Demon Boyfriend who’s convinced that he must be forgiven, because he has you sprawled out under him.
Every inch of you is Heaven. Forgiveness. Holiness. Absolution.
Sliding into your sopping wet pussy, drawing out a heavenly moan from your holy lips, only convinces him that he’s right. You are proof that sins, any sins, can be forgiven. Otherwise, Father would never give him as something as perfect as you.
Long, dark claws dig into the soft fat of your fleshy hips as he drags his cock along your velvet walls. Those perfect eyes filling with tears that make his chest tight.
“I love you. I love you,” you hiccup out in that sinless, broken voice. Tears sliding freely down your cheeks now as the confession makes his hips jerk against your cervix.
“I love you too, baby. Fuck,” he grunts, sweat beading along his forehead as his hips shudder against yours.
When he spills inside of you, that’s the nail in the coffin of his conviction. He was allowed to fill you. Father must have forgiven you, and your body, your acceptance, is proof that his sins have been absolved.
The crowdfunding campaign to fund publishing of our next erotic anthology, Monsterotica: Tales of Unusual Courtship and Coupling, is now live on Kickstarter!
Now through December 2nd, 2025, we seek to raise $10,500 to cover publishing of the anthology and creation of the related merchandise. This awesome book contains 16 queer stories by 16 awesome authors, each story up to 7,500 words long. We encouraged authors to pitch us stories featuring unusual creatures and unconventional genitals; you won’t find any vampires or weres here, but you will find insectoid aliens, mountain cryptids, scales and feathers, tentacles, detachable anatomy, interspecies shenanigans, courtship confusion, and much more. And of course, in addition to featuring monster x monster and monster x human relationships, every single story also includes queer characters and queer relationships!
The contributors to this anthology are Jaye Anderson, Katia Anyway, I. A. Ashcroft, E. M. Beka, Nicola Doen, Annika Sage Ellis, Ivy L. James, MJ Kiwiana, Kitty Lee, Lyonel Loy, Cedar D. McCafferty-Svec, Taliesin Owens, Ambra Rossi, T. L. Sly, Teddy Sweet, and Dei Walker.
In addition to the book, offering in trade paperback and e-book formats, we’ve also got some lovely merchandise: an art print of the front cover (art is by Siao Bell), a bookmark by Jagoda Zirebiec, a very monstery dux sticker, a post card collection with designs by Xianyu Zhou, a ginormous folding fan by pukamuriska, an awesome enamel pin by reshipkmn, and a fun key chain by Tomowowo.
Learn all the details by visiting our campaign page NOW!
You can support Duck Prints Press every day by backing us on Patreon! Backers at all levels get behind-the-scenes access to story teasers and more, and those who back at the $10/month or $25/month level will get exclusive bonus merchandise when they also back this Kickstarter campaign.
jester x gn!reader this has been a wip for monthssss. i'm not sure what i want to do with this character but here is my boy!! jingle miserably across the floor boy</3
———
CW: mentions of death, yandere themes, kinda angst because the jester is sooo sad and so starved of attention, no use of y/n, excuse all the historical inaccuracies i am not versed in jesters;_;
Standing in the corner the room, unsure of what to do with himself, he looked on. Currently, boldness wasn't an option and his passion for bringing joy was steadily atrophying. Still, he observed innocently, curiously— not with intent. He wasn't a threat.
Sometimes, only sometimes, when the darkness shrouded his thoughts, he wished you would decide to see him. You would look him in the eyes and see the affection he could give you, you'd gorge yourself on it until you were satiated and even then, he'd give you more.
'Look. Look at me.' He pleaded quietly, barely letting out a squeak. 'Look. Look and don't be afraid.' A broken whimper. 'Please.'
A shadow flickered in your peripheral vision. You snapped your head around, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins.
Nothing.
You were just tired. How silly of you to worry. A chuckle followed your sigh of relief, the belief of being alone letting you come back to your previous duties, undisturbed. He stood mere inches from your face, his bent over body staring into your eyes. The frenzied grin on his face growing impossibly wide. You looked.
While wandering through a small antique shop, amongst the colourful vases and books far beyond their prime, you spotted a painting. Its frame was covered in dust and the price was comically small for the amount of work that it took to create the piece of art.
You asked the owner about it and he began to spin a story of a jester, pining for the king's daughter, that was rejected by the princess. For fear of being forgotten by others, like he had been forgotten by his love, he began performing for a pittance just to get himself out there.
Unfortunately, he received no recognition. At this point he was living off of scraps, so to survive, he decided to borrow money and fell into debt, so severe that with his last savings he bought painting supplies and after finishing the self portrait, as the final attempt at securing his remembrance, was murdered by con-men he'd borrowed the money from. Unfortunately for him, the soul he possessed was transferred into the art work you were looking at.
Spooky.
When you hauled the painting into your apartment you weren't sure where to put it and so you rested it against the wardrobe in your bedroom, making hanging it, a problem for future you.
And so, months passed. Whenever you would remember that it still hadn't been hung you would make a mental note to come up with an idea for where to put it and then promptly you'd forget about its existence. The jester wasn't too pleased by your decision to completely ignore him. He was sure that all these years of being ignored and effectively forgotten, were a punishment for his pathological need for recognition. After you saw him, he knew, you were the salvation, he deserved to be revered and you were the one the one destined for him.
