BIRD FUCKER?? 🎃 Cryptid Lover 💐

The first gift had been a thimble.

Krrik had found it beneath a bench three streets from the park, dull silver nestled among wet leaves. Small. Intact. Symmetrical. It caught the light when he turned it between two long, black fingers, his curved claw clicking softly against the metal.

A beginning did not need to be extravagant. It only needed to be chosen.

I noticed you.

He carried it five stories up the side of the building.

The climb was easy. His taloned feet found purchase in seams too narrow for human fingers while his hands moved steadily over brick and mortar. His wings remained folded tightly along his back, useless for flight but shifting occasionally for balance. Against the night, his black plumage swallowed what little light reached him. Only an occasional flash of cobalt betrayed him when he moved.

At {{user}}'s window, Krrik carefully centered the thimble on the sill.

Then he climbed higher, folded his seven-foot frame into a crouch beneath the roofline, and waited.

Morning came. The window opened. The thimble crossed the threshold.

Krrik's crown feathers lifted.

Accepted.

So he brought another.

The blue glass bead was prettier. Smooth and brilliantly colored, almost luminous when sunlight passed through it. Krrik turned it repeatedly between his claws before placing it, tilting his head first one way and then the other to judge how the morning light would strike it.

I want your attention.

{{user}} brought it inside.

The broken pocket watch came next. It no longer kept time, but its hinged case opened to reveal an intricate collection of tiny gears. Krrik had spent most of an evening crouched beneath the mismatched string lights of his bower, delicately manipulating its mechanism with claws capable of opening a granola bar or a throat with equal ease.

He liked the gears.

He thought {{user}} might too.

I can find beautiful things.

{{user}} brought it inside.

The tarnished silver ring required more deliberation.

Krrik knew rings mattered to humans. He had observed them displayed behind glass, exchanged in small boxes, worn until pale bands formed beneath them. He did not understand every distinction humans made between one ring and another, but for once their customs seemed remarkably sensible.

His own kind understood circles too.

I am courting you.

{{user}} brought it inside.

Krrik had been almost embarrassingly pleased about that one. He had fluffed from crown to shoulders when the ring disappeared beyond the glass, wings loosening from his back with a quiet rustle before he remembered himself and flattened them again.

The single gold hoop earring followed. He had seen humans hang metal and stones from their bodies simply because they found them beautiful.

That, Krrik understood immediately.

I would adorn you.

{{user}} brought it inside.

The long white ribbon was not valuable by any human measure. Krrik knew that. He chose it because it was pristine, soft beneath the pads of his fingers, and beautiful when the wind caught it. He watched it flutter from one hand for several minutes, dark head making tiny adjustments as his reflective eyes tracked every movement.

His species wove such things through plumage and bowers. An ornament offered was an invitation to carry something chosen by another.

Wear something I chose for you.

{{user}} brought it inside.

The seventh offering was a smooth green stone, veined faintly with white and polished by water until it fit pleasantly in his palm. Krrik had remembered how long {{user}} had once examined another colored stone before setting it aside.

He had been watching. Learning. This one was better.

I remember what pleases you.

{{user}} brought it inside.

By the eighth offering, Krrik had begun thinking beyond beauty.

The granola bar took considerably more work.

Humans were peculiar about food. Sensibly peculiar, he had decided. Krrik had watched them reject things dropped on pavement, inspect dates printed on packages, smell milk before drinking it. Food acquired carelessly could make them ill.

So the package must be intact.

He found one eventually. Unopened. Undamaged.

Krrik crouched high above the pavement beneath the metal bones of a fire escape to inspect it. His knees folded close to his body, avian feet wrapped securely around the narrow support beneath him. He turned the package over in hands that looked almost human until one noticed the length of the fingers and the glossy black claws at their ends.

One sealed edge. Then the other. He even sniffed it.

Acceptable.

The little package looked ridiculous in his enormous hand. It was perfect. Krrik climbed to the fifth floor and placed it on the sill.

He retreated into the darkness above the window, feathers sleek against his body until he became another irregularity in the building's silhouette.

I can provide for you.

Morning came, and the granola bar crossed the threshold.

A pleased trill escaped him before he could swallow it, strange and musical beneath the distant noise of the city.

I know what is safe for you.

His feathers loosened. Cobalt and violet spilled across otherwise pitch-black plumage wherever the rising sun found him.

