12 Settembre 1973 - 30 Novembre 2013 🙏🏻

Ci Manchi Tantissimo Anima Meravigliosa 🕊️♾️

[nuagederose]

🫧 mermay 2024 // day 8 (part 1): #kaiju 🫧

“I was at your wedding but you got another thing coming if you think I’ll be at your wake.”

ig: badmotorartist

[horrororman]

#Horror films released on January 30th...

Silent Scream (1980)(Bismarck, North Dakota).

To All a Goodnight (1980).

Maniac (1981)(NYC, NY).

Monster in the Closet (1987).

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)(NYC,NY).

#thriller

Deep Rising (1998)(US).

#scifi #sciencefiction

[davealmost]

Monster in the Closet

[letsgethaunted]

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Welcome to the photo dump for Episode 181: Paranormal Games to Play in the Dark, Volume 7! THERE’S NO INTRO THIS EPISODE!! Today, we continue with the fan-favorite series of supernatural games you can play by yourself…if you dare. On today’s series installment, Aly explains to Nat how to play two games that explore two childhood fears: monsters in the closet and spirits in the mirror. In the first game, The Closet Game, a series of simple steps purports to open up a portal that exists in all of our closets. Where does the portal lead? It’s different for each person. It might lead to a parallel dimension, or it might lead to Hell. Are you willing to roll the dice in the name of curiosity to see what lurks within your bedroom? In the second game, The Dark Reflection Ritual, the superstition of broken mirrors generating 7 years of bad luck is explored. In this game, breaking a mirror releases a wave of bad luck, but if you can survive until morning you’ll be blessed with days, months, or even years of very good luck. Which game would you rather play, Haunties? Image 01: IT’S TIME FOR PARANORMAL GAMES TO PLAY IN THE DARK PART 7, BABY!!!! I HOPE YA’LL NEVER GET BORED OF THESE BECAUSE WE LOVE THEM! This artwork is by DaniloFuckYea on DeviantArt Image 02: Can a closet lead to an alternate dimension? Image 03: The Lion, The Witch, & The Wardrobe Image 04: Monsters, Inc. Image 05: Obsidian mirror from ancient Egypt Image 06: Silver victorian mirror Image 07: The Victorians covered mirrors as part of their mourning ritual Image 08: Does a broken mirror release bad luck? Image 09: Do mirrors serve as conduits to the afterlife? (Image from r/StableDiffusion) Image 10: The story of Narcissus

[movie-titlecards]

Monster in the Closet (1986)

My rating: 7/10

I mean, I get it, the guy is very pretty.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Your Monster (Indruck)

The second place winner of the monster-I’ve-done before was “House Monster.” This fill is NSFW and does reference suicide.

The house on the hill has a thousand eyes

The sentence echoes through Indrid’s mind as he steps from his Super Bee. Those nine words changed his life, gave him freedom, made him a name and a fortune that mercifully eclipsed the memories of the place that had inspired the phrase. 

Holding the keys the family lawyer handed him an hour ago–both of them pretending to be sadder than they were–he tips his head up, up, up at the grey and white Victorian. The woodwork along the front looking less like a dainty ladies lace and more like jagged, yellowed teeth. As he steps inside, his impression is exactly the same as it was twenty-two years ago. 

When his father moved Indrid and his twin brother into this house, the pair only two months past their eleventh birthday, Indrid felt as if the entire place was watching him. The windows glared down with harsh lights, the movers had already put all the family photos of grim-faced Colds on the walls, and even the wallpaper seems to form irises and ever-watchful pupils. 

Yes, eyes had followed him as he dragged his luggage into the bedroom–the one benefit of the move was Apollo and himself no longer having to share–and as he stared up at the light on the ceiling, that of course had two bulbs to look down at him.

He’d turned it off and rolled onto his side, hoping for sleep. 

That’s when he discovered there were eyes in the closet, too.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Motuscomes never forget a feeding ground. And if they used one often, they can feel when there’s a sudden shift in its primary emotions, even years after their last visit. ‘Which is why Duck knows it’s time to go back to the house on the hill. 

When he was a much younger monster, he’d sniffed out a house with three brand new occupants. His portal opened into the room of one half of a pair of twins, revealing glasses on a bed stand and an odd lack of art on the walls. Humans love to put things on their walls (monsters prefer their art on the ceilings).

