Slipknot short stories

Feral Catboy [joey x reader]

Made by
Kindxasxsunshine

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You spot him one evening. It's twilight and you're sitting on your porch eking out the very last of the last autumn sun. It will be winter soon. You know it. You know it as well the leafless trees know it. As well as the birds flying south know it too. You rub the back of your arms already feeling the evening chill.

That's when you spot him, crouched and silent, half-concealed behind the compost heap. His ears are back and you can see the slight tremble of his whiskers as he watches you. You smile in spite of yourself. You knew they had a few in the area but you're never seen one before. You take another peek at him and see him bristle slightly.

He's cute. Slight and scared, long straight hair tumbling down over his shoulders with his twitching ears sticking through it. You tell he's nervous but there's the fire burning in his eyes as he glares you down. Must be hungry, you reason and get up to go back inside. He bolts before you can take a step.

You don't see him again until two days later. There's a dead bird on your porch, exactly where you'd been sitting last time. In other circumstances, you might have taken it as a threat. But you see him crouched (closer this time) watching and know it for what it is. A gift. You pick it up, though it turns your stomach, and take it inside.

The next day he's by the trash cans when you pull into the drive, back from work. He chirps softly and you smile because it's the first time you've heard him vocalise.

'What's your name, huh?' you ask, crouching down too and reaching out a hand. He doesn't come any closer but he does chirp again softly.

'Joey,' he says, tail flickering. You see the very tips of his fangs as he speaks. You smile wider saying hi and telling him your name. He nods and quickly pads off as your neighbour pulls into their drive. You watch as he disappears into the treeline. A cool wind pulls at your hair and you wonder where he's sleeping that night.

It becomes a routine of sorts. More dead birds. More halting conversations. You buy treats at the store on the weekend.

It's morning when Joey lets you touch him for the first time. Just the brush of skin on skin, as he steps into you, nudging his cheek against yours. You smile, warmed by the gesture, but don't try to hold him. He's sitting on the porch cleaning his ears when you come back. You pet his head as you pass up the steps. He tenses but doesn't run.

You go in to get the treats and are pleased when you come back and he's still there. You sit down beside him. You give him the treats and watch him struggle with the plastic bag before taking pity on him. You open the bag and he nudges your shoulder. So you feed him one and then another.

'Is it good?' you ask as you hear him crack the treat in his molars. He hums and nods, and you give him another.

'It's getting cold,' you say.

'It's cold,' Joey agrees.

'You could always, y'know come inside,' you say, not looking at him, '—if you feel cold.'

'It's not cold inside?' Joey says, taking another treat and munching thoughtfully.

'Nope,' you say, smiling. Joey nudges your shoulder with his head again before standing. He waves and sprints off.

You don't see him the next day or the day after. You start to get worried but that day when you get home from work he's on the porch. He lifts his head, ears flickering, and you see there's a scratch on his face. You hurry up the steps, reaching to touch but he flinches back.

'You're hurt, huh?' you say and he nods. 'You want to come inside?' He nods again.