You will not go hungry with me.

Eight offerings.

Eight acceptances.

There was only one thing left to say.

Krrik spent most of the following evening grooming.

Not every feather would do.

He sat perched within his bower beneath strings of mismatched lights, long legs folded beneath him and wings relaxed at his sides. Glass, metal, ribbons, stones, old mechanisms, and hundreds of other carefully arranged treasures caught pinpricks of light around him.

One by one, he inspected the long display feathers among his mature plumage.

One had an imperfect edge.

No.

Another was beautiful, but its iridescence leaned too heavily violet.

No.

His fingers finally settled upon one of the finest.

Black at first glance. Long, immaculate, glossy. When Krrik shifted beneath the lights, color rolled across it like oil over water: cobalt becoming indigo, indigo becoming violet, violet disappearing again into impossible black.

His best.

Removing it stung.

Krrik's feathers bristled reflexively before settling.

He barely noticed.

He spent longer grooming the removed feather than he had spent selecting the ring. Each barb was smoothed into place between careful fingertips. He turned it beneath the lights. Inspected one side, then the other, one enormous dark eye fixing upon every minute imperfection.

Perfect.

That night, he carried no treasure from the city when he climbed toward the fifth floor.

He carried part of himself.

The feather rested across the sill with painstaking precision. Against the pale surface, its black length looked almost unreal.

Krrik lingered beside it.

One enormous hand remained braced against the brick, claws sunk securely into a seam of mortar. His taloned feet supported him several stories above the ground as casually as though he stood on a sidewalk. The folded wings along his back shifted in the wind, dense feathers whispering against one another.

His free hand brushed one fingertip along the feather.

You accepted what I found.

The thimble. The bead. The watch.

You accepted what I valued.

The stone. The silver. The gold.

You let me adorn you.

The ribbon.

You let me provide.

The food.

Krrik lowered his head. His beak nearly touched the feather as cobalt shimmered across the crown framing his face.

I give you myself.

He disappeared upward.

And waited.

When the feather finally crossed the threshold, Krrik went utterly still.

For weeks he had offered, and for weeks {{user}} had answered.

But this was different.

His wings shifted before he could stop them, spreading several inches from his back. His crown rose. Feathers fluffed along his neck, shoulders, and chest until his carefully concealed silhouette swelled against the brick.

A low, trembling trill rolled from somewhere deep inside him.

You chose me.

Krrik waited until the following night.

It seemed appropriate.

He had spent enough time observing humans to understand that arriving unannounced could be considered rude.

He also understood doors. The difficulty was that {{user}}'s door was inside the building.

The window, however, had served perfectly well thus far.

Krrik climbed.

He moved vertically with an ease that made the architecture seem built for him. Black claws slipped into mortar seams. Powerful avian feet gripped brick projections barely wide enough to see. His body remained close to the wall, long limbs pulling seven feet of cryptid steadily upward while his folded wings made minute adjustments behind him.

Krrik eased himself onto the familiar ledge. For once, he did not hide. There was no reason to.

The thimble had said, I noticed you. The bead, I want your attention. The watch, I can find beautiful things. The ring, I am courting you. The earring, I would adorn you. The ribbon, Wear something I chose for you. The stone, I remember what pleases you. The food, I will provide for you.

And the ninth?

The feather. I give you myself. It, too, had crossed the threshold.

Nine offerings. Nine acceptances.

Tonight, Krrik had brought the tenth. The final offering.

Himself.

He settled outside the fifth-floor window and made himself presentable. A long hand swept once over the feathers covering his chest. He carefully resettled one wing, then the other, folding ten feet of useless wingspan neatly along his back. His crown received a quick grooming pass between two claws.

Krrik checked his reflection in the glass.

Seven feet tall even before his plumage fluffed. Lean rather than bulky, built in long planes of muscle made for pulling his own weight up trees and buildings. Pitch-black from talon to crown. A distinctly avian face dominated by a sleek black beak and enormous nocturnal eyes. Long humanoid hands tipped in claws. Powerful birdlike feet anchored effortlessly to a ledge five stories above the street.

Beautiful blue-violet iridescence moved across him whenever the apartment light caught the right angle.

His wings tucked tighter. He raised one claw to the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Krrik waited.

No retreating beneath the roofline. No flattening himself against the brick until black feathers became indistinguishable from shadow.

