#ghost/human romance

[monstersholygrail]

Ghost bf craves more than anything to taste the nectar that gushes from your folds whenever he brings you to orgasm. The fact that he can’t ingest anything that’s not on his physical plane slowly brings him to feel as if he is dying all over again. Your essence so close and yet unreachable.

He refuses to give up, pumping load after load into your sloppy wet cunt. He grits his teeth, staring at the wet sheets under you in envy. The way they so easily soak up your glorious release. He doesn’t stop as he fucks his cock into you, watching you arch off the bed like a woman possessed.

His hand makes contact with your clit and you jolt, pleasurable goosebumps trailing down your legs. Your body seizes, exploding around his ghost cock just as he releases another hefty load inside of you.

Your bf doesn’t hesitate to slip out of you, leaving you to hiss at the faint stinging sensation. Your pussy fluttering closed now that his invisible length left you. His hands push against your soft thighs and you see them spreading wider in what appears to be all on their own.

A moan rips out of you, a much smaller pressure gliding between your puffy lips. Your ghost bf laps at your pussy, his spirit aching for just one taste of your sweetness.

“Wait…” you croak out, legs shaking. This being the umpteenth time he’s repeated this cycle, giving you an idea what of what he wants and is not getting.

When you don’t feel what you assume is his tongue a moment later, you weakly rise onto your elbows. Despite being spent, pleasure swirls in your gut as you watch his spectral-cum ooze out of you.

Reaching down you whimper at the sparks of over sensitivity as you move your fingers through your folds in small circles, mixing your release with his. Your breathing picks up, the sight more erotic than you can admit. But you can feel yourself growing wetter and you can only imagine your bfs smug expression.

“That should work, right?” You ask into your seemingly empty bedroom, not expecting an answer as always.

A moment later you feel that pressure return, a gasp escaping your lips. Your bf slowly licks at your combined cum. His own musk crashes into his tastebuds and for a moment that’s all he tastes. But then, as if the door to the afterlife has finally been opened he tastes the most heavenly flavor as it coats his tongue.

Ghost bf moans, the sound moving through the wind and sending a shiver up your spine. You chuckle lightly but you quickly choke on it as your bf returns full force, happily slobbering up every last drop of cum he can find. His cock already prepped to do this all again.

[lovestrucklyuniverse]

Detective!Hans/Ghost!Jack - You Can See Me Moodboard

What can I say, I love my angst and somewhat spooky stories. Now, let’s get into it. *pops my knuckles*

Taking place in the Victorian Era, Hans Riddle is a top detective that’s hired by the owner of a cabin to check out the mystery of why his visitors leave all depressed and disturbed. When he gets there, however, he’s shocked to discover the ghost that lives in the cabin, an 18-year-old Jackson Overland that drowned in the lake in front of the cabin decades prior. And he doesn’t realize that he is no longer alive. So, it’s up to Hans to help him move on from this realm, otherwise Jackson will be cursed to stay in the cabin the rest of his afterlife.

I really love ghost stories, especially the kind where the ghost and a human happen to fall in love. (Although I can be picky, hello J*ke) But I guess I’m more thinking of a ghost/human can’t be together forever

Hans is a far more sympathetic character here in comparison to the previous AU I shared a couple of weeks ago. Here, he’s in fact a very lonely man that has never known what true compassion feels like, being the youngest of 12 brothers and all. And the first person to give him that isn’t even alive. Which causes some conflict when he knows that Jack needs to move on, but he’s also too afraid to be alone again.

[davinawritings]

Monster stalker that wants his scent on you so bad that he cums in your hair products.

He knows you always use leave in conditioner after your shower so obviously that is his main target. It is already a thick, white, and creamy consistency anyway.

He waits outside your home until he sees you leave before he breaks in. He dumps half of the product down the sink, making sure no trace is left behind.

He spends hours just cumming over and over again into the bottle. He mixes it up well so you don’t notice. Your human nose can only smell the scent of the synthetic fragrance.

His scent may not be noticeable to humans but other monsters will be able to smell his claim on you.

He only needs to keep the other monsters away a little longer. He has almost finished renovating his house, making everything perfect for his little human. Once that’s done he’ll be able to take you and claim you as his own. Then he can fill your cunt with his cum and truly claim you.

Until then, this will have to do.

❤️🖤💕💕🖤❤️

[slightly-knot-insane]

Drafty Fingers

Monstertober 2024 - day 4 [ Haunted ] by @ozzgin

[ m!ghost x fem!reader ]

tw dubcon

There has been a presence lingering around the house for some time. Watching you. But you just moved in and you believed it was all in your head. The unfamiliar house wanted to scare you a bit, that's all. But recently some stranger and more extreme things started happening.

At first there were brief and gentle touches of cold. Sometimes against your cheek, sometimes along your arm. Once, a cold stroke went up your shin. You shivered, rationalizing it as draft, but you felt some deeper excitement and fear as well. The draft felt strangely like fingers.

One day your friend visited you and, while you were sitting at the table with her, the 'drafty fingers' went up your skirt. They fondled your panties, tickling the insides of your thighs. All you could do was squirm, hoping your friend won't notice your strange behavior. But it was hard to talk or focus since the cool fingers touched exactly the right places, poking and rubbing through the fabric. You tried shielding your pussy from the naughty invader by pressing the damp fabric with your other hand, but it was no use. The chill went right through your flesh and bones and touched what it wanted, playing with your nerves.

Once the entity poked your clit, you jolted and apologized, explaining that you bit your tongue, and hid your blushing face behind your palm. When your friend stood up to bring you water, you quickly lifted your skirt to investigate your body. Your panties were moved to the side, exposed to some invisible spirit. The drafty fingers gently touched your plump folds and you saw them move and pulsate.

Completely embarrassed, you pressed your thighs together, but the lewd movements and sounds continued, unfazed. Since you couldn't stop the teasing, you decided to speed things up. You went to the bathroom, shouting another apology to your friend, invisible fingers still attached to your groin. Once you locked the door, you leaned against the wall and spread your legs wide open. You humped what seemed as clear air and nothing else, but the sensation inside your pussy became more intense with each roll of your hips. You bit your hand, trying not to moan while your friend is still in the house. You quickly climaxed, humping the air like a toy rabbit, without any physical touch - only thanks to skillful spiritual fingers.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅱ ▬ ⁽ 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₃˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, NSFW, dubcon, rape/noncon elements, explicit content, spectrophilia, ghost/human, rough sex, "unprotected" sex, creampie, somnophilia, cunnilingus. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: after coming home from a grueling day of work, instead of being able to relax, the feeling of someone watching you has you scared. ꒰m!ghost ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

CLICK

𝒯 he soft glow of your lamp casts a warm yellow light throughout the desolate home, but it fails to dispel the darkness that lingers. You make a mental note, weariness seeping into your thoughts, to buy a new lightbulb from the mart later in the week. The dimness of the room matches the heaviness in your heart, as you feel the weight of loneliness settle upon your shoulders, part of you knows you should be used to coming home with no one to greet you, but it still stings nonetheless.

Struggling to remove your gym shoes, you let out an annoyed groan, exhaustion causing you to stumble and collide into the wall with a thump. Finally freeing your feet, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a tired sigh. Your muscles ache from the long day at work, and the fatigue seems to seep into your bones. Your eyes flutter closed from the effects of sleep deprivation but your stomach grumbles with a ravenous craving for a thick pastrami sandwich. The thought of sinking your teeth into the juicy meat and tangy mustard momentarily distracts you from the weariness that engulfs you.

Discarding your wool coat onto the carpeted floor, you shuffle yourself wearily down the hallway towards the kitchen, fully expecting it to still be a mess from three days ago. The cluttered countertops and unwashed dishes serve as a constant reminder of your chaotic schedule and the lack of time you have for yourself. It’s as if the mess mirrors the disarray in your own life, and you can’t help but feel overwhelmed by it all. At times you missed living with your parents and not having any responsibilities. Being an adult was so stress-inducing you just wanted to lay in bed and cry sometimes.