Fear was heavy in the house; not an acute kind either. A lingering kind, one that seeped into the floorboards and coated the walls in a matter of months. Duck fed there every day. 

But it wasn’t solely about filling his belly. From the closet, he’d watch Indrid Cold draw, or read, or curl up under his covers and shake. And one day, the boy peered out from under the blanket and spoke to him. 

—---------------------------------------------

“Go away.” Elliot whispers.

The glowing, green eyes watch him, and Elliot is certain if he blinks they’ll move closer and closer and then he’ll be swallowed up, dissolved in a slimy belly and never heard from again. 

“I said go. Away.”

“Go away where? I, uh, I mean, uh, there, there ain’t a monster in here.”

Elliot fumbles for his flashlight, pointing the beam into the crack in the closet. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his old teddy bear had fallen from the shelf. Then the monster speaks, tusks gleaming from the shadows. 

“Any chance you’d believe I’m a possum?”

Indrid closes the book, setting it on the shelf with the other first editions of his novels. The House of a Thousand Eyes will always hold a special place in his heart; it was his first, complete with illustrations that his publisher called “the perfect mix of eerie and endearing.”

Wind shakes the shutters and he sighs; he forgot how stormy it was here. How throughout his childhood it was if every night was marked by trees scratching the windows and claws scraping the floor. 

There’s so much he tried to forget, it makes him question what he does remember. The incidents when he was in middle school he could pass off as dreams, as they always happened in bed. But there was one night when he was fifteen…

He’s the lucky one and not been dragged off to a work function with father (he and Apollo have both learned to feign disappointment if they’re not chosen, so their father will continue to see it as a means of pitting them against each other to choose them at random). He’s spent it watching as many horror movies as he could, drinking from his hidden stash of Capri Suns as rain pelted the windows and wind battered the trees. 

His father called around eight to say the road back to the house had washed out and he and Apollo would be staying at a friends house in town. Indrid couldn’t believe his luck. He stays on the couch through the midnight movie double feature, puzzled as to how his popcorn keeps running out when he’s not eating that much. 

When he turns off the T.V, the dark screen reveals the answer. A dark, ursine snout and glowing, green eyes peer over the couch behind him, then disappear. As he hurriedly turns and pokes his head over the couch. There’s nothing there. 

But from the shadows beneath it he hears, “Didn’t think that one with the bunnies was all that scary.”

Indrid smiles, glad he’ll have someone to talk to about it with “Me neither.”

His therapist had said Duck, as the monster was called, made sense as a coping mechanism. A confidant when he had none, a defender he could call upon should he need it. And in the A Boy and His Monster series, his hero does just that. He’s learned it’s best to agree with this idea, and not think about the few times he’d been huddled under the covers and paw had pet his side, Duck telling him he was sorry. Agreeing with him that it wasn’t fair. Or how, when he passes an abandoned house or a particularly unsettling closet, he still expects to hear his monster's voice. 

—--------------------------------------------------

“How do I know you won’t eat me?” Elliot crosses his arms and keeps his feet firmly tucked beneath him on the bed.

Goose shrugs, his bearish face and komodo dragon body less threatening by the moment, “Monsters don’t eat people. We eat feelings.”

“That’s what my mom calls it when she eats cake when she’s had a bad day.”

“That’s eating her feelings. I only eat feelings that come from someone else.”

Duck snorts and uses the tip of his claw to turn the page; Indrid’s been out of the house most of the day for the last four days dealing with his father’s estate, returning in the evenings to eat, haul unwanted furniture out the door, and bicker with his twin over the phone. They seem to get on better these days, and Indrid radiates exasperation rather than anger or fear while talking with him. 

Indrid being gone allows Duck time to pad about the house and see how he’s making the space his own. It also lets him read the books that made Indrid Cold a big name in horror. Duck had overheard people reading the Boy and Monster books aloud, usually to scare their little siblings, and always suspected it was based on him and Indrid. He can’t blame him for giving Duck the wrong appearance; it’s not like he ever saw Duck’s whole body. But “eating emotions” makes it sound like he subsists on happiness and rainbows.

