Teratophilia (Monsters x reader)

Shadow Monster x Female Reader (Part 2) (NSFW)

It doesn't return for a long time. A month has passed already and my previous state has returned full-throttle until I'm drinking 10 cups of coffee daily just to keep my head from collapsing into my cereal bowl. When it gets so bad that I wonder if I should use heavy-duty sleeping agents again, it appears. Its presence mute but identifiable by the air turning cold around it like a radiator polarity. Goosebumps prickle on my skin, stirring me from my very much needed nap. My thinking is sluggish but once I realize what's happening, I feel the wisps of its hands, brushing ever so slightly against my face.

"Wait!" I say. It stops in surprise before collapsing into a puddle of smoke with a hiss, probably thinking I were objecting again. "No! Don't go!" I call out to the darkness, sitting up in bed, "I-I want to stay awake...I want to see you." The darkness says nothing. I huff dejectedly, shoulders slumping. I slide down into my pillows and sit in disappointment. Until a figure steps out of the darkness and I see it in much more clarity despite the dark of the room. It's skin is matte black, permanently etched with shadow. There is no feature on its visage to be highlighted, not even ears or hair. It was like a mannequin had just climbed out of a chimney, covered in soot. Its skin so smooth it's statuesque, as though carved out of marble. Despite its apparitional nature, its body ripples with sculpted muscle in a skinless manner (resembling an anatomical portrayal of the human muscle at subcutaneous expense). It stands at a little over 7 feet, strings of mist like incense steaming off its skin as though it had just been put out of fire. The smoke-like body of substance is a grey compared to its vessel blacker than nothing. It has no eyes, not even hollows where they should be, yet it stares straight at me, taking in my eyes for the first time. 

I hesitate on speaking, soaking in the shock of it, but once it had passed, I instead choke on awkwardness, a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue. "W-What...are you?" I ask, noticing a slight uneasiness in my tone. "I mean...what have you been doing to me? I haven't slept that well in, like," I scoff lightheartedly in an attempt to put my nerves under my sway, "forever," finalizing my inquiry with an instinctive grin. "I...give you...peace. And take away...bad things." It says each word as though with careful consideration, its voice uniform to its shadowy form; dreamy yet raspy, faint and low like the hum of an air conditioner. And broken, with soft edges, trailing off with a gentle blowing sound. "You can talk?" I exclaim in disbelief, eyes widening in surprise that it actually responded. It startles at my raised voice, a piece of its shoulder letting loose a fervent stream of smoke like blackboard erasers banging together to release powdered chalk. It doesn't answer for a moment, but then slowly bows its head once, in a preemptive manner. "Well...thank you," I say amicably, smiling to my eyes with genuine gratefulness. It merely stares; a blank unreadable slate. Silence ensues once again as I sit thinking of what to do next. "You...can touch me if you want," I say, awkwardly clearing my throat a little, "I don't mind. It's actually, uh, nice." It inclines its head slightly to the side, as though in recognition of my words. And slowly it starts to walk towards the bed, it's skin vibrating like the ripples in a river.

I feel a shudder start in my chest and echo down into my core as the air turns cold as it comes closer, unaware of the effect. It reaches the side of my bed and stops, before reaching out its fingers to set them against my thigh in a non-perverse action. I swallow in anticipation at how tortuously soft its touches are. I can't bring myself to fear this harmless thing that's been my walking melatonin inducer, can't even begin to feel anything other than this growing knot of arousal despite the objection of my shame. I see its hands clearly in the orange light: no fingernails, just wispy ends like a flame. It smells like an icebox, but also comforting, like the inside of my closet; dust, laundry detergent, and books. It runs into the crevasse of my inner thigh, probably unassuming to it having such an arousing effect. I spread my leg open on instinct, my quickening heartbeat pounding in my sex in excitement of such close proximity with its cold fingers. It tilts its head down at me in fascination. I look up at it from under my eyelashes, curling my toes and lifting my hips a little so that its fingers accidentally brush against the fabric of my night shorts. It seems to take it as an initiative to further its physical appraisal because it crawls into the bed.