Novelas y relatos de Ghost Smut

There wasn't a card, just a tag, and I sat to open the gift. Inside a small cube box was a snowglobe, but instead of white flakes there was sand. A few tiny seashells settled to the bottom, and when the water cleared, two figurines emerged. A girl with long dark hair standing next to a guy with short reddish hair. A wooden slat sign on a post in a dune was beside them that read Seasmoke. The gift had to have been custom made and it ripped the breath from my lungs.

"I remember nothing from my previous life but I happen to know that this was my home at a certain point in my life, you are my soul mate and to recover both my memories and my body, intimacy with you is needed so, marry me." Geneva recoiled instantly with all her might. Someone give her a bucket, toilet, anything. She wanted to vomit blood. She made a wailing sound from her throat. It sounded like a laugh and at the same time, a cry. This sound could scare even a ghost but luckily, this ghost seemed to be more rigid than a wall. She thinks: Am I supposed to be happy that I at least got a modest ghost who wants marriage before intimacy. One who thinks marriage before intimacy with it makes it

"What's that?" She pointed at an image in the grimoire. "Life Siphoning," "Try it but in a more ladylike manner." I rolled my eyes but didn't complain. It's the one thing I was already good at without training. I extended my hand toward a bunch of wildflowers a few feet away from me. The silver threads lashed out greedily, wrapping the blooms in smoke like coils. Within seconds, the vibrant petals shriveled, and it life sucked dry.

"It’s moving faster, Somito. The incubation period is shrinking. Yesterday it took twelve hours for the first gray patches to appear. Now, people are turning to stone in the middle of a sentence." "We’re losing the heart of this revolution to a ghost," Somito muttered, stepping further into the room. He looked at the rows of cots, where men and women lay shivering under thin blankets. Their skin was no longer flesh-colored; it was a dull, sickly charcoal gray, cracking at the joints like parched earth. "Sofia says she can feel it. She says the air tastes like burnt hair and old copper. Is that what the Rot is? Just air?"

“What is the next one we need ?” “Witches’ mummy”. She scrunches up her face. “Are you sure you are okay ?” “Yeah sure.. All I can do now is move forward right ? So what is witches’ mommy ?” “It’s dried up Sedum telephium”. Gudrun looks all lovey dovey again. “This time it was William playing with the words. He split it up so it sounds like it is the stomach and throat from a mummy. Back then people actually digested a powder called mumia”.

Every breath turned to steam before vanishing into the dead air. “Keep tight,” I muttered, my voice barely audible over the crunching beneath us. We were ghosts moving in white hell. Then—a scent. Faint. Bitter. Smoky. Sootshade. A rare herb. Burn it, and wolves can’t pick up shit. That’s what they were using. Smart bastards. I narrowed my eyes. I couldn't see jack through the dense dark. My night goggles flickered for a second—interference. Fuck. Then it moved.

They were simply officemates who find comfort in each other by sharing each other's body heat, a superior and an underling who disclose each other's burdens and frustrations through strong penetrations, tightly entwined fingers, and erotic moans. "Was I?" he asked, his nose scrunching and brows close to kissing in confusion. He looked away from her flushed face to see the cigarette that was losing a quarter of its body while hanging loosely between his right hand's fingers, continuously emanated a long, slender smoke that comforted and annoyed his burning nose at the same time. He lifted his right hand and took a puff of his cigarette, once he had enough, he blew the fume off from his lips.

Marie’s voice calls out in defiance, her back straightening as she glares towards Sam. “Aw. That’s so cute,” Sam sniggers mockingly, “-and you even have a little friend to help you out this time. How sweet,” he teases cockily; his words patronising, “-do you honestly think I’d come unprepared this time? After what you did to me before? Pfft-” he reaches into his coat pocket unnervingly, retrieving two small glass orbs filled with some type of black dust, “I don’t suppose I have to explain what these things are, do I?” a malicious smile widens his mouth.

Another Rogue. Only that this one has no smell.

Has a metallic edge underneath the plant smell. A pause. Second one — wolfsbane. Old. Dried a long time ago. Not dangerous in this quantity. Another pause. Third one— Parrot went quiet. “Third one,” Remi said slowly. “I don't know what it is. But it's not a plant. It smells like—” She looked at Gemma. “Like a person. Like someone's blood dried into something.” Gemma looked at her for a long moment. “Good,” she said very quietly. “That's very good.”