Leaning against the hallway wall, you find solace in pressing your forehead against the cool, flowered wallpaper. Sleep weighs heavily on your eyelids, momentarily clouding your vision and tempting you to succumb to its embrace. And just as your legs threaten to give way, a gentle chill dances down your spine, jolting you awake with a surge of electricity. A tired sigh escapes your lips as you run your palm down your face, mustering the strength to continue towards the kitchen. The chaotic mess that greets you almost makes you cry.

Resting against the entryway to the kitchen, a pang of regret washes over you. Deep down, and not even buried that far truly, you wish you hadn’t taken your coworker’s shift. Despite your fondness for the woman, working two consecutive twelve-hour shifts was more than you could handle. And as the new nurse in the hospital, you were an easy target for those who wanted to shirk their responsibilities, they left you to run around like a headlesss chicken.

You finally gather the energy to carry yourself into the kitchen, reaching for a cup from the cupboard and turning on the sink faucet, allowing lukewarm water to fill it. Impatiently you can’t wait for the tap to run cold and quickly knock back the glass, the satisfaction of quenching your thirst outweighs the temperature. Slouching against the sink, you take a moment to stretch, feeling your joints crack and your muscles slacken. You flutter your eyes shut to stop yourself from gazing at the mess that’s your kitchen.

Placing the glass on the worn countertop, you set your medical bag on the kitchen island and head towards the staircase, overwhelmed by the longing for a shower and some rest. However, as you approach the hallway, a sudden shiver runs down your spine, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. Your legs momentarily go numb, and you manage to grab hold of the stair railing, preventing yourself from stumbling. After being on your feet for a whole day, you were shocked you had not immediately collapsed when you walked in the door.

A sudden sense of unease washes over you when you survey your modest home, the horrid sensation of being observed seeping into your skin and festering in your mind. It’s as if the feeling surrounds you, leaving you breathless and on edge. Your eyes dart between the dimly lit kitchen and the shadowy staircase, it’s as if the shadows themselves are in motion. Objects seem out of place, and didn’t you leave your bag on the island?

Confusion creases your brow as you search for your bag, it takes a while but you discover it leaning against the couch’s armrest in the living room. Your unease deepens, causing a slight twitch in your eye. The entire situation leaves you unsettled. Anxiously, you bite down on your lower lip, feeling the sting as your teeth sink into the flesh. Once more, the sensation of being watched intensifies, as though someone is observing your every move, listening to your every thought, and knowing your every action. Goosebumps raise on your skin, skittering down your back.

You shake your head in disbelief and pinch the bridge of your nose, the weight of exhaustion and hunger bearing down on you. ( the latter was something you would fix in the morning, as you did not have the energy to cook anything.) The darkness of the hallway only adds to your supposed delusion. With a heavy sigh, you push yourself away from the railing and begin the arduous climb up the stairs.

Stopping just shy of the top of the stairs, you reach your hand out and glide it along the cool walls beside you, feeling for the light switch— one may think that you would know where the light was in a house that you’ve lived in for two years, but you seemed to fail to find it every time. Your palm glides along the walls, desperately searching for the elusive light switch. It’s a futile attempt, as if the house itself is playing tricks on you. The anticipation builds as you inch closer to the top, your body tensing with each step.

Finally, the click of the switch echoes through the silence. But it’s not your doing. Panic sets in as you realize someone else must be in the house, but soon the hallway is bathed in harsh light, exposing every shadow and corner. Yet no one is there. You stare at your hand, questioning whether you had unknowingly flipped the switch.

Ignoring the fear that threatens to consume you, you force yourself to continue. Quickly, you make your way to your room, seeking solace behind the closed door. But even within the confines of your sanctuary, the feeling of being watched persists. It’s as if an unseen presence lingers, peering into the depths of your soul.

Your skin tingles in question as the ethereal sensation of fingers delicately cupping your cheek sends shivers down your spine (truly almost nonexistent). A surge of unease washes over you, even though you can’t see anything, you can sense an intense, ravenous gaze fixated on you. Shaking off the remnants of your episode, you take a hesitant step forward, determined to overcome any lingering apprehension. With a burst of courage, you scurry to your dresser and retrieve an oversized T-shirt, a memento stolen from your older brother years ago, along with a pair of plain black cotton panties.

No matter what strange occurrences were unfolding, you refuse to let them hinder your plans for a hot shower. The past twenty-four hours have left you covered in sweat and grime, and you are determined to cleanse yourself of it all.

With eager anticipation, you make your way to the bathroom, barely bothering to close the door behind you. Placing your clothes in the sink, you turn towards the shower, pushing the curtain aside to adjust the knobs and pull up the shower valve, spurring on the hot water. As the bathroom fills with steam, your breathing becomes slightly shallow, the heat causing your cheeks to flush.

Stepping back towards the sink, you gaze at the fogged-up mirror, your reflection blurred and distorted. Like a scene from a horror movie, you raise your hand and press it against the glass, wiping downwards and watching as the water droplets cascade lower, dripping on your discarded clothing below.

As your eyes meet your reflection once more, they immediately lose focus and fixate on the imposing figure standing just a few meters behind you. Towering over six feet tall, his muscular frame exudes a suffocating amount of dominance and power. A scream of terror and disbelief escapes your lips, and in a panic, you grab the hand soap from the sink and swiftly turn around, hurling it towards the intruder. The bottle soars through the air, crashing into the wall before landing on the tiled floor.

There was no one there; you were going crazy.

“Calm down. You need to sleep. It’s been a long day; your mind is playing tricks on you.”

You were just full of excuses, desperately trying to maintain your sanity. But surprisingly, those excuses provided a strange comfort, no matter how unbelievable they were. So, you decided to settle yourself down, shedding your work pants and kicking them aside. Your shirt and undergarments followed suit, as you let go of all inhibitions. In that moment, the fear that had consumed you was momentarily forgotten.

You gazed at your reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to wipe away any imperfections. Your eyes wandered down to your body, taking in the soft ridges of faint stretch marks on your breasts with your fingertips. As your palms venture lower, they lovingly caress your thighs, reveling in the velvety softness of your skin and the warmth that radiates from them.

With a shake of your head, you release a sigh of surrender, allowing your hands to fall gracelessly to your sides. You take a step closer to the inviting tub, parting the shower curtain to reveal the steamy water within. As you enter the embrace of the hot water, a soft moan of pleasure escapes your lips, the heat enveloping your entire being and melting away the tension in your muscles. This shower was exactly what you craved.

After diligently scrubbing your skin until it’s both raw (and irresistibly smooth), you find yourself sitting on the floor of the tub, relishing in the sensation of the water cascading over your hair and body. However, as much as you yearn to stay in the blissful sanctuary that is your tub until the water turns cold, you reluctantly acknowledge the losing battle against sleep that you’re already engaged in.

Carefully rising from the bathtub, you extend your hand under the cooling sprays of the water to twist the knobs and halt the shower, pushing the valve down afterward. Exiting the tub, you forgo the use of a towel and opt to let the air dry you while reaching for your toothpaste and toothbrush from their respective places. Relocating your clothes from the sink to the nearby shelf, you proceed to brush your teeth swiftly, counting to fifty before spitting and returning everything to its original position.

You grab your face wash and dispense a small amount onto your palm, with gentle strokes, you massage the cleanser into your skin, creating a lather that removes the remnants of yesterday morning’s messy makeup. Switching on the tap, you lean over the sink, allowing the warm water to flow into your hands, smoothly gliding it across your face and rinsing away the soap.

Your back divots suddenly with a delicate grace as an ethereal caress firmly grasps your sensetive hips, eliciting a startled gasp of surprise from your parted lips. Your eyes pop open, darting around in a hasty manner, well, stupidly, seeing as you hadn’t quite finished washing your face--- the remnants of soap trickling into your eyes. A sharp hiss escapes your mouth as you instinctively lower yourself to rinse away the discomfort.