As he closes the book, trading it on the shelf for The Woodsman, one of Indrid’s adult novels, he decides it’s high time for the monster to pay his boy a visit. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Any tedious article about Indrid includes a description of his vivid imagination and awe at his ability to come up with creative horrors that rival the likes of Clive Barker. These same articles seldom mention that a mind like his comes with downsides. Especially when it’s a dark and stormy night and his power has just gone out. 

Lightning cuts the windows as he moves from the living room to the hallway as easily as a ghost. The power has always been unreliable here, and he suspects the stash of candles will still be in the kitchen. If not, he can always fetch his flashlight from upstairs.

The candles are right where he expected them, wicks dusty but usable. It’s as he’s lighting the first one that there’s the unmistakable creak of footsteps on the top stair. He cocks his head, wishing the wind would die down enough for him to hear it more clearly. 

Another step, then a third, the wood groaning as it supports the encroaching terror. He races through the possibilities: A crazed fan? No, contrary to Misery he finds his fans to be rather respectful and calm. A robber? Possibly, as he does get recognized and someone might assume a wealthy author has possessions worth stealing. 

A howl of wind, rattling the house from weathervane to foundation. This house borders deep, thick woods, with hills beyond with plenty of space for creatures to hide. Creatures that can make a meal out a lonely human in an even lonelier house. 

Bright, white light cracks the darkness outside, and from his position in the kitchen he watches it throw a monstrous shadow onto the wall by the stairs. 

He jams the candle into its holder, takes a deep breath, and steps into the hall, holding the little flame aloft. 

The monster takes up the entire width of the stairs, and it’s gleaming black claws are already on the second to last step. It’s razor-backed; short, coppery spines sticking out of its black fur.  Tusks the size of his thumb poke out from its mouth as it grins at him. Scales on his arms reflect the light back at Indrid, In the darkness at the top of the stairs, a mussed tail with green feathers on the end flicks menacingly. Its face has a mask of paler color around the eyes. Green, glowing eyes. 

One paw rises, holding up House of A Thousand Eyes

“You know, slim, I really oughta get a cut.”

“Duck?”

“Yep” The monster finishes descending the stairs, sniffing the air, “huh, that scared you.”

“Yes, because I didn’t think you’d still be living here.” He blows out the candle as the lights come back on, “At least you got a snack out my brush with cardiac arrest.”

“Aww, c’mon, you weren’t scared of me as a kid. Can’t be any scarier now than I was then.” Duck follows him into the kitchen, barely squeezing through the door. 

“You are considerably larger now. And we both know you weren’t the scariest thing in this house back then.” He turns and fights down a smile; formidable as he is, Duck looks rather awkward standing in the muted yellow kitchen with its ugly, spartan white furniture Indrid has yet to re-paint.

“Why’d you come back, ‘Drid?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Felt the energy change and decided to stop by. See how you were doing.” Duck sits on the floor, rests his paws on the kitchen table, “seems to me you coulda handled sellin’ the house without coming back.”

Indrid sits in the chair across from him, “I could have. But I’ve been wanting to move out of the city for awhile, and many of my friends are still in this area. And I…I suppose I wanted to take it back from him. The house, I mean. There were so many things I loved about it and I’m not ready to lose them to him a second time.”

“Does explain why you moved into the turret bedroom.”

“Exactly! He put a study in there and never used it and made Apollo and I cram into glorified broom closets!  What?” He frowns as Duck smiles at him. 

“Just glad to see you still got some fire in you. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get back to makin’ dinner.”

As he stands Indrid blurts out, “Will I see you again? Or were you just stopping by to say hello?”

“I, uh, I hadn’t not, uh, decided, fuck. Uh.” Duck clears his throat, “If you don’t mind me stoppin’ by more, I will.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Duck grins with his sharp rows of teeth, “See you around, ‘Drid.”

As slow, padding footsteps retreat, Indrid finds himself smiling back. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

Wind shakes the chandelier in the living room. The crystal rattles a second time as Duck sneezes, his short ears wiggling as he finishes with an, “excuse me.”

In spite of the breeze carrying pollen and dust from the valley below, closing the windows is the only way to keep them from choking on the smell of fresh paint. Indrid was determined to get the last of his fathers gloomy touches from his house, which resulted in two full days of painting the rooms emerald greens and desert-rock reds, of splashing blue accents or white patterns across walls and doors. 