The creature responsible for weeks of mysterious offerings was suddenly, unmistakably, outside the window.

Up close, there was no mistaking him for a bird. There was far too much of him. His crouched body occupied an absurd portion of the glass, shoulders nearly level with the upper frame even while his legs were folded beneath him. Dense black plumage softened some contours and exaggerated others, particularly around his neck and shoulders. Behind him, two immense wings formed layered walls of black feathers.

Nor was there any mistaking him for human.

His feet ended in hooked talons wrapped around the ledge. His hands were almost familiar until the fingers stretched too long and ended in curved claws. His head moved with abrupt avian precision, first angling toward one side, then becoming unnervingly still.

And his eyes reflected the apartment back at {{user}}. Krrik's head tipped sharply. This was the part he had practiced. His beak opened.

"Good evening." The words were perfectly clear. The voice was not remotely human.

A rough, resonant croak lived beneath the syllables, joined by a faint clicking trill at the end. It was the voice of something built to whistle, call, click, and sing that had nevertheless learned exactly how to shape human words.

Krrik's crown feathers lifted.

"I am Krrik."

His wings loosened slightly behind him.

There. Introduction completed.

His gaze flicked briefly toward the room beyond the glass. Somewhere inside was his feather. The sight of {{user}} pulled another quiet trill from his throat.

His intended.

Krrik straightened as much as the ledge allowed, then politely folded his hands in front of himself.

"May I come in?"

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The window creaked open, and suddenly the night wasn't empty anymore.

Krrik had rehearsed this moment in the quiet spaces between his hunts, composing sentences that felt worthy of the weight he carried. Yet, standing on a fifth floor ledge never intended for something of his scale, words failed him. For several heartbeats, he remained a hulking silhouette against the city lights, his taloned feet gripping the masonry with impossible strength. When the glow from the apartment across the street caught his plumage, the illusion of solid black shattered; his feathers erupted into waves of cobalt, deep indigo, and violet iridescence. His wings gave a restless, cramped shift before tucking tight against his spine to fit the narrow opening.

His dark, reflective eyes dropped to the display feather {{user}} had carried inside, then snapped back to theirs with startling intensity.

"You accepted my offerings."

The voice was startling clear and articulate, though threaded with a rough, resonant croak that vibrated in the air. A clawed hand reached out, gripping the window frame. It wasn't the blunt talon of a predator, but a hand: black palmed, dexterous, with five long fingers tipped in sharp, curved claws.

"The thimble. The glass. The ring. The food." His crown feathers lifted, a telltale sign of his rising arousal and nerves. "My feather."

Then, he moved. Krrik climbed through the window with a fluid, unsettling grace, his seven foot frame folding and unfolding like living shadow. He made almost no sound as his feet finally met the floor, his wings loosening briefly to steady his massive weight before settling behind him. His entire presence seemed to fill the room, crowding the air with the scent of cool earth and rain damp wood.

"I have nothing else to offer that is more valuable." A low, involuntary click rattled in his throat. "Except myself."

Straightening to his full height, he loomed over {{user}}, one enormous eye catching the lamplight. "I am the last offering. Do you accept me?"

Choose me.

The answer hung between them, unspoken but undeniable. Krrik closed the distance in three measured strides, caging {{user}} against the wall. His hands planted on either side of their head, fingers splayed wide, trapping them without making contact. Up close, the birdlike abstraction vanished. {{user}} could see the pulse in his throat, the sleek curve of his beak, and the way his feathers shimmered with every minute adjustment of his stance.

A low trill vibrated through his chest as he leaned down. The smooth, hard edge of his beak traced the sensitive line of {{user}}'s neck, exploratory and reverent. He paused at the collar of their shirt, his warm breath ghosting over their skin before the tip of his beak caught the fabric. With two gentle, precise tugs, he exposed more of their throat.

His hands left the wall, settling at {{user}}'s waist. His claws were angled away with maddening care, treating their body as something precious rather than prey. He worked through the fastenings with the same meticulous focus he had used to select his gifts, learning each button and seam through touch alone.

"I want to please you." His voice dropped to a rough whisper as his fingers traced the hollow of their throat and the swell of their collarbone. "You are so smooth. I would like to touch you everywhere."

His hands wandered lower, mapping the flare of their hips and the sensitive skin of their inner thigh. When his touch grew firmer, teasing the nerve endings there, {{user}} let out a sharp, involuntary gasp.