Once more the tantalizing trail of fingers tracing along your spine is undeniably present. You remain still, your muscles tensing in anticipation, trembling as the touch ascends higher, encircling your neck. With trembling hands, you turn off the faucet and inhale deeply, attempting to steady your racing heart. The deep, seductive timbre of your name being whispered intimately close to your ear fills you with a bone-chilling terror. Quickly, you snatch your garments from the nearby shelf and flee into the sanctuary of your bedroom, momentarily struggling with the bathroom door.

“Calm down, calm down; this is not happening. You’re hallucinating.”

You erratically throw on your shirt, using it to also dry your face, and shimmy your panties up your legs, the soft cotton resting comfortably on your hips. You quickly crawl into bed and pull the comforter up to your chin, shutting your eyes and tucking your bottom lip into your mouth. (Your hair could wait, you were not getting out of bed.)

“Hey, Alexa, turn off: Bedroom Lights. ”

You can’t even recall switching on the overhead light, but honestly, you’re past the point of caring. The mechanical response plunges the room into darkness, and the moment your head hits the pillow (as comfortable as it can be when cold and damp), you’re fast asleep.

You’re unsure how long it’s been, but your eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep when you feel the sensation of large, calloused hands gliding up your stomach softly. The touch is unfamiliar, but it doesn’t necessarily frighten you as it should, instead, you can feel yourself throbbing in your panties, gentle and shy. You blame your sleep deprivation on the lack of fear.

The hands approach your bare breasts, a thumb rubbing over the taught peaks of your pebbled nipples causing a soft gasp to escape your luscious lips, your cheeks burning with fiery heat, and your body arching ever so slightly from the bed, offering your breasts to the awaiting, eager palms.

Your pussy, warm and slick, constricts and drools with your arousal. Maybe it’s the thrill of imagining a supernatural encounter, but you’ve never felt as aroused and eager as you do at this moment; dripping and throbbing.

You feel a surge of anticipation as your panties are gently shifted aside, a trail of your desire following suit. Ghostly fingers swiftly trail up your inner thigh, getting closer to your sopping pussy, and despite the uncertainty of the situation, the mysterious touch ignites a fire within you. The paranormality behind the sensation makes your heart pound and your pussy salivate with need. Lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, a soft caress on your clit causes your hips to involuntarily buck, your lip bruised from the force of your bite. “Ah~”

Your voice comes out as a breathy, needy whine. The suspense of where and when the next touch will land sends shivers of excitement down your spine. And as soon as you're almost on the verge of begging, a rush of hot air sweeps over your dripping core, causing your pussy to clench instinctively. Your throbbing clit pulsates with an insatiable ache, lost in a haze of pleasure, and your eyes roll back, unable to fully grasp the intensity of the experience.

As the sensation engulfs you, your throbbing bud is devoured by their hungry mouth. The combination of their saliva and your own intoxicating arousal trickles down, moistening your tight, quivering entrance. The sensation is nothing short of divine, as if their touch is delicately fondling and slurping at every nerve within your shuddering body.

Your hips, moving with a will of their own, rise from the bed and writhe. You can’t help but squeal softly as firm, powerful, and large hands encircle your hips, forcefully pressing you down onto the mattress, indulging in your warm, sticky juices; skillfully teasing your clit with its tongue. Your cries and pleas echo loudly, a stark contrast to your usual quiet demeanor when having sex with men.

Oh, but you felt like a bitch in heat, like your entire being was engulfed in flames and burning you from the inside out— it made you want to scream and cry.

Your body trembles uncontrollably as the knot tightens, gripping your stomach, thighs, and lower abdomen. In a desperate bid for relief from the agonizing pleasure, you instinctively gyrate your hips. Your vision blurs and fades into a blinding white haze, signaling your impending climax. But just as you teeter on the edge of release, the touches abruptly cease, leaving you yearning for more.

You whimper and attempt to reach down to your soaking pussy to pat and rub at your engorged clit, but you unintentionally freeze in place; a small knot of fear causes your eyes to well up, yet it only intensifies your craving for its caress. When nothing further occurs, you start to plead, like a desperate whore— as if you hadn’t been touched in years.

And as if pleased, the ghostly caresses return to your sensitive clit, moving with a deliberate slowness that sends shivers down your spine. You can’t help but let out a series of soft moans, as you offer up sweet words of gratitude to the mysterious entity pleasuring you.

“Ah, yes, yes, please!”

Your body tenses as the knot tightens, aching with a mix of pain and pleasure. Your hips move uncontrollably, seeking more of that sweet torment. Yet, it stops once more, leaving you to come down from your ruined high. You’re a sobbing mess now, grinding against the air, waiting for something, anything.

Your throat constricts suddenly, leaving you breathless as fingers delve into your tight, dripping pussy, curling and prodding your spongey g-spot. The digits seem to know your pussy like the back of their hand, stroking every nerve inside of you. The squelching sound of your arousal drowns out your heavy breathing and mewling moans. The entity suddenly adds its thumb to the mix, circling your clit quickly. The pleasure escalates swiftly, and your eyes squeeze shut as a rush of pure ecstasy overwhelms you, leaving your thighs quivering and twitching from the deep, blissful climax.

After the high subsides, you pant for air, the tension easing from your throat. You sprawl sensually on your bed, clit throbbing and arousal coating your sheets. A tepid, exhausted breath escapes your lips as a thickness delicately nudges apart the folds of your pulsating entrance, prompting an instinctual urge to flee. However, unyielding hands firmly pull you closer, and your legs reluctantly surrender to their command.

You can feel a bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip forcefully penetrating your quivering, weeping pussy eliciting a mixture of pleasure and pain at the invasion. Your pretty eyes roll quickly to the back of your head as the unknown entity plunges its heavy, thick cock into your tight entrance, your thighs pressed to your chest and legs draped over broad shoulders.

You keen softly, as your pliable walls ensnare his cock in a vice-like, velvety embrace. “More, I need more; please fuck me, please.” Your plea is abruptly silenced as its thick length withdraws from within you, only to resume with an intense, unconventional rhythm—leaving you no opportunity to adjust to its entire length.

The unyielding grip on your waist marks you in the most delicious way, leaving behind a trail of bruises that only heighten the pleasure coursing through you. Your pussy feels so full and sated, despite nothing physically filling you, you throb with satisfaction.

Lost in the depths of your pleasure, the reasons behind your desperate pleas elude you, but you continue to spill them forth without hesitation, unable to think. Once again, your breath is stolen away, your throat constricts, and an intense orgasm surges through you like a forceful tidal wave. A delicious warmth then radiates from your core, spreading through your tummy.

The most painful and pleasurable feeling of being filled with cum has you aching for a taste of it. Your body goes limp, but whatever is fucking you doesn’t stop; their cock pistols into you despite you slowly losing consciousness.

As your eyes flutter open, you gradually rise from the bed. The room is shrouded in darkness, leaving you disoriented about the time you’ve spent asleep. Urgently, you rush to the bathroom due to your full bladder. Stepping out of bed, a gasp escapes your lips as your foot lands on a cold, damp object. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s your panties. Blushing, you drop them and shake your head, with your hair still slightly wet from the previous night’s shower.

As you enter the bathroom, you opt for the wall light switch instead of the one on the ceiling, casting a gentle, warm radiance throughout the room. Oblivious to your reflection, you casually stroll past the mirror, too exhausted to spare a second glance.

As you ease yourself onto the toilet seat, your tired eyes gently close, and the tinkling sound of you using the bathroom lulls you into a state of sleep for a brief moment. A few moments pass, and you linger a bit longer before reaching for a flushable wet wipe, dutifully cleansing yourself before discarding it into the swirling abyss of the toilet bowl.

With a swift flush, you rise to your feet and shuffle to the sink to cleanse your hands. However, as you slowly open your drowsy eyes and catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, a sudden chill runs down your spine.