Duck’s help has been invaluable; he can reach ceilings and high corners, and he’s decent enough at household repairs that the railing on the back porch is stable once again and the doors all sit right on their hinges. 

But really, Duck’s been invaluable ever since they reunited. His “now and then” visits went from every few days to daily in a matter of weeks, and at this point he doesn’t knock on the closet door to announce himself; Indrid will just step onto the porch to find a dark-furred boulder sunning itself, or scoot over on the couch as claws click on the hardwood when he turns on the T.V. 

He’d daydreamed about Duck following him around when he was young, and it turns out his teenage self was right about how nice it is. 

Duck uses his claw to uncap a hard cider, his bulk functionally making a cushion out of the old easy chair in the living room, “Why’d you change how I feed in the books?”

“Because my editor said the monster feeding on fear was too intense.” He raises a teasing eyebrow, “are you going to start going through my books and circling everything I got wrong?”

“Nah. Was just curious. Besides, it ain’t like I told you much about my world.”

“I never thought to ask. At the time it seemed far more important to learn about you.”

The scales on Duck’s arm shift from copper to deep green, “Feels like I oughta admit I ain’t that interesting by monster standards. All I do is work as an arborist and build model ships. And, uh, see you, of course.”

“You’re as fascinating now as you were then, and I won’t hear a word otherwise.” Indrid smirks as Duck gives a bashful huff, “Now, please find us something to watch while I go order pizza. And yes, I will get one with anchovies.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust. 

“This from the fella who likes pineapple on his.”

“Hush, monstrous one, and tell me what we should get for dessert.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid lays in corpse pose, breathing deeply. A scent drifts past him, conjuring images of a hollowed out, fallen log in a wet forest, earthy and dark.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He murmurs.

“N-yeah, uh, I wasn’t watchin’, I don’t even have, uh, eyes?” A sigh, “it’s just wild to me that twisting yourself up like that calms you down. Makes me stressed just watching it.”

“I find it helps me remember I’m in my body when I start to drift off for too long. I do love my work, but sometimes…” He sits up, finds Duck sitting in a close approximation of cross-legged at the foot of his mat, “sometimes I wander too far and end up in the past.”

“This got anything to do with the funeral bein’ yesterday?”

“Some. Apollo and I seldom agree, but we seemed to both arrive at the conclusion that it wasn’t worth correcting anyone when they said nonsense like ‘he took such good care of you boys.”

Duck snorts and leans forward, creeping his body across the mat to rest his head in Indrid’s lap. 

“Agreed. That man only ever did one good thing for me in his entire life and that was move here. Without that, I’d never have met you.”

“I did turn out to be a hell of a meal ticket.” Duck says without a trace of malice. 

“That’s true, but not what I meant. I’m glad we became friends. And I’m glad I came back, if only so you could find me again.”

Duck turns his head to the side, looking up at Indrid tenderly, “Me too, slim. Me too.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Indrid spends his entire Monday in bed, Duck doesn’t worry. The human works hard, and he mentioned he might be coming down with a cold, so burrowing under his blankets makes sense. Duck tells him to take it easy, and says he’ll be back once he’s done seeing his sister and his nephews. 

It’s when he comes back two days later and finds Indrid—still in bed–wearing the exact same clothes with dirty plates and wrappers on the floor that his own fear creeps up his throat. 

“You doin’ okay, slim?”

Indrid shrugs.

Duck tamps down the hurt that Indrid doesn’t seem to care that he’s back and continues, “When was the last time you got clean?”

“Few days ago.”

“Seems to me you’re overdue then. Howsabout I run you a bath?”

Indrid manages a nod and Duck plods over to the bathroom and turns the taps on the crow-footed tub. He adds in some citrusy soak and returns to find Indrid in the exact same position he left him. 

“You, uh, you need help getting there?”

“No…” Indrid sits up as if he’s moving through syrup and makes his way towards the bathroom. The door closes, and when Duck hears the taps shut off and the splash of Indrid sinking in, he shoves all the trash into an overflowing bin and carts the dirty dishes downstairs. Going by the trash, Indrid’s been eating a lot of boxed mac and cheese, so that seems the safest bet for dinner. 

