I love cosmic and eldritch horror, especially The King in Yellow, Malevolent, and The Call of Chuthulu (I blame Lovecraftian horror for being into teratophilia)
I have many hobbies besides posting on here and my other socials, editing, making bracelets, sewing, biking, being amongst nature, songwriting, playing guitar and piano, reading, writing, and more!
ā§ā Ėļ½”š¦¹ āļ½”Ā°ā§Kinks and Limitsā§ā Ėļ½”š¦¹ āļ½”Ā°ā§
Kinks
Tentacles/monsterfucking (teratophilia), bondage, dry-humping, light temp play, exhibitionsim, mommy/daddy, light objectification, praise, and more that I donāt really know names for/donāt want to share on here. I know Iām def into more. but Iām so young I know I have a lot more left to explore >:3
Limits
Watersports, petplay, vomit, scat, feet, literally anything I donāt like/donāt feel comfortable with idk I canāt think of anything rn
Posting like this, let alone talking like this, is very new to me so Iām nervous and still a little insecure. Iām doing this partially to push myself out of my comfort zone, and challenge myself to do something new. Please be patient with me! I'll also be updating this as I go
Also feel free to ask me anything! Just donāt flirt with me/be sexual with me specifically in my ask box because I am taken!
I think thatās all! Feel free to ask anything, like, comment, reblog, or ask to be moots! I love and crave community and hope to find that here :)
i DO indeed want to hear about you jerking off to me and all the perverted stuff you thought of you must inform me about it expeditiously. how is it fair that you get to jerk off to me and i donāt get to jerk off to hearing about it š
Or my favorite artists comics and my tumblr communities. Iām also in one of the cones at disneys art of animation resort at my pool and my mom is calling it āthe cone of loveā and itās the cone of love indeed I almost started reading monsterfucker smut
Hey, Iām just reaching out to people on Tumblr. Youāve probably heard of Jesus and God, but have you ever reached out to Jesus for problems in your life? Big or small. Not to make you uncomfortable, but did you know sin (in your life and other peopleās lives) can really hurt you, it can make it feel like there is a void that is never satisfied. That void could be called a āGod sized hole.ā Sin sucks and not just in a cookie cutter way, but in a way that it feels like there is a decay within a person. That can be a lot to take in, but I hope it is good food for thought. I hope youāre having an awesome day!! š
The only god i want in my hole is the King in Yellow, thanks
This blog is slowly being taken over by malevolent (the podcast) and itās stressing me out like this was meant to be separate from my other blogs where I have my malevolent stuff stop it š
āsummary: The summer heat has you slipping between sleep and reality. Something not-so corporeal helps you cool off.
āwarnings: ghost x human, monsterfucking, piv sex, mirror sex (technically), creampie, dubcon/somnophilia.
āword count: 1,3k
āa/n: no thoughts just horny. also on AO3
The best thing about living alone, youāve come to realize, is the privacy. Youāre free to do whatever: take your time in the bathroom in the morning or whenever you want, spend an eternity soaking in the claw-footed tub this house came with, walk around your home in the skimpiest clothing imaginable (not only does it help to beat the summer heat, it also (technically) leaves you less laundry to do), splay out on your king-sized bed in a starfish position, limbs akimbo, drag the full-length mirror in your bedroom in front of your bed and stare at the way any dildos you own get swallowed up by your greedy cunt.
No point in wondering why the last owner was in such a rush to get rid of it; so much so that he accepted well below market price for a freshly renovated, fully-furnished house with a moderate backyard in a relatively safe neighborhood.
The longer this heatwave lasts, the skimpier your clothes get. Thereās barely any fabric to cling to your constantly sweat-slick skin by this point, just a tiny skirt hiked so far up your bare skin touches the wooden chairs when you sit and a shirt thatās more spaghetti straps than torso. The huge, double-door fridge is a reprieve, cool air billowing out and caressing your heated skin. It almost feels like a genuine caress, like someoneās cool hands sliding down your body.
Seriously, you need to get out of the house and meet people instead of fantasizing about the cool touch of your fridge. But the outside is infinitely hotter than the inside.
You kick the bedsheet away from your body, grumbling at the lingering day heat. Youād stripped the sheet from the duvet the moment spring chill had plunged into summer heat and stuffed the latter into the closet until fall. Even then, you tend to wake up without the sheet in the morning, finding it crumbled on the floor. Yesterday was another sweltering day. It has left the air stuffy and the fans only push the warm, stale heat around without providing any relief. You unplug them in a fit of frustration and cringe at the feeling of moisture when you lay against your pillow again.
Sleep doesnāt completely evade you but youāre not fully asleep, either. You think so, at least. There are moments of brief blackouts, where you open your eyes and turn to look at the time only to find not even an hour has passed. Your eyelids feel heavy.