As you gingerly raise your shirt, a gasp escapes your lips. The sight before you is both shocking and unsettling. Crimson and violet bruises, resembling the imprint of a colossal hand, encircle your throat, cascading down to conceal your collarbone and shoulders. As your eyes wander further, a gasp escapes your lips. Vivid handprints, a testament to an intimate encounter, mark your hips in crimson and violet, while a constellation of hickies adorns your tummy.

As you gaze into the mirror, you suddenly catch sight of a man standing behind you, from earlier. Surprisingly, he seems closer than the last time you saw him, and you can feel the warmth of his body through your shirt. He stands tall, with bulging muscles and an overwhelming presence that leaves you breathless. However, his appearance remains a mystery, as you struggle to make out his features. Just then, the bathroom door slams shut, plunging the room into darkness as the lights flicker off. Your heart skips a beat as you feel hands slowly trail up your shirt, eventually cupping your pussy.

His voice is like a warm embrace, wrapping around you with its deep, sensual, sinful, and amused tones.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

[teratosfavouritesnack]

You've got a prankster in your house. A ghost who loves to constantly molest you with its shenanigans.

At first it was only the occasional object floating in the air, moving from one place to another, or things you were sure you had placed on that specific furniture, suddenly disappearing into thin air. It was particularly frustrating to have it hide your keys when you were running late for work or stealing your bathrobe when you were taking a shower. At one point it even started to snatch stuff away from your own hands; food, cups of coffee, your phone, clothes... anything to catch your attention and annoy you.

The shenanigans took a more 'sexual' undertone when it started to touch you out of nowhere when you were bathing, or undressing, or doing yoga, or leaning down to put stuff into the oven... One day it even groped your ass while you were taking the clothes off the washer, taking you completely out of guard and almost making you bump your head against the machine.

In other words; any chance it had to put its hands on you the ghost wouldn't miss it. The good thing was that the moment you asked it to stop it would leave you alone. Could the ghost actually understand and respect consent? Surprisingly so. Or at least that's what you thought, until one day... it didn't leave.

Well, to be fair, you didn't ask it to stop either.

You were sitting on the sofa, watching a movie, your hand buried in your panties, fingers rubbing against your folds and circling around your clitoris, when you felt its presence beside you. You didn't have the time to form a single thought in your head before its hand joined yours and its fingers curled inside your hole, making you gasp in both shock and pleasure. Your legs spread out even wider on their own accord, as if to welcome its touch, and you thought you could hear a faint echo of a chuckle reaching your ears in response. Its hand started to move quicker, making you see stars from the way it finger fucked you. You felt its other hand touch yours, pressing it over your clitoris as if to beckon you to move your fingers just like you were doing before. And so with your fingers circling your clitoris and its own pistoning your G-spot, you fell over the edge only a couple minutes later, spasming and whimpering as it fucked you through your orgasm.

You were still lost to the high when you sensed a feathery touch on your forehead, like a caress or a very gentle kiss planted on your skin, and then its hand running through your hair in what felt like a very affectionate touch. You glanced at the vacant seat next to you, somehow sensing its presence there and a lazy smiled formed on your lips.

Well, maybe having a ghost in your house wasn't so bad... And maybe the prankster wasn't just a prankster. Maybe it was a lover boy, too.

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me

[dark-moonlust]

Alastair’s Possession PART 1

Pairing: Ghost oc (Alastair) x fem!human reader

Summary: on a cool October night you explore a haunted manor and find your ghostly mate.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18+, dub-con, oral(fem), object penetration (wine bottle) yeah I went unhinged with this one, big 🍆, p in v sex, lots of 💦.

This is a sneak peek of a two part oneshot for Monstertober and yes it involves a wine 🍾I post some unhinged stuff both here and on Patreοn. Link in bio and profile. Please don’t attack me 😂. As always if this isn’t your jam, please skip it! If this is your stuff, enjoyyyyy 🖤🍾✨

————

Something large and cold prodded your cunt; it wasn't his fingers, because they were clawed. Whatever it was it was frigid and firm. You looked down, gasped at the empty wine bottle in his palm, the smooth glass glinting in the dim light. You let out a mewl as the cold top scraped across your folds. Panicking, you attempted to flee but he pushed the head within, shoving it till your folds touched the bottle's high shoulders. You clutched the sheets, your knuckles turning white.

“No,” you panted, your walls contracting around the intrusion. “Get it out of me—”

“I can’t finger you, little treasure,” he murmured, his voice low. “This will prepare you. You’re too small.”

You couldn’t speak, your breath caught in your throat as he pulled back the glass, then pushed it back inside. Ironically, you were drenched, your pussy weeping with more than enough lubrication to make the bottle slide smoothly inside you. Every nerve felt exposed, raw, as the cold of the bottle contrasted with the heat inside you. He kept fucking you like this, ignoring your groans and thrashes before lowering his mouth to your clit.

The touch shocked your system, and you cried out, your ears assaulted by the squelching sounds of your cunt being penetrated by a freaking wine bottle. It was too thick to fit, you couldn't take any more. Yet as his tongue stroked your clit, he pushed the larger part of the bottle within. You winced as it popped in, your pussy strained taut around it. He snarled proudly and licked around your stretched folds, softly massaging your clit with the pad of his finger and encouraging you to take more.

[duckiemimi]

i really enjoy the contrast between jjk and dandadan's approach to the question of what it means to be human, specifically in how cursed spirits/evil spirits are perceived by the protagonists. where jjk is more philosophical and within the context of the story's universe ("humans and their inherent humanity; a clash of ideologies"), dandadan feels like a real world answer to that—within the first seven animated episodes, we've been introduced to two "big bads," both of which have been given gut-wrenching backgrounds, painfully human in a way that sobers the audience stunned. (appreciatively, i say) it gets too fucking real.

but i like the contrast in delivery and impact. where jjk reads like an almost stoic outline to a loaded question, dandadan is the raw pumping heart that colors within. mapping veins, living blood. what does it mean to be human? spirit or not, at the end of the day, it's all just human business.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Transparent Heart

Human! Alastor x Ghost Reader Summary:Alastor needs a new source of inspiration. Nothing sparks that bloodlust anymore, nothing can satiate the growing desires he has for more and more carnage. One night, while all a party with Mimzy, he meets Y/N. Or does he? The sweet woman seems innocent enough but in reality she is a ghost, a being of chaos gilded by a fasle innocence. His new muse may be undead but it sure sparks some life in him. Warnings: Undead reader, smut, mentions of P in V, Alastor is a warning in and of himself, Demi-sexual Alastor, non-sex repulsed. MNDI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Pt 2

Celebrating 500+ followers!! Omg, everyone you cannont imagine my gratitude for this community. I started writing in January and just how much love and support I have recieved is mind-blowing. All of you are freaking amazing and I hope you know I adore you, my lovelies!

Alastor leaned against the dark wall of the burlesque club, his brown eyes scanning the vibrant display of sinful transgression before him, yet feeling none of it. The room pulsed with music, laughter, and the clink of champagne glasses, but none of it stirred him. He should have been thrilled—there were scantily clad dancers twirling and shimmying on stage, Mimzy was in normal form, charming the crowd with her flamboyant flair, and every inch of the room screamed excess. Innocent souls, ripe for the taking. A little southern charm here, a lingering touch there, a knife sliting their throat in a delectable squish that would send shocks of pleasure down his spine. It was a celebration, a riot of decadence that should have made his very soul hum with delight. 

But alas, the radio host. Felt nothing.

Once upon a time, this would have been his kind of night. The heady energy of sin, the delicious tang of chaos, the joy of being surrounded by souls desperate for something—anything—to fill the emptiness inside them. So desperate would they be, to fall into his greedy hands and he would grace them with the gift of death so sweet. It used to fill him with such vigor, such delight, like a fine wine sliding down his throat. But now, it was all just noise. Annoying noise.

The laughter? Grating. The champagne? Flat. The dancers? Nothing more than fleeting distractions. He watched as Mimzy flirted with a particularly tipsy patron, her laughter like tinkling bells, but it was all so... tiresome. 