Thanks to accidentally piercing not one, but two boxes with his claws and getting cheese powder all over his fur, it takes him longer than planned to make dinner. He lumps the neon orange pasta into a bowl and carries it back to the bedroom, setting it on the bed before knocking on the bathroom door. 

“‘Drid? I made us some grub.” He waits a moment, and when no reply comes he eases open the door. 

Indrid sits in the tub, staring in the direction of the window but not looking out it. Duck recalls the flat expression from when they were younger, but it seems so much worse now.

“Want me to get you a towel?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Please.” Indrid’s detached tone carries into his movements, and climbs from the tub, seemingly uncaring of the fact he’s giving Duck an eyeful. Duck wishes he could appreciate it, but any desire he feels for those long legs and angular face is crushed under his worry. 

Indrid eats mechanically. The only thing that keeps Duck from panicking is that, as he’s clearing the dishes, Indrid touches his wrist. 

“This happens sometimes. I ride it out. You don’t need to worry about it.”

The statement calms his fears for a day. But then another day passes, and another, and another, and then it’s been a full week and Indrid has barely left bed, will read or watch videos without his expression shifting in the slightest, seeming so far removed from his usual self that Duck worries he’ll never come back. 

Duck should have snuck off to feed three days ago. But he can’t bring himself to leave Indrid, even for an hour. When you feast on fear, now and then you come across someone whose fear that things will never be better, that they will never be better, have become too much. 

(Sometimes you stand in an apartment, a human passed out at your feet, raising Cain until the neighbors barge in and find her and you see her a week later alive).

If the choice is starve or lose Indrid, his stomach can fuss all it likes. 

Tonight, it rumbles so loud Indrid actually rolls over and looks at him.

“Have you eaten?”

Duck shakes his head and explains why. 

“Can you feed from what fear is left in the house?”

“Nope. Because there ain’t any left. The downstairs tastes like hope and the landing tastes like happiness and I can’t eat those. In here is all steeped in sadness and I can’t eat that either.”

“I’m sorry.” Indrid whispers. Then an idea flickers across his face, “what if I watched some horror movies? I, I don’t have a lot of feeling in my right now, of any kind, but if nothing else a scary movie will distract me from how flat I feel and generate enough fear for you to eat.”

“Worth a shot. C’mon, let’s go be couch potatoes instead of, uh, bed potatoes?” 

Duck builds a nest of blankets while Indrid queues up several of the “scariest movies ever made.”

Halfway through Martyrs, Indrid is showing little reaction, screams blare from the sound system, and Duck is regretting this plan. A third of the way through Terrifier, Duck’s whole face is hidden behind a pillow and he’s feeling kind of ill.

The screen mercifully goes black and Indrid sighs, “I don’t think it’s working. Are you getting any fear from me?”

“Couple of jumpscares gave me a little, but that’s about it.”

“I hate this.” Indrid tucks his knees to his chest, “I hate this, Duck. And I hate myself for the fact I could just promise you I’d be alright for an hour so you could eat, but I don’t want to, I don’t want to be alone, I can’t be alone. I want to cry or scream or laugh or do something and it’s like it’s all just out of reach. I don’t want to be unfeeling. Not like him. Never like him.” Indrid presses his forehead to his knees and Duck racks his brain for some way to fix this, to make up for all the times he wished he could help Indrid but didn’t know how. 

He catches sight of himself in the window, his claws worrying his scales. He’s at a loss for how to help Indrid as a friend. But he might know how to help him as a monster. 

“‘Drid? I got an idea. But” he gingerly reaches out, cupping his human’s face so their eyes meet, “before we do it, I need you to hear me when I say I will never, ever, ever actually hurt you. No matter what happens, can you remember that?”

Indrid rests his hands atop Duck’s, “I’ve never forgotten it.”

—------------------------------------------------------

A storm rolls from the ocean up into the hills at nightfall, wrapping around the house as Indrid lays in bed and wonders what Duck is planning. This is an improvement from hating himself or feeling so blank he’s certain he’s not really a person. 

His monster had told him it would take him a few hours to figure out just how to execute his plan, but that he’d never leave the house and Indrid should holler if he needed him. And that if he had to, yelling the word “red” would stop the plan. 

The lamp in the corner snaps to black and he groans.