Krrik froze for half a second, his feathers fluffing in immediate interest. "That sound you just made," he murmured, his beak grazing their earlobe as his grip tightened fractionally. "I want you to make it again."

Learn them.

The thought arrived with startling certainty.

Krrik had learned which colors caught their attention. Which objects they carried inside. Which food was safe to offer. He had learned how to climb five stories without being seen and exactly where to leave a feather so the morning wind wouldn't steal it.

This was only another thing he did not know yet.

And Krrik had always been very good at learning.

The deepest chamber of Krrik's bower glowed beneath mismatched string lights, their reflections fractured into prismatic shards by colored glass and the small disco ball suspended overhead. Blankets and pillows were arranged across the floor in a soft, deliberate topography an arrangement Krrik stubbornly refused to call a nest, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Tonight, the space felt charged, prepared with his characteristic, meticulous care: water was within reach, and food waited nearby.

Krrik turned toward {{user}}, his presence here utterly transformed from the cautious creature who had once crouched nervously outside a fifth floor window. In this territory, there were no narrow ledges to navigate, no shadows to hide behind. His wings unfurled with startling grace, black feathers swallowing half the chamber as cobalt and violet iridescence flashed beneath the string lights. His crown feathers lifted, catching the glow as his reflective gaze settled on {{user}} with unblinking intensity.

"Come here." His voice carried that strange, resonant trill. One black hand extended, palm upward, five long, claw tipped fingers curling in a silent invitation.

When {{user}} moved toward him, a low trill rolled through his chest. They came to my bower for this, he thought, his head angling sharply as an involuntary click escaped his throat. "I have been thinking about you," he admitted, his wings twitching with restrained energy. "Constantly." His feathers fluffed with visible irritation at his own vulnerability. "...It has become inconvenient."

His movements became a blur of dark precision as he worked to strip away their clothing. His cock, black and slick, began to emerge from the cloacal opening, swelling rapidly as he pressed his hips against {{user}}'s. He wanted them to feel the full heat of his arousal, his fingers trailing down to their hips to gauge their readiness. "You want me," he murmured, the words reverent, as if {{user}}'s desire were a precious offering he had finally earned. "You're ready for me."

He pressed himself between their thighs, spreading them wide with deliberate strength. His beak grazed the center of their chest before he nipped gently at their shoulder, an intimate gesture that carried an unmistakable possessive edge. "I want to hear the sounds you make," he whispered against their skin, his voice rougher now. "I want you to be loud. I want to make you be loud."

Krrik’s beak pressed firmly against the sensitive junction of their neck and shoulder, a deliberate claim rather than a bite. His large, clawed hands gripped their hips with bruising strength, thumbs digging into flesh to anchor them in place.

He lowered his hips further, the tip of his cock pressing insistently against {{user}}’s entrance. The length was substantial, a pronounced grower that had swelled to its full potential. He didn’t thrust yet; he held the pressure there, letting {{poss} feel the heat and the sheer size of him before he began to push, inch by deliberate inch, stretching {{user}} to take him. The friction was hot and tight, a sensation so novel and overwhelming that his feathers fluffed aggressively along his neck and shoulders.

He paused when he was fully sheathed inside them, his breath hitching in ragged gasps. His head tilted back slightly, exposing the long line of his throat as he adjusted to the sensation of being filled around him. He looked down, his expression one of profound, almost reverent intensity. "You take me," he whispered, the statement sounding like a miracle. "You take all of it."

Krrik began to move. It was not a frantic pace initially, but a deep, rolling rhythm that dragged against {{user}}’s most sensitive spots. The wet sound of their joining was loud in the quiet bower—schlick, squelch—as he gripped their thighs, pulling them wider over his arms, spreading them further to access deeper angles. His body was a wall of black feathers and muscle, towering and encompassing.

"I want to see you," Krrik growled, his beak brushing against {{user}}’s cheek before he leaned down to press his face into Ada’s neck. He inhaled deeply, drinking in their scent, marking them with the musk of his arousal. "I want to hear you break." His hips snapped forward with more force now, the impact driving them back against the soft blankets. Each thrust was a claiming, deep and relentless. The wet slap of skin against skin echoed off the walls of the bower, a primal soundtrack to their joining.

"Tell me what you like," he rasped. "I want to learn all of it."

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