He tilted his head slightly, and his sharp grin never wavered, but the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed. It was all a game, wasn’t it? A never-ending circus of false joy. No matter how many times he twisted the dance floor or how many souls he swirled into his web, it was all the same. Hollow. 

The feeling had come upon him suddenly a few weeks ago, stuck in a never-ending cycle of ambivalence. Nothing stirred the oh-so-normal bloodlust within his chest anymore. Nothing excited him to enjoy the chase, the screams. 

Alastor’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his glass, his gaze shifting to the stage as the dancers performed their latest number. It was all so… mundane. The bright lights, the glitter, the exaggerated performances—they meant nothing to him anymore. Maybe this is how he died, being a wallflower.

He exhaled softly, his voice barely rising above the cacophony. “Mimzy, darling,” he said, his tone languid, “do you ever get the feeling that all this glorious spectacle is just a bit... tedious?” 

Mimzy, amid her own little charade, paused and shot him a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with a touch of amusement. “Oh, Alastor,” she said, grinning wide. “You sound like you have been alive for centuries? Enjoy a bit of decadence. Pour some whiskey, put on some jazz!”

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter; a shadow passed across his expression. “Maybe that’s the problem, my dear. I’ve danced this dance for far too long.” 

And somewhere, deep in the pit of his chest, a voice whispered: Is there anything left to live for?

In the middle of his mid-but young-life crisis, a soft tap planted itself on his shoulder. His body became rigid, a dangerous flash passing through his eyes at the unwelcome contact. It was not entirely unpleasant, cold and soft. Strange, considering he hated all touch but one could suppose he had too much to drink. 

Alastor turned slowly to face the guilty party, only to find a petite woman standing before him. Pale, no doubt, almost sickly looking if her eyes hadn’t been the faintest shade of amber that brought the only sense of warmth to her face. Her hair was a light blonde, or was it gray? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this little pet had imposed themselves—

“If you are done staring, mister, may I continue my question?” 

Alastor blinked, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. The soft tap had already left a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and now this woman, audacious and unsettling, dared to speak to him as if he were some mere pedestrian. 

"What question?" His voice was smooth but cold, each syllable wrapped in the chill of his natural cynicism. It wasn’t the first time someone had approached him on a whim, but there was something different about this one. Something off-kilter, like a mismatched note in a song—one that lingered just long enough to be more than a fleeting annoyance.

The woman tilted her head slightly, the pale light accentuating the faint shadows beneath her eyes. There was something about her eyes, too—lifeless but sharp as a hawk’s. She seemed entirely unperturbed by his cold demeanor. 

"I was wondering," she began, her voice soft yet steady, "if you intend to stand like a wallflower all night or become something worth my time?"

Alastor’s eyebrows twitched, and his lips curled into something akin to a grin, though it was closer to a wolf’s smirk than anything resembling warmth. A question like that—drenched in disrespect, a dance with death itself. Was she…playing with him?

“Is that so?” His voice was laced with amusement, yet his eyes remained icy. “And what would a fragile little thing like yourself do with finding me interesting?”

The woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly more, a ghost of a smile appearing at the corner of her lips. “I’ve seen it,” she murmured. “How you find no pleasure in this display around us. It’s no stranger to you and I am not a stranger to it either. I see you come in here and revel every week until recently. Why is that?

For a moment, Alastor was silent. He had heard words like these before, though they usually came from those who lacked any real understanding of the ruthless, visceral nature of existence. But something about her tone, so deliberate, so knowing, stirred something within him. Something deep. Why would someone he had never met, though who apparently watched him, ask such a personal question?

“Well aren’t you a brazen one, my dear. I would suppose, these events have just lost their…usefulness.”

“Oh, because you kill people?” 

He hadn’t expected that at all. How did she know? How could he play this off? A shadow passed over his gaze, darkened as he looked down at the calm woman. She was baffling…but certainly, the most intriguing thing he had interacted with in a while. He hadn’t expected anyone—let alone a delicate little creature like her—to speak with such clarity about the one thing he’d devoted his entire being to understanding: death. But then again, he realized, perhaps this little conversation had more teeth than he’d first assumed. 

Grabbing her wrist discreetly but with a vice hold, he dragged his newfound muse into an empty room on the other end of the club. Throwing her in the room, he assumed her frail stature might cause her to fall, but instead, she simply looked like she floated across the floor. Strange. 

He chuckled, but the sound was dry, devoid of humor. “You’re quite the curious thing,” he said, his eyes glinting as he regarded her more closely. “Now, how does a little thing like you, make such a bold assumption as that?”

“Well, I have seen you,” she replied simply, her gaze meeting his with a directness that was both unnerving and intoxicating. “You are quite clean with it I must say, well, except for the eating part…but then again I guess everyone has their preferences.”

Alastor was taken aback. A brief flicker of something like appreciation passed through his mind, quickly followed by annoyance. Was she toying with him? Was this an act, some mask for her true fragility? 

For a moment, he considered walking away, dismissing her as yet another oddity to forget. But the words she spoke lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him like a restless hunger.

"What about you, Alastor?" she continued, her voice softening, almost as though she were coaxing him, "Do you fight it? The lack of bloodlust you’re feeling? Or do you surrender to the inevitable?"

Her words hung in the air between them, and the sound of her quiet challenge echoed in Alastor’s mind long after she’d spoken. He exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation flashing across his features. This woman had a way of pushing him in ways he didn’t particularly enjoy. 

And yet…

He growled lowly, stalking up to her with an imposing stance. Just kill her now, kill the witness. All his problems would go away, he could go back to standing on that stupid wall, drinking that flat champagne.

He glanced at her, a flicker of something approaching amusement in his eyes. Or…or he could have the most fun he had in weeks.

 "I suppose I don't have the luxury of surrender," he said, his tone colder now, sharper. "I’ve long since learned that life is more… interesting when you push against its edges. Though, I confess, there’s something rather invigorating about someone who understands the dance with death as well as you do."

She smiled this time a full, knowing grin. “I thought you’d understand,” she said with quiet certainty, leaning closer just enough for him to catch the scent of something oddly familiar—something sharp, like iron or fresh rain. “The world doesn’t stop spinning just because we want to rest. We can’t simply wait for the end to come. Until it gets here. No, Alastor, it’s all about taking it—grabbing hold of that final moment and making it yours.”

At first, Alastor found himself irritated by her relentless inquiries, the audacity with which she wove her words into the space between them. He considered walking away several times, but then, a strange thing happened.

Then, the irritation faded.

The longer they spoke, the more he felt the edges of his personality, drawn out by her words, her very presence. She was no weakling, no frightened soul. No, this woman was a kindred spirit of sorts—a creature of the abyss who spoke the language he had long since mastered.

But he supposed, it had gone on long enough. Even those whom he found mildly amusing had their time to go. And now, this woman had come to hers. Walking over to a desk in the room, he pulled the drawer open with the mask of preparing himself a drink. This was his typical room…to engage in his activities. As the woman faced away from him, staring blankly at the wall with what seemed ignorance, he approached. The blade was hidden deftly behind his back. 

“Well, my dear, as pleasant as this has been, I think it’s time we end this little game of ours.”

Raising the blade to her throat, he made the slice with a quickness that came with practiced ease. 

Only sweet, rich, red blood did not spill from her body for him to lap with reckless abandon. Her head remained intact, the blade leaving no mark. Backing up in mild shock, Alastor’s eyes widened in what he could only call horrific intrigue. How much had he had to drink?!

“Now, that was rather a rude thing to do.” The woman’s head turned…180 degrees, backward facing him. A small smirk painting to face. And then, her body started to float, righting itself to face him fully as he glided in the air to meet him. Her cold and frail fingers came to caress the edge of his cheek with a gentleness that surprised him. 

“Why would you do that to me, Al? I thought we were friends.” The woman….or ghost woman started to shed alligator tears. Her voice was a high-pitched wail that irked him to no end. 

“What…what are you?”

That caused the woman to pause, eyes sharpening as she looked at him with a look so fierce he felt like his own knife had pierced his heart. 