Then, there are the hands on your body. Caressing, petting, groping. Theyāve been there for some time now, just touching, feeling. Theyāre not cold, just cool enough to feel pleasant against your heated skin and inject some relief into your sluggish thoughts of sun and heat. A sigh escapes your lips at the sensation. Fingertips trance the expanse of your skin, draw constellations between your moles and freckles. The other hand moves to rest on your breast. It kneads the soft flesh, gently pinches your nipple between its fingers, runs a thumb over it.
You inhale sharply, heart thrumming in your chest, pressing your thighs together. It does little to quell the desire for friction, or touch. The hand tracing its fingertips down your body reaches your hip, then skirts across your flesh to rest on the inside of your thigh. You blink languidly; the heat is stifling, your head feels thick.
Cool fingers dip between your legs, press against your clit like ā like theyāre what? Testing the waters. You stifle the half-baked moan in the back of your throat.
The hands leave you all at once and you croak out a sound that doesnāt even sound like you, desperate and needy. Theyāre back not even a moment later, though, heavy on your hips as if theyāre trying to guide you. You reach for a pillow and prop it under yourself. Itās a nice dream, you donāt need it to end because it forces you into an uncomfortable position that drives home the realization that itās a dream. Because then youāll wake up, alone again.
Something thick and heavy rests on your pelvis. Maybe this makes you a bad sex partner in this brief dream but you donāt want to reach out and touch it, guide it. If itās your dream, your partner should know the where and how. The cool hands planted firmly on your hips pull you forward just slightly and the weight from your pelvis disappears. It rests against your entrance, but doesnāt push forward just yet. One hand leaves you and the tip of its cock drags through your slick folds, bumps against your clit.
āPlease,ā you croak, staring at the ceiling. Your throat is dry.
The strangerās cock angles itself against your entrance and pushes in carefully. You take a slow, deep breath in, try to relax around the pleasant intrusion. The hands ā under your knees now, guiding your legs apart. A body presses against your thighs. Whoever it is, stops, pauses for a moment. You clench around the cock buried in your cunt. A cold, shuddering breath hits you. Goosebumps rise on your skin. The hands push your knees further apart until thereās an ache in your muscles, and then they depart, one finding a spot on your waist, the other your breast.
It moves, then. The cock nestled deep within you sharply pulls back and thrusts in again. You scramble for anchor, to grab onto something but all you come up with is sheet that tugs loose. Their pace is dizzying, thighs slapping against yours, cock plunging into your wet cunt. The sound is so wet and lewd and goddamned loud in the still silence of your home. You go to stifle the half-moan half-groan in your throat butā wait, itās your house, your dream, who gives a fuck about the neighbors? The cock in your cunt pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts in again and hits that spot, so good, dragging against your slick walls and you swear you feel every groove and dip, every goddamn vein. Your moan slips out involuntarily, and whoever it is here with you, seems invigorated.
The hand on your breast leaves, a forearm rests around your thigh, pulling it up and ā fuck, their cock drives in so incredibly deep you nearly choke on your own spit. You scramble upwards, resting your weight on your elbows to look at your partner ā
Thereās no one there. Your bedroom is empty. But thereās a hand on your torso, cool fingers digging into your flesh and a forearm supporting your thigh and the shape of someoneās shoulder against your Achillesā tendon. Thereās a cock plunging into your cunt and you hear someoneās labored breathing.
The full-length mirror skids across the laminated floor and stops in front of your bed. Something invisible is thrusting into your pussy, gaping back at you in the reflection. Your face burns ā your whole body burns. You canāt look away from the debauchery staring back at you. Whoever ā whatever ā it is, thrusts harshly, cold hands pulling you against their body. Your thighs are wet and sticky, slamming against theirs, your hole gaping back at you, being abused by something you canāt see. It sends you hurtling over the edge.
You come around the phantom cock with something reminiscent of a shriek and a moan and terror and pleasure all combined. Your cunt clenches around the thing your muscles sore and sweat beading on your skin. The cock plunges into you again and again and again and you blink back the tears and the fear and the overwhelming pleasure. The fingers on your body dig into your flesh and the cock nestled in you buries deep, thighs pressing against your own, and spills. Itās so warm, so pleasant. The mirror skids closer, right until it touches the edge of the bed.
Your cunt is forced wide open. Stuffed. The pearlescent cum coats your walls, oozes out from inside you, dribbles onto your bedsheets. The cock in you stays there but the body moves.
A small fogged patch, like warm breath, appears on the mirror, and then, letters.
I really wanna try writing some monster smut but I have no ideas and Iām a little scared. I wrote a fanfic for one of my favorite fandoms and got my fix there, but I need to write more itās so fun
I really wish there was a way for me to flag myself as a monster fucker. Like Iām about to go to college and I want the people who know to know, but I canāt think of anything I can put on my bag to flag that. I have a sticker of tentacles in my phone case but thatās about it. I want something subtle that somehow says Iām here, but wonāt scream it out directly. Does anyone have ideas?
I love praise but not as much as I thought I was going to and it kinda pisses me off. Like yes call me your good girl and tell me how well Iām doing but just focus on giving this to me more instead? Idk itās weird