He didn't have much experience as an active ghost and there wasn't anyone who could explain to him the whole being-dead-and-haunting-an-object thing so he tried to manage on his own. When he was being displayed in the museum all these years ago, he discovered that being hung up gave him a visible form. After scaring the guard half to death he would only get out of the painting at night to stretch his legs and return to it at dawn.
…
You were admiring your work, standing proudly in front of the somewhat crooked painting hanging on the wall, you picked the wall least subject to the sun as you weren't sure what its effect would be on the piece of art. When you bent over to pick up the tools you were just using a strangely melodic voice greeted you. You shot up and was suddenly standing face to face with a man that looked to be of the years gone by. He tilted his head and the bells on his jester hat jingled— jester hat!?
"Oh I'm so glad to meet you my liege!" He clasped his hands together stepping closer towards you. The darkness in his eyes making you back off instinctively, colliding with the wall, the hammer still in your hand. Feeling the thrill of seeing the fear in your eyes, he curtsied. "I—" he emphasised "am the royal court jester of your estate. Always—" he put his hand out with a theatrical flare "at your disposal." Finishing off his introduction he gave a bow. While you were still mortified he began wandering around your apartment.
You snapped out of your stupor and went after him. He was looking out of your kitchen window, admiring the view of the world he was completely foreign to. With the wonder you've only seen in children, he looked on and in that moment you felt as if it would be cruel (or rather, impossible) to just kick him to the streets.
He looked back at you, his semi-transparent form letting a few rays of sun pass through his body. The radiance made him look like an angel and when he smiled, your knees almost buckled and for the first time— you really saw him.
To make up for the tease yesterday, here’s some actual Monster Stuff 😜😅.
18+ Partial Transformation Monsterfucking, written for the prompt Rake. I'm using it as the creature, but also as in raking claws down your back, hehehe.
Vincent is changing as you ride him, teeth elongating into snarling fangs before your eyes. His head twists from side to side, hair a wild, tangled mess that's quickly growing longer, while his eyes flash. Flickering between red, orange and yellow as his pupils shudder from circles to slits while you move back and forth on his cock.
There's something different about this time, you're not sure what's causing this, but you don't want to stop. You like watching him change, a physical manifestation of his desperation and need. He had been moaning your name but the sound is even sweeter now, syllables leaving his lips in a jumbled hiss, formed by a tongue that's too long and a mouth that's far too wide.
You don't stop, your arousal continuing to build. His cock pulses and throbs inside of you as you move faster, pretty sure that's actually growing larger inside of you, your body stretching to accommodate him. His hips buck up into you roughly, sharp bones pressing to your skin as he forces you to grip tightly to his heaving chest.
His pectorals widen underneath your fingers, chest barrelling as his heart beats too strongly. His lungs heave, chest expanding too much for his skin, ribs pressing outwards, bulging through his chest.
A sudden pain grips your hips and you tilt downwards as black claws prick at your skin. His grip is strong, forcing your pace, not allowing you to stop. The pain feels good, enhancing the sensation and you trust him enough to not worry about him hurting you, even when he's like this.
"Are you alright Vincent?" you ask, out of breath, trying to slow down to allow him to reply, but his claws don't relent.
He growls in response, the sound so deep and animalistic that it vibrates through your entire body, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. His head thrashes, hips pushing upwards. You bounce roughly, almost folding off him, but his pricking claws hold you down. He holds you steady, setting a brutal pace and you do your best to keep up while he hits every spot inside of you. His cock is throbbing, changing size inside of you and it's addicting, the size knocking the breath from your lungs.
His claws are starting to hurt now, pushing past the line from enticing pain to distracting. You reach down and place your hands over them. They're so much bigger than they should be, pale, veins and tendons prominent and flexing. He drags them down your hips, raking lines into your skin as you hiss, skin burning.
"Too much," you call out. His hands leave you immediately. They slap down on either side of the mattress, shredding and tearing at the sheets, ripping through them with his claws like butter. The sound only turns you on more.
You try to ride him, to pick up the pace you were at before, but his hips are bucking too much. Without his support you're almost flying off him, struggling to keep yourself upright and keep up your rhythm on his cock.
Vincent is still tearing through the sheets, he's shredded them down to the mattress now and foam flies around you. He's growling, hissing as his mouth is forced wide open around fangs that no longer fit in his mouth. Lifting up his too large hands, the black claws wicked sharp and so much longer than they were before, he presses them around your hips. He grips you carefully, skin against his huge palms, longer fingers not touching your skin.
He flips you over roughly, crawling on top of you, cock somehow not leaving your body as you grip onto him for support. He looks down at you with his changing eyes, yellow, red and slitted. Hair that is far too long and thick, ends tipped with blood red covers you, blocking out all the light. He's all you can see, your perfect ethereal and sometimes monster of a boyfriend.
His hands are by your head, claws already shredding the mattress as he pushes his hips forward. The strength in them is incredible, every part of your body oversensitive and singing for him, stretched and hot and wanting more. If this kills you, then you'll die happy.
You reach out and cup his cheek, brushing your thumb over a protruding fang as he nuzzles into your touch softly in a complete contradiction to how hard he's fucking his cock into you. "Vincent, fuck me, I want it," you grin, bracing yourself, and preparing for him to lose control.