“I am Y/N. I…I am the ghost that lives here.” 

Now that would have caused him to howl in laughter had he not seen the spectacle before him. Y/N….the famed ghost story Mimzy would tell to scare customers into scam ghost tours of the club after hours for an extra buck. But here she was…in the flesh?

“I thought you knew me Alastor. I thought you understood me. Understood the darkness–” Y/N brought her hand back to his cheek, trailing it slowly, even seductively down his chest to the buttons of his vest. He felt a strange pull to the being, confusingly enraptured by her now. The transparent but uniquely cold nature of her touch sent shivers down his spine, in a way he almost did not mind. 

Where had this feeling come from? Had…had his interest in the conversation been actual interest in the woman before him? He usually never felt this way about anyone. Alastor’s lips parted in an attempt to refute his thoughts but nothing came out. 

Y/N’s hand lingered on his chest, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his vest with calculated precision. Her touch was cold, yet there was an undeniable warmth to the way it ignited something in him—something he couldn't name. Alastor's usual composure began to slip, the confident, omnipotent mask he wore trembling in the presence of this woman.

"You always talk about control, Alastor," she purred, her voice an intoxicating melody that seemed to bypass his usual defenses. "But perhaps you’ve never been in a position where control slips through your fingers, like sand... or, more aptly, like time."

Her words struck him like a thunderclap, rattling his thoughts. Time? Had he been so blind, so consumed by the world of his own making, that he failed to see what was right in front of him? He wasn't sure how to answer, only aware that something was shifting, like a piece of the universe slowly aligning to something he couldn't yet understand.

The smile she gave him was a little too knowing, and he hated it. But more than that, he couldn't seem to hate her—an emotion he had learned to master long ago. For a fleeting moment, her eyes softened, not in pity, but in a way that unnerved him. She was dangerous, yes, but there was something else there—a depth, a complexity that tugged at him.

“You look so lost, Alastor,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath cold against his skin. “Let me guide you..”

Her hand slid down, brushing against his vest, the tips of her fingers brushing the edges of his buttons, slowly popping them open one by one.  Every movement of hers seemed deliberate, calculated. And yet, as if it was just for him. That he was the sole focus of such tender devotions. 

Alastor swallowed, his mind scrambling to form the words to push her away, to reassert his authority. But instead, something inside him relented. He wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of her presence, the pull of her energy, or the simple fact that for the first time in ages, something made him feel alive.

“You think you know me, don’t you?” he said, his voice low, almost... intrigued. “But I assure you, darling, you know nothing.”

“Then let me learn, Alastor,” she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “Let me see the darkness you keep hidden. Let me understand what makes you... human.”

The word struck him like a jolt of electricity, and for the first time in a long while, Alastor felt something unexplainable deep in his chest. Was it love? Was it obsession? Or was it the terrifying realization that maybe, just maybe, he could understand her too? 

—————————————————————————————————

Clothes lay discarded on the hardwood floor, Alastor’s suit jacket among the heap. His body pressed her bare one flush to the hardwood floor, her lips continuing their long and languid assault on his own.

 All that remained was Alastor in a white button-up and boxers, his clothed member rutting onto her bare cunt. Moaning into the kiss, he tentatively brought his hands up to find themselves settling at the nape of the Y/N’s neck. Experimentally giving the roots a small tug, a growl emitted from Alastor’s lips, enjoying the way she shivered before him. 

It was almost like her form wasn’t there at all, that her body was transparent. Though, at this moment, he did not question the physics of how he could touch a ghost. 

Laid bare before his hungry eyes and desires, his cock came to be inside Y/N with one thrust; cunt wet and ready for him like it was made for this purpose. Like she was gifted to him by the divine to hold him close in the darkness and relish in his desires. How the serial killer, had come to be with a being who could not be killed. The one thing he could never kill. The irony wasn’t lost on him, though not his main idea at the moment. 

Conceptually, rationally, by all means of logic, Alastor knew it would never work. Except, in this very moment, cock pounding into her wet and inviting cunt, he couldn’t help but pray to whatever power was listening that something would come to fruition. 

Her moans were sweet on his ears, like southern sweetwater molasses taffy. The kinda of stuff you just can’t get enough of. With every rut of his hips into hers, those delicious noises would fall from her parted pale lips. Now, those were the kind of noises he would search for in the middle of the night. Screams, still scream, but those he wrought by giving her the utmost pleasure his mortal form could apply. 

All for her. His little ghost. 

[eldritchpotato]

Mirrorbound

You’ve never enjoyed visiting your grandparents for the holidays. But when the shattering of an antique mirror seems to have released something into the old house things suddenly become much more interesting. Especially since the entity seems to be very grateful for releasing her.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Content Warning: Female reader, ghost sex, possession, dubious consent, stealth exhibitionism, blood and mild gore.

If superstition was to be believed you were now looking forward to seven years of bad luck. It was a nice distracting thought from picking up the shattered pieces of the priceless artifact you had carelessly knocked over while looking for holiday decorations in the attic.

The mirror had been ornate, and the detail carved into the wooden edge was hauntingly beautiful. One of your grandfather’s “curiosities” to be sure. Maybe it just gave you the heebie-jeebies because he only would have collected it if it was either haunted, had been somehow involved in someone’s death, or connected to something else equally awful.

You hissed as a piece of glass cut into your palm. “Bloody f—” you stopped yourself. “Mary, where are you?!” You yelled again. Your aunt was taking her sweet time.

Finally, she poked her head up through the trap door and held out a broom and dustpan for you.

“I’ll get you a bandaid, deerie,” she added cheerily before clambering back down the ladder.

You did your best to sweep the glass up but considering how filthy the attic was you certainly were doing little to clean it. Where were the decorations? Why didn’t they keep them somewhere that wasn’t practically booby-trapped?

By the time you had cleaned up, whatever dust you had swept up had just attached to you. After telling Mary to find someone else to get the decoration through a coughing fit you scurried towards the bathroom for a nice long shower.

Peeling off your dusty clothes you turned the water on. It was freezing, of course, the water in this ancient house took an eternity to warm up.

You settled on checking on your appearance in the mirror while you waited. How much damage had that dirty attic done?

It wasn’t as bad as you had feared, it was easy enough to get the spider webs out of your hair and a shower would do the rest.

But…

Something red dripped from the ceiling behind you. You glanced behind you but there was nothing. No liquid on the floor and no stain on the ceiling. There was no sign of anything strange. But red wasn’t something one would miss in a white bathroom and it wasn't like your mind had a habit of playing tricks on you.

Turning back to face the mirror a scream tore from your throat. You spun around, pressing back against the sink. But the spectator was gone. The bloody monstrous figure that had spider-climbed down the wall was nowhere to be seen.

“You alright, dearie?” Mary called, knocking on the door.

“Bloody Hell,” you muttered to yourself, clutching your chest. “I’m fine Mary,” you called back. “Just… almost slipped.”

“Are you sure?” she called back.

“Yes,” you huffed, leaning your head against the wall. Actually, you weren't sure you were fine. Hallucinating was a very much not normal and fine thing.

Alright, I’ll put the kettle on,” she offered before shuffling away.

Quickly you hopped in the shower to clean yourself off. Regardless of if you were losing your mind, you needed to get clean.

A chill ran down your spine as you lathered yourself. That primal feeling that you were being observed. But the bathroom was empty, the curtain was drawn, and no one was watching you.

You dried off quickly before scurrying back to your room to get a change of clothes. You paused on the way, still slightly dripping and wrapped in a towel. “Bloody Hell, Mary, what are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’ve got it, I've got it,” she huffed, awkwardly climbing back down the ladder with a box of decorations balanced precariously.

You just shook your head and stepped into your room, closing the door behind you. Since she had sorted that you were free until supper at which point maybe you could use your new hallucinations as an excuse to leave a few days early.

You hung your towel up and waltzed over to your still mostly packed suitcase to fish out some more clothes.

