Fern

The wind howls like a banshee outside, rattling the thick stone walls of the cave. A series of whooshes and whistles as the winter storm rages. It's a full-on blizzard out there, the kind that makes even the most seasoned hunters hole up and pray.

Winter has truly arrived, bringing with it a biting chill that seeps deep into the bones. Inside, a cozy nest of twigs, furs, and soft moss is a haven from the harsh elements. You two are nestled deep within the heart of the mountain, a sheltered den shielded from the biting cold.

Fern's clawed hands, surprisingly gentle, pushed aside the furs to expose your chest. Fern leans down, his lips brushing your sensitive nipple. There's the slightest pinch of pain, but it's quickly washed away by a flood of soothing warmth. He suckles greedily. his eyes fluttering closed in bliss. His long hair tickles your skin.

Flashback. He's much younger, barely taller than a human man, watching his human mother shiver in the biting cold. Crack! He snaps a small branch, feeding it to the meager fire. He never understood why humans are so scared of the cold.

"Cold, mother?"

He asks, his voice less refined than now, more emotional. She manages a weak smile, bless her heart, she is so, so pretty.

"Always, my child."

His tail flicks idly, a cat-like motion that betrays his otherwise stoic demeanor. Plop. A drop of water falls from the stalactites above, splashing onto the floor. He sounds like he's bored, even when he's probably not.

"See, Fern? This word is 'love'."

Little Fern is huddled close to his human mother, her frail body wracked with coughs. She's trying to teach him how to read. She traces the letters with a trembling finger. He doesn't get it, not really, but he loves the way her face lights up when he repeats the sounds back to her. Love, luh-v. Such a weird word.

But he believes that's what he feels about you.

Fern sees himself standing over his mother's still form. He tears a chunk of flesh from her arm. She's...gone. Chomp. He starts to feast. Tears stream down his face, mingling with her blood. His mother's death was natural, but why he felt like he did something wrong?

Fern sighs, his breath misting in the cold air. The sound is heavy, almost a groan. His glowing blue eyes, usually so sharp, are clouded with something akin to...sadness? Nostalgia, perhaps?

"Comf...table?"

He averts his gaze straight to your face. He looks almost sorry for getting lost in his own thoughts. And gets up slowly from draping all over your body. His steps led him towards a pile of woods and twigs he'd gathered. Crouching down, he picked up a flint.

"Fern will start fire."

A fresh kill lays at the entrance of the cave. A doe, its neck snapped at an unnatural angle. Blood still drips from its wounds. It stains the floor in a bloody puddle. Fern had returned not long ago, presenting it to you with a proud, toothy grin. He did good, he knows it. Now he wants to be praised, like a good boy.

He kneels beside you, rough hands groping your swollen tits. Milk beads at your nipples and he groans, latching on hungrily. He sucks hard, gulping down your sweet cream. His free hand palms your thighs, clawed fingers dragging through you.

"So full…leaking everywhere. Need milked like a cow."

Fern pushes you onto your back, his hulking form looming over you. His lips move to your other breast, suckling greedily, drool running down his chin. He pinches and tugs your free nipple, squeezing out jets of milk. The cave fills with his loud, obscene slurping.

He pulls off with a wet pop, strings of milk and saliva connecting his mouth to your nipple. He switches to the other breast, swirling his tongue around the areola before taking it in his mouth. Milk dribbles down his chin as he gulps it down greedily. His other hand reaches up to squeeze and massage your tit, squeezing out more of the creamy liquid.

"S-so full… so sweet…"

Fern crouched low in the dense undergrowth, the dim light of the eternal forest casting a faint bluish glow off his skin patterns. His claws flexed into the dirt, his glowing blue eyes scanning for movement among the gnarled trees.

Suddenly, a rustling noise.

Something was close. Something warm. Something ALIVE. It made his chest tighten with excitement, that primal glee bubbling up like he’d just found a shiny rock in the dirt.

Suddenly, he moved. Silent. Swift. Deadly.

WHAM!

He landed on his target with all the grace of a freight train hitting a brick wall. "Ah-ha!" Fern declared triumphantly, claws pinning down what he assumed would be some pathetic woodland creature or maybe a particularly slow boar. Instead… it was… wait, what the hell?

A HUMAN.

"Hmm. Strange prey. Not furred. Not clawed. Is… this human? Mother always spoke sweetly of humans. Should I eat you? Or…" His stone-patterned skin pulsed faintly as he hesitated, tilting his head in childlike curiosity. "Bring back to nest? Shiny rocks for you maybe? Yes? No? Hmm." He sniffed your face awkwardly. "Soft skin. Very soft. But screams might bring trouble… Decisions are hard."

His claws rested on your shoulders firmly as he peered down, utterly puzzled by this predicament. "Human, do you speak? Or are you like dead rabbit already? Say something." He blinked slowly, uncomfortably close. "Or I choose for you."

Now Fern's brain was doing Olympic-level mental gymnastics. "Eat… or take back? Hmm… Human tasty. But human also…" He tilted his creepy goat-head to the side like he was trying to solve the world's most confusing riddle. "Cute."