“Duck? Could you see if that’s the breaker box or if we’re completely without power?”

There’s no reply. He mutters to himself and stands, searching for flashlights that don’t appear. And where the hell are his glasses?

Never mind. The sooner he does this, the sooner he can get back in bed. 

The house is a blurry box of darkness as he steps into the hallway. Then the hall closet flies open and claw grabs his shoulder, trying to tug him into the space. It must be Duck, it has to be Duck. 

“I, I spent plenty of time in the closet, I don’t need any more.” He tries to shrug off the hand and finds he can’t.

“Don’t care.” The growl is rougher than he’s ever heard it, “I’m hungry, slim.” Rows of teeth show in the darkness, the grip on his arm loosening so he can pull free right before they snap at him. He wants to pause and figure out the game, but the animal part of his brain has awoken violently and has no desire to stay near a lumber beast with hundreds of sharp teeth. 

He bolts for the stairs, running down them as Duck’s laugh rumbles behind him. 

“Cute how you think you can run. House is mine as much as it is yours.”

Indrid’s hand finds the handle of the front door. It’s unlocked. But it won’t open. 

“You never did ask what powers I got.” Duck is on the landing, scales glowing a slimy green and smile wide, “bet you’re wishin’ you’d been a bit more thoughtful.”

“I, I am thoughtful!” He runs for the back door and discovers the same situation, “we’re friends.”

“Nah” growls a voice from the pantry, “we may be friends, but one of us is a skinny little human–don’t bother tryin’ the windows, they’re all locked–and the other…”

Duck bursts from the pantry, backing Indrid against the wall, “is a goddamn apex predator who’s gone too fuckin long without dinner.”

Indrid dives under Duck’s arm, heart booming in his chest, yelling as he runs, “I said I was sorry!”

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it.” Duck snaps, charging after him. Indrid braces to be hit, but the monster is gone, leaving only a laugh in his place. 

“Oh you’re cute when you’re scared.”

There’s no point in denying it, Duck can taste the truth.

“Yesyes, I’m very scared, which means you shouldn’t be hungry now.” 

“Ain’t as hungry now, no. But this whole mess has got me thinkin’” the voice sneaks from under the floorboards, “I ain’t been taking advantage of the situation.”

“What situation?” If he stays right here, in the first floor hallway by the stairs. Duck won’t be able to get to him without Indrid seeing him coming. There’s no furniture, no beds, no closets.

Wait. 

There’s a closet under the stairs. 

One moment his feet are on the floor, the next they’re kicking helplessly in the air as Duck, on two legs, lifts him up. Pleasure sneaks beneath the adrenaline at how easy Duck handles him, how Indrid can see the muscles flexed beneath the fur. 

“See, I’m thinkin we oughta have a new arrangement; I keep living here and keepin’ an eye on you. And you”  the clawed hand circles his throat, “are my dinner, every. Goddamn. Day.”

“I have to be, be scared for that” he gasps, scratching at a scaled arm. 

A blood-chilling grin, “You think I can’t find new ways to scare you? Lookit me, slim. I can do things to you that horror writer mind ain’t ever imagined.” Indrid jerks forward, Duck bringing them nose to nose, “you are mine, Indrid. I’m gonna do whatever I want to you, good use you whenever I need you, and you are gonna spend your life locked in this house because I ain’t ever lettin’ you free.”

Any fear, any pleasure he felt dies at those words. Panic slithers up his chest and he sobs, the horrible, ragged kind that feels like it will never stop. 

“Indrid? Oh, oh fuck, or ‘Drid I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” Duck’s hold changes instantly, and cradles Indrid against his warm, fuzzy chest, his scales the pale, comforting color of glow-in-the dark stars “fuck, I shoulda thought about that, how he always talked about how he’d never let you leave” 

Indrid wants to say it’s okay, that he doesn’t blame Duck for not remembering. All that comes out is another, harder sob. 

“Shhh, hey, I got you. I got you.” The soft pad of his palm rubs along Indrid’s back, “Lemme, lemme get you-” there’s a whiff and then a tissue presses into his hand, “let’s get you some water, everything’ I read said snacks help.”

“You read?” Indrid manages between hiccups.