Standing back up you froze. Behind you, reflecting in the full-length mirror of the guest room was a woman. She wore a tattered white dress stained red. Blood soaked her long matted hair from various shards of glass embedded in her skull. She clung to the wall with talons, what little of her skin you could see was covered in runic tattoos.

Since she wasn't real you didn't panic. But the fact you were definitely hallucinating was bad, really bad. Like maybe you could call an ambulance bad. Did you call ambulances for hallucinations? Suddenly this seemed far more serious. And why this? Why some sort of bloody demon woman?

She looked up and you winced, her hollow clawed-out eye sockets somehow still seemed to observe you. She slowly moved closer, the only way to describe her movements was wrong.

Oh, you really didn't like that.

It was oddly fascinating. Such a strange thing for your brain to make up. You had never seen this… character before, she was of your own imagination. She was oddly beautiful, the strange perfection the dead were sometimes thought to have.

She was right behind you now. You didn’t move. Logically it wasn't real but your thundering panicked heart didn't agree quite so much. Actually, you weren't remotely calm, just too distracted by logistics to notice the whole being frozen by fear thing.

Weird.

She leaned past you, bringing a talon dripping with blood to the mirror’s surface. You could swear you could almost feel her dress brushing against you. You watched with fascination as she wrote in her own blood.

Droplets of blood trailed down the mirror, you reached out to wipe them but… they were on the other side. Not that that was possible, but…

“What…” you muttered to yourself.

The message appeared on the mirror the right way round in beautiful cursive.

“You called?”

[monstersholygrail]

You spread yourself as wide as you can, not knowing how broad your Ghost bf is, but wanting to give him enough room as he fucks his cock into your weeping walls.

The days breeze blows in through the open window, providing a bit of relief from the firey heat that runs along your skin as your Ghost bf forces more and more orgasms out of your battered cunt.

You whine, writhing against the bed as his massive dick stretches you out. Your pussy flutters around seemingly nothing, yet that wet squelch echos throughout the room with every rough thrust of your bfs hips.

Hands squeeze tightly at the sheets below you, needing to grab onto something, needing something to ground you as your bf takes you to new dimensions of pleasure. A ragged moan leaves you, hips now jolting with each plunge of his cock.

“Fuck! I-I wanna touch you. Want you so bad— God!” You exclaim, throat raw from your cries of ecstasy. The dull feeling of your hips meeting causes your head to spin.

Reaching out blindly behind you, your hand snags onto the sheer white curtain of your window. Through the fucked out fog within your mind, you slowly form an idea.

Before Ghost bf can react, you throw the curtain outward and as soon as it catches onto an unseen form, you wrap your arms around it and pull him closer. A low moan leaving you as his cock slips deeper inside of you.

A sharp gasp moves past your lips, eyes narrowing, swearing you can also almost see his features through the material. In his shock, Ghost bf stutters in his pace. Feeling your arms around him would’ve been enough to make him blush if he still could.

Spurned on by this new discovery, Ghost bf starts pounding into you, the pleasure of his length rutting its way along your walls now heightened by your touch on his skin and slight ability to see him. But you need more as you feel yourself about to reach your peak.

Pulling him further down, you kiss him without hesitation, your lips fitting together like two puzzle pieces. The thin curtain only adding to the tingles moving down your spine.

Ghost bf’s moan moves through the breeze as always, yet this time you can feel it too. Ghost bf immediately cums again as yours lips brush deeply against each other. You whimper as his spectral-cum shoots inside of you, body twitching before you follow right after, exploding all over his cock and your bed.

You both rock steadily against each other, drawing out your orgasms as you make out passionately. Not wanting to separate for a moment now that you’ve finally gotten to taste each other in this way.

But your bfs ghost cock can’t plug you up. Can’t keep you stuffed full of his cum so that not even a drop drips from your delectable pussy. But with these new findings your bf can’t pass up the opportunity to try. To finally force his cum to stay deep inside you.

More whimpers leave you as your bf pulls away and slips the curtain off his head. They’re quickly interrupted by a choking gasp as you feel him stuff as much of the curtain inside you as the curtain rod will allow. You both look down at your pussy with bated breath. When nothing leaks out, you smile and fall back down on the bed.

“That was… a good idea,” you say through breathless laughter. Not being able to help but grind into the texture of the curtain and stimulating yourself all over again.

Ghost bfs eyes darken as he looks down at you, wondering just what else that curtain can give you both access to. His cock twitches as it starts to come back to life.

[kabukiaku]

Oh, take me internally. Forever yours, Nocturnal me.

(i have many feelings for them ok.)

bonus doodle:

[davinawritings]

Monster Husband’s Favorite Sex Toy

Minotaur husband loves nipple clamps that are connected by a chain. He loves the sound of the chain when he bounces you up and down on his cock. He also loves to give it the occasional tug, cock throbbing at the whimper that leaves your lips.

Ghost husband who loves a spreader bar. The bar keeps your legs open for him so he can tease and overstimulate your cunt for as long as he wants. He loves watching you struggle to close your thighs as he makes you cum over and over again.

Werewolf husband who loves knotted dildos. He originally got one to start trying to work open your ass so he could eventually knot you there. He knows he’s massive, and it will take some time to finally get there. He slowly works you open on different knotted dildos over a few weeks, increasing the size every few days, so your ass can adjust without too much discomfort. He becomes obsessed with watching your ass take knot after knot. But his love for the dildos is indeed finalized the first time he knots your pussy while you have the knotted dildo in your ass. The raw euphoria for both of you is just pure heaven.

Dragon husband whose prized treasure (besides you) is the solid gold butt plug that has a large ruby embedded in the base. He loves looking down as he works you open on his cock and seeing the ruby glistening between your cheeks.

Orc husband loves the sex swing he installed in your bedroom. His cock constantly throbs at the sight of your naked body suspended in the air, wet and ready for his cock. He loves how easily he can work you back and forth on his massive cock, listening to you scream his name as you squirt around him.

[monster-disaster]

i’ve been really insecure abt my appearance which is just making my depression even worse. would you please be able to write something with a ghost or shadow monster bf comforting the reader in both a fluffy and smutty way?? no rush for this btw😊😊

ghost!boyfriend x human!Reader Good to know: angsty with comforting boyfriend, smut

A/N: I hope my story gives you a moment of peace and comfort. :)

By the time you arrive home, take a shower, and settle in front of the TV, you are exhausted and ready to do nothing for the rest of the night. You are utterly spent, both physically and mentally. You are at your limits and unsure how to take back your control of your own self. The reins slip out of your fingers no matter how tight you try to hold them.

There are days when you feel content and happy in your own skin, savoring the world and its offerings. These days, though cherished, are often very fleeting. Sometimes, sometimes more often than you would like, you have to face the difficult days when everything seems to go awry. The world around you feels too tight, pressing in from all sides to the point you can barely stand underneath it with your own overwhelming thoughts. These days demand more from you than you feel capable of giving. On these days, you need more strength and understanding, but it's not always so simple. It barely ever is.

You are nestled on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. The soothing scent of your favorite lotions lingers, and your freshly laundered pajamas are soft against your skin. The blue glow of the TV illuminates your small living room, casting a gentle hue over the furniture. The aroma of your favorite takeout on the coffee table drifts through the air. Though your stomach rumbles, you remain still. There is not a single fiber in your body that you can make to move; instead, you melt even further into the pillows behind you.

Sometimes, it's easier to take care of yourself physically than mentally, although definitely not always.

There are days, or even weeks when you can go above and beyond to break free from the shadows of your mind, but it's still not enough. Your brain remains trapped in this gloomy, exhausting place where nothing is enough and everything is too much. You don't do enough, and you are not good enough, while the world is too much, and sometimes you are too much, and even though you know deep down that it's not true, it's hard to remind yourself every now and again and again. These fights with your own mind leave you drained and spent.

Fortunately, you don't have to face these days alone.

You never have to be alone when you are at home.

