About ⋮ You may call me Eddie, Eddie Gluskin. I am an introject of The Groom from Outlast, and I am in a bodily adult system.
This blog is intended for those that are 18+. With that in mind, many posts that are put here may contain sensitive content, proceed with caution.
I do not believe in presenting myself as harmless.
That would be dishonest.
I am often described in ways that are meant to simplify me. “Protector,” “Aggressor,” when something needs to be corrected, “Trauma holder.” I do not separate those roles the way other people seem to expect me to.
ꫂ ၴႅ༘. I don’t like it when he doesn’t speak to me I don’t like it when he doesn’t speak to me I am here staring at my phone waiting for him to come back. Come back. Where have you gone. Why is your attention drifting anywhere other than me.
Darling, oh won’t you come back to me. Where have you gone.
Can we get an absolute degenerate 1950s-themed husband yandere 👉🏻👈🏻?
I want a yandere husband who seems so stoic, responsible, and just a man’s man to outsiders. A man who excels in his professional life, social life, etc. but is actually just a degenerate for his wife behind closed doors
I’m talking about a man who huffs his wife’s dirty laundry, uses her hair to jerk off to when she’s asleep, and actually likes drinking her bath water amongst other things
Too unhinged? 🩷
A/N: I LOVED this concept! I enjoy a yandere whos a TRUE freak.
TW: Somno, NSFW, masturbation, Yandere! Husband, fem housewife! reader 1.2k
Most of your friends had grown exhausted from their lives as housewives.
Their routines consisted of the same monotonous chores, the same outings and afternoon tea parties, the same gossip turned over and over again like last week's running of a new talk show made in-color. Most of them had begun working instead, taking up clerical jobs and editing columns in the newspaper just to escape their children and husbands.
For you, however, you couldn’t ask for a better ‘job.’ You had hours to yourself, time to read the hundreds of books stacked upon your husband’s office as they stopped fitting in your work room. The latest technology was propped up in your living room and you had enough cash to spend days in the theater. It was rare for your husband to find you anywhere else but at home by the time he came back from work, dramatically falling to the floor and propping his head in your lap.
Exhausted, he was just a poor soul strung up for investors to slam their rage against. He’d prattle on about how he was so utterly exhausted, how he had been daydreaming about being back here, with you, wanting to spend another night under the stars on the porch swing.
He wouldn’t mention the part of his day where he had to take several bathroom trips due to what else he fantasized about, of course. Those fantasies meant nothing when he could come home to the real thing; though they certainly were nice in your absence, your pantyhose always in his back pocket just in case he forgot your smell.
The men at work didn’t understand, he whined. They complained about the lunches their wives made them-- they didn’t bring thermoses of last night's bath water or locks of their wives' hair to taste. He just didn’t fit in there; all of them were afraid of him, your friends included. Couldn’t you two just move out to the country, run a little farm and make love under the moonlight?
Each time, you gently reminded him of how up and leaving your lives wasn’t a reality so cut and dry.
“Maybe a vacation, then? A few weeks at the cabin up in the mountains, just us?”
He begged beside you beneath the covers, watching as you set your book down and shut off the bedside lamp.
“And what will your clients do when they hear the man managing their money seemingly ran off without notice in the middle of spring?”
You had a point; you always did. He’d known this side of you since he watched you from the counter of the soda shop, to the day he finally convinced you to marry him, nearly on his hands and knees as he kneeled in front of you, about to beg if you dared to say no.
You quickly fell asleep after a day of lazing upon the couch and washing last night's dishes, the most exhausting part of the day being your husband’s body practically attached to your own once he got home.
A piece of him much too large still wasn’t satisfied with your answer, with being so far from you all the time; this isn’t what he expected from married life-- he expected more. More of you. More of your time, your attention, your praise and affection.
He didn't want to bother you tonight, to watch you roll your eyes as he begged for you to let him inside of you for the umpteenth time that week. But your breathing was so rhythmic, the soft and hypnotizing rise of your chest as you laid on your side, your hair wild and free as it called to him. It held the most of your smell. The most inconspicuous part of you that he could indulge in without your knowledge.
He had already spent ten minutes in the bathroom after his shower, merely soaking in the smell of the undergarments you had worn all day. They were just sprawled there on the tile floor, waiting to be taken.
He was gluttonous; he knew it. How many times could a man cum to his wife until he was satisfied?
He was watching your lips with a hand between his legs before he realized it had gotten there. The small pocket at the front of his boxers was too accessible; it called for him to relieve himself. He could get closer to you too --he knew-- he had done it before. Had even cum into your limp hand as you slept beside him. Tonight though, he needed to be careful.
Slowly, he inched closer. Your breath ghosted over his lips as he leaned down, letting it hit his nose. If he could kiss you while you laid unconscious, he’d do it in a heartbeat; but he’d have to settle for your hair for now, and the slight view of your delectable chest visible from beneath your nightgown.
Your throat was so kissable, begging to be claimed as it sat untarnished, smooth. He wouldn’t last long tonight; he had already cum twice in the bathroom, a third begging to be released in your bed. Laying uncomfortably hard since you shut the lamp off, precum covered his length as he huffed. He would’ve been embarrassed about how quickly he was going to cum if he wasn’t so preoccupied by your furrowed brow, your parted lips breathing unevenly as you slept; almost being caught like this, it made him leak even harder.
Your hair was pulled deep against his nose, faintly smelling of your fancy shampoo-- the one he’s nearly conditioned himself into getting aroused solely at the smell of just from how often he’s found himself in this position.