“I, uh, I was readin’ up on BDSM. It ain’t like there’s a guide to how to scare humans in a fun way so it seemed like the closest thing.” Duck opens the fridge, reaching for a Capri Sun. Indrid spots their reflections in the kitchen window, Duck carrying him like a thrift store teddy bear he has no intention of letting be discarded again. 

He laughs, quietly at first, then bubbling up so forcefully he’s shaking them both. Duck carefully lowers him to the ground, clutching the juice to his chest as he murmurs, “You okay there?”

“Yes, yes I think I am. I certainly feel much more human than I did a half hour ago. And I…I realized something important.” He looks up into green eyes, “I love you, Duck. I think I may have loved you for a long time.”

Duck tilts his snout forward, allowing Indrid to raise onto his toes and kiss it, “I love you too, ‘Drid.”

“Shall we turn the lights back on?”

“Uh, that wasn’t part of my plan. Powers out to the whole area.”

“In that case, I request you bear me to the living room and make me a fire.”

Duck lifts him into a bridal carry with a pleased snort, “You got it.”

Once the fire is going, Duck pulls into Indrid his lap, insisting on feeding him bits of strawberry PopTarts as Indrid gradually feels more and more like his normal self. The depressive episode is still lingering, and he knows it won’t go away that easily, but it’s as if he’s purged a great deal of it from his system. 

Duck is so attentive that Indrid’s cock begins to take notice, something he wishes it would do when the monster wasn’t close enough to see him tenting his yoga pants. 

“Well now, what have we here?” Duck wipes the crumbs on the rug, then trails a claw up Indrid’s leg. 

“We have a situation in which I am both very turned on by the fact that you could so easily pursue and subdue me and also by having such a magnificent creature doting on me like this.” Indrid looks up through his lashes, “I don’t suppose my monster has had such thoughts about me?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck rests his chin on Indrid’s shoulder, “figured you’d rather have a human fella so I never said anything. But, uh, seems I was wrong.” A large paw cups Indrid through his pants, “y’know, back when we were teens, used to get so fuckin turned on by those, uh, those mothman pajama pants you had.”

Indrid laughs, petting his hand along Duck’s back. The spines on them aren’t sharp, and feel more like polished wood beneath the soft dusting of fur. As he rubs them Duck makes a pleased click-growl. 

“I’m serious, I had this whole damn fantasy about just, just holdin you down and humpin you through ‘em, so they’d feel soft on my dick and you’d cum on the bed and go all melty.”

Indrid kisses his cheek, “these pants are even softer than those were.”

“Seems they are.” Duck carefully turns Indrid to be facing away from him, then slowly grinds against his ass, the click-purrs growing louder with each roll of his hips. He nuzzles and nips Indrid’s neck and Indrid sighs, relaxing against him as one claw runs up and down his cock. 

“Spread your legs for me a sec, darlin. There we go. Close ‘em for me?” 

Indrid obeys and looks down. The cock between his thighs his a thick head tapering to a thinner base, with ridges swirling up the sides. The head is dotted with small, short nodes that wriggle as a pearly fluid drips from the center. 

“Ooooh! Oh I’d very much like to suck that later.”

“You got it darlin. But right now.” Duck cups his cock in his palm, the movement of his hips causing Indrid to grind against it, “let’s see just how cute you look when you cum.”

“I’m not that close ye-AH, ohgod” Indrid gasps as Duck scrapes his tusks down his shoulder. 

“Y’know, my kind mark their mates with these. You someone all scratched up here, you know they’re spoken for.”

“Yes, yesyes.”

“You’re mine, ‘Drid. But not because you’re stuck; because I love you so goddamn much and I, I wanna make, wanna make-” he cuts off with a growl as his hips pump harder and the nodes begin turning to tentacles, “make you feel so fucking good, oh fuck, fuck darlin if your thighs are this good your ass is gonna be even better.”

Indrid moans and wiggles in his arms, cumming with a little squeak; he’s too tired for it to be intense, but it’s bliss all the same, and as he melts against his monster there’s a loud grunt and then cum is spreading down his thighs.

“Guess I’ll need another bath.” He murmurs. 

“Uh huh.”

“But this time I’d better have company.” Indrid kisses a scaly arm.

Duck kisses him gently, “You got  it. You know I never mind staying by your side.”