You sense his presence long before you feel his touch or see the gentle shift of your blanket as he slips beside you. His presence wraps around you like a second layer, clinging to your skin with a warmth that sends tingles through your body. A relieved sigh leaves your lips, and you snuggle closer to the comforting feeling seeping into your bones.

"I'm fine," you break the silence. The memory of your exhale lingers in your words. His disapproval is clear and heavy in the air. You curl into yourself even more. "I will be fine," you correct yourself after a few seconds. You don't have to hear or see your ghost to know what he wants. You just know it.

The plastic container on the coffee table moves closer, but you shake your head, pulling the cover tighter around yourself. "I will eat it later." Another wave of disapproval washes over you, but he leaves the topic for now. Instead, his presence envelopes you even more, curling around your body and settling over your shoulders. Your eyelids fall shut at the caressing motion through your hair, massaging your scalp and drawing small circles on the nape of your neck.

Pulling your legs closer to your chest, you rest your head on the back of the couch. "Thank you," you hum.

"I don't know what went wrong today."

The moment you opened your eyes this morning, you knew you would have to face one of those days when your mind acts like your enemy while you try to drag yourself through your chores with heavy limbs and an even heavier chest. The clouds were dark and thick above your head all day, and nothing you did chased them away.

"I'm just tired," you tell him while the TV goes on in the background.

You tried to make your day better, to make yourself feel better, but it was a lost cause from the moment you looked at yourself in the mirror. Nothing felt right as you stared at your own reflection, finding every flaw with merciless criticism and unforgiveness. Your skin felt too tight, and your features looked too wrong. You changed your clothes again and again and again, but nothing was good enough. It seemed like every one of your dresses and blouses and trousers highlighted all the wrong things in all the wrong ways.

"I know they are not true," you continue, motioning to your head. "My thoughts, I mean. But it's so hard to make myself believe in the opposite."

The invisible hands go down from your hair to your neck and to the soft curve that leads to your shoulders. Fingers dig into your skin through your shirt, rubbing against your muscles. You lean forward automatically, letting your head dip to your chest with a soft sigh. The hands slip to your shoulder blades, following the straight line of your spine and spreading out to find every soreness and knot.

"Thank you," you break the silence after a while, keeping your eyes closed. You can feel yourself gradually relax under your ghost's ministrations. You know your problems won't solve themselves because of a massage, but right now, they move back to the back of your mind, letting you breathe again after a whole day.

You are ready to fall asleep just like that, sitting with your legs crossed when his hands slip under your shirt like a light summer breeze. Your back straightens immediately, and you reach out to grab and stop nothing. Your fingers curl into your palm. Your nails dig into the soft flesh there.

The air freezes for a second. "Wait!" You gasp.

For a long moment, nothing happens. "I-" You want to say something to break the tension, but your words get stuck in your throat when the warm sensation from your side glides to your hand. You can feel his fingers slipping through yours as he lifts your arm into the air, and soon, you can feel his lips brushing over your knuckles.

You still don't know how a ghost can make you feel so much, but you welcome it gratefully.

He plants soft kisses on your hand until you calm down, and he can continue his way under your clothes. The soft fabric falls to the couch beside you silently after a few minutes. He moves slowly and carefully, letting you melt against the pillows behind you once again while the warmth of his touch creeps over your sides to find rest on your bare breasts. He cups the soft globes, stroking his thumbs back and forth over your nipples.

You know he is behind you, kissing up and down on your neck while groping your tits and caressing your heated skin. Your back arches, pushing yourself into his palms even more, and your mind is blank and hazy with pleasure. Shivers run through your spine with every circling motion and gentle tug on your nipples. By the time he decides to wander lower on your body, they are swollen and sensitive, and every small stroke and brush feels like a strike through your body.

Your breathing is heavy and ragged. Your legs open on their own when his hand slips under your pants and panties. Your head falls back on the couch, and an impatient moan escapes your lips. His fingertips brush over your slit teasingly, smearing your wetness all over your pussy before finding your clit. He draws small circles on your aching bud, making your hips grind against his invisible touch as you chase your rapidly approaching pleasure. You can feel your climax building. The familiar knot is hot and burning in your stomach.

"Please." Your plea is soft on your tongue in the quiet room.

Your ghost rubs and flicks your clit faster and faster. Your muscles tense, and your whole body jolts when he pushes you over the edge without any warning. Your world spins as you reach your climax with another mewl. It surges through your veins, urging your heart to flutter against your ribcage. 

His lips are warm on your forehead as he kisses you while you are still panting and trying to recover.

And not even a second later, your food on the coffee table is pushed closer to you again.

Your laugh is weak and amused. "Okay, okay. I will eat."

You know your problems don't magically disappear because of an orgasm. The battles and demons that haunt you are still with you somewhere deep in your mind, demanding your attention and energy time and time again even when you feel too tired and weak to face them, but right now, the darkness of the night falls easier on your shoulders, and you know tomorrow will be another day. Maybe a better day, maybe not, but either way, you won't be alone.

So, you let yourself rest tonight, embracing the peace of the world and your mind.

[deunmiu-dessie]

monster!boyfriend who acts tough but is actually shy and gets flustered around you easily. monster!boyfriend who's scared you'll leave him for someone else, someone human. monster!boyfriend who's clingy and whiny, showering you with affection, nuzzling your neck with sweet kisses. monster!boyfriend who's afraid of accidentally hurting his little human so he handles you like glass. monster!boyfriend who would give you the world if you asked. ˙◠˙

monster!boyfriend who's afraid of hurting you with his thick cock. monster!boyfriend who takes his time, slowly sliding into you inch by inch. monster!boyfriend who becomes completely entranced by the sensation of you clenching around him. monster!boyfriend who uses you like his personal sexy toy. monster!boyfriend who pumps you full of his thick cum for the third time that night. ˙ᵕ˙

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

[many-gay-magpies]

god what really gets me about dead boy detectives and what i think i love so much about the show and the relationships in it is that like. the romantic and sexual relationships aren't portrayed as being more unique or important than the platonic relationships. they're all just RELATIONSHIPS.

charles and crystal's attraction to each other and eventual hookup isn't this big end-all be-all relationship that shatter charles and edwin's friendship and draws charles' attention away from edwin; it's just a THING that happens. they're just two people that care about each other and happen to also be attracted to each other, and a hook-up happens, then they decide that neither of them are in the right place for it and it's nothing awful. crystal kisses charles, but it isn't some big spectacle of her declaring her love for him; it's just her saying goodbye and that she cares about him, like her hugs with niko and jenny and her handshake with edwin.

edwin realizes he loves charles romantically and tells him, and charles says he doesn't really love edwin romantically BACK, but it's okay, because they still love each other so much in so many other ways that this one tiny difference could never change them—and it doesn't!! they're still just as close, still care for each other just as much, still SHOW that care for each other just as much. their relationship didn't completely end because edwin loved charles in a way charles couldn't reciprocate, but at the same time it isn't "solved" by edwin getting over it, because there's nothing TO solve. it's just another type of love, added to everything that already exists between them. and they have LITERALLY FOREVER to figure out what it means.

the relationships between edwin & niko, crystal & niko, and crystal & edwin aren't given any less weight for being solely platonic, just as charles & crystal's relationship and edwin's feelings for charles aren't given (that much) MORE weight for being romantic. crystal and charles' conflict in the closet is about EDWIN, about how they're BOTH his friend and BOTH want to get him back; it has very little to do with the feelings between THEM, romantic or otherwise. similarly, the weight of charles' and edwin's relationship isn't diminished in the LEAST by charles not reciprocating the romantic side of his feelings (or SAYING he doesn't reciprocate, at least—we can all argue about the legitimacy of that in the notes).

i'm sure there are more examples than this, as well as probably some examples that CONTRADICT this, but like... by and large, it feels like dead boy detectives is a show where all the relationships are given equal weight regardless of platonic, sexual, romantic, or familial status, and as someone on both the asexual and aromantic spectrums who has struggled time and time again with shows casting out the importance of all other relationships in favor of prioritizing romance, that is INCREDIBLY refreshing to see.