Your husband scolded himself at the sensation of his orgasm’s peak, so desperate to let out a moan as the head of his cock touched your thigh. He wanted to rub it between them, to clench the fat of your hips and thrust against your skin.
He was smarter than the depraved animal he kept hidden. The part of him that thought a million times about cumming into your food, that wished he could bend you over his desk at work just to relieve himself in the best way he could imagine, that kept every old piece of clothing or makeup or sheet that you dared to try and throw away.
You let out a small hitch, tongue poking out to swipe over your lips as you fell deeper against the pillow.
Your husband bit the sleeve of his pajama shirt, shaking as he fisted the warm flesh in his palm. He arched forward, squeezing out every drop of cum he could manage in such profound silence only a mute could appreciate.
His slick sounds resonating in your silent bedroom only lasted under three minutes, your rest unperturbed as he slowed to a gentle pump. Cum coated his fingers, dripping onto the bed sheets as he thrusted a final time into his palm. Your hair was still pressed firmly against his nose, rubbed between his fingers as he put it to his tongue.
It took moments for him to catch his breath, exhaustion running through his veins as the urge to gather you up into his arms began to take hold. So did another urge, one he couldn’t resist.
With his pointer and middle finger he caressed them upon your bottom lip, a glossy white residue left. He groaned, watching as you unconsciously licked your lips again.
thinking about cutting my darling yet being oddly loving about it . it’s not a punishment , but instead a reward for us both .
holding onto their hand as i make a small cut , squeezing firmly when i feel them tense up . helping them through a few more tiny cuts , nothing deep , just enough to draw blood for me to lick away afterwards . i would lay them down , allowing them to close their eyes and rest as i lick at the blood on their thighs , sucking on the cuts . all they would have to focus on would be the feeling of my tongue , and the slight burn from the wounds as i made contact .
you’re safe with me , darling . let me envelop you in my gentle violence .
Someone should make me bark… put me on a leash, collar me… you might even have to strap a muzzle on me to stop me from biting~~ ❤️
I could overpower you so easily, and how I want so badly to, but I’ll be a good boy for you and you alone, just let me have you, I beg you, I need you, so let me have you~~ ❤️
When they first saw me, they couldn't resist. So I spent days on end, chained to a radiator in a cold dark basement. I learned quickly that they are now my only source of warmth, food and social interaction. They don't want me to even think of anyone else.
Some days are soft. They force me to sit on their lap, hold their hand, hug them or kiss their cheek. They expect me to tell them that I love them and prove it too.
Other days they need to be rough. They bite, hit, bruise me. On those days they pull me closer by my hair while they push themselves inside whatever hole they want to use. They put me in whatever position they want me in with the only goal being to lay their claim on me. They are only satisfied once I'm crying, bleeding and dripping with their cum.
They'll pull me close, caress my new marks, whisper praises in my ear about how well, I've done for them, that they love that they're the only one seeing me, that they won't ever let me go. That we're meant for each other. Forever.
Does anyone else get cuteness aggression towards certain people in your life that you just want to strangle them until they go completely limp forever, or are you lame?
Tie me up and fucking pound me as hard as you can. I want you to choke me so hard you might accidentally (or purposely) break my neck. Make sure the restrains are so tight they scar on my body so when I look at them I can remember the night we had.
[nsfw] thinking about a yandere husband who is completely enamoured with you.
even before marriage he had been all over you. claiming you with every chance, clinging to your arm at all times to let people know that you were his. it wasn’t enough though, he had told you as he leant down on one knee to propose to you. he needed your heart to truly belong to him forever, and the promise of marriage was barely something he thought to be a question.
he doesn’t like the idea of you working. no, he wants you to be his perfect stay at home wife! to spend hours in front of the mirror trying to look all pretty for him, or to engage in meaningless crafts around the house. he doesn’t mind what you do, so long as you’re at home. and so he watch through the cameras even whilst he’s out! <3
but no, you don’t know that part. you’re tooo sweet and innocent to even consider the possibility that your boyfriend is a freak! he’s completely obsessed with you, but so long as he knows that you’re his, things should be fine, right?
you can’t find your phone.
you’ve searched for it everywhere and it seems to have vanished which is such a shame, you were discussing an outing with a long term friend you hadn’t seen in a while. by the time you find it wedged between the couch she’s busy again and you sigh, wondering how it got there and brushing it off as your forgetfulness.
he loves how easy it is to make you question yourself.
it’s been a little while since you’ve been out. you ask your husband if he’d like to go out on a date with you but he declines, snuggling closer towards you and resting his head upon your shoulder. the point of a date is to be with you… and he’s already doing that! there’s no reason to go outside, not when he can have you all to himself at home!
also, can he be blamed for wanting to fuck you so often?
grasping at your hips as he thrusts himself inside of you, a low “hnngh” leaving his lips. he passionately thrusts his lengths inside of you, panting against your ear as he whispers his fantasies of fucking a baby into you.
“wanna make you all mine…” he trails off, placing a kiss upon your ear as his quickens his pace. “w-want everyone to know who you belong to!”
and barely after that he’s cumming, leaving his love inside of you as he comes to a halt and showers your face with kisses. he whispers to you about how well you did, before sinking down besides you.
“we fit perfectly angel. because we’re made for each other always.” he says, tracing the lines around your palm. you smile tiredly against him, letting the rise and fall of his chest lull you to sleep.
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
blakekathryn
dededos
prguitarman
