Side blog for when I’m on my slasher fandom bullshit- he/him, 23, married to Winslow Leach. My icon is by the awesome @nightmarewritings ! 18+ ONLY, contains adult content Requests: CLOSED (headcanons, drabbles)
I wanted to make a side blog specifically for slasher fandom stuff without the separation of my main (which is mostly SFW, and you can ask for it off anon). I’ll add to this post more later lol.
This is a general content warning for violence & sexual content.
There’s also some kink/fetish material and I tag it as such, as well as tagging for triggers. Let me know if there’s anything you need me to tag!
As such my blog is for people 18+ only - I will block anyone that doesn’t respect that. No hard feelings, just come back when you’re done with high school lol.
If you want follow and don’t have your age in your bio, you need to send me an ask (off anon) with your age range (ie “18-20”) to be accepted
Feel free to send a request! Rules & characters I write can be found >here<
My tag for speaking is #noises from the attic
My tag for original work (headcanons, fanfic, etc) is #nasty attic originals
CAN WE GET MORE GLUSKIN PLEASE PLEASE PLEAS BEG BEG HUMPS
I.. I was thinking.. Right after getting married.. Eddie is rushing through a 'reception' which is just him having his first dance with scared Reader and like making her toss the bouquet even if there is literally no one to catch it- toss it a patient idk..
BUT there's this wedding game where the newly wed husband is blindfolded (although eddie wouldnt do that) and the bride sits down and the husband has to get under the dress and find her garter belt and take it off with his teeth... Reader probably being tied down to the chair bUT.. Er.. Eating out and hot sex ensues 👀👀👀👀👀
tags & content: NSFW, rape/non-con, sexual content, forced marriage, forced proximity, restraints, oral sex (reader receiving), cunnilingus, penis in vagina, breeding kink, unprotected sex, manhandling, size difference, reader doesn’t get to cum twice lol, female reader
The dress is itchy, and uncomfortable. The fabric doesn’t sit right on your body, scantily put together and even more scantily tailored to fit your shape. But Eddie’s hand rests firmly against your lower back, enough that you’re pressed so tightly against him that the fabric doesn’t shift.
His movements are slow, swaying you to imaginary music, instead filling the eerie space with his delighted humming.
“C’mon, darling,” he urges, his voice a quiet whisper by your ear. “Smile. It’s our day.”
Every time you try to shift, every time your wrist tenses in his grip to try and pull away, he crushes you even closer to him. His fingers close hard, grinding bones, but you know better than to let a noise of discomfort slip out of your lips. You nuzzle into his chest to muffle it, earning you a sudden twirl that has your feet sweeping off the ground. You squeal as you clumsily land, feeling Eddie’s head bump against yours, slotting himself into the space between your neck and shoulders.
He’s so broad that your spine arches slightly from his height, your eyes forced up at the dishevelled ceiling. Even when you try to squeeze them shut, to block him out, his presence is so glaringly invasive that nothing works. He compensates for your unnatural steps, guiding you through the shoddy choreography. Shifting his grip, nudging, adjusting, forcing your clumsy steps into line with his own.
“Darling,” he purrs again, his voice shaking with such delight it makes you shudder visibly. You suddenly stiffen, his hand roaming from the small of your back to cup your bum, fingers digging into the flesh there. He jerks you even closer to him, so close that the hard press of his erection is impossible to ignore. “Oh, darling. My darling wife.”
“You’re hurting me—” You try to say, your lungs compressed against the solid feel of him, but Eddie merely coos, and spins the two of you slowly.
“I know, I know,” he soothes, breathing in the scent of you for a moment. His lips ghost over your throat, and you can feel the barely contained tremble in his limbs. His hand, still gripping your flesh, eases for a fraction of a second to massage the muscle, like he’s soothing your discomfort. “But it has to be perfect. We’ll both have to suffer just a little a bit longer.”
He finally looks at you, then, in a way that makes your gaze snap to him instinctively. You regret it as soon as it happens, your breath hitching in a barely concealed gasp before you’re forcing yourself to look at his chest. Eddie’s grip tightens a fraction.
“You should be happy,” he says after a moment, his voice dipping into a low, calm octave. It’s suffocating in its intensity, and your blood curdles. “This is…this is what you wanted, right?”
The question hangs in the air. The pressure of choosing the right, and only, answer pricks at your stomach, coiling into a knot of tension. Eddie’s smile doesn’t disappear, but it has strained in an attempt to conceal bubbling emotions you know you don’t want to be on the receiving end of. You’ve witnessed his treatment of previous brides, those he deemed had given up on love.
Your tongue is so dry that you can’t even find the strength to speak, instead feebly nodding your head once. The answer is enough; just like that, the tension in Eddie’s posture melts, and his once strained smile morphs into something bright and boyish.
A trembling sigh escapes him, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hand slides to your shoulder blades, forcing your head on his shoulder. You turn away from him, your eyes focused longingly on the windows, the doors, anything, but either he doesn’t notice, or he simply cares more about finishing the dance.
“I understand, darling. It’s just nerves,” he coos, nuzzling against the side of your head. His statement is final, though it sounds like he’s reassuring himself more than he is you. “I’ll take good care of you now, like any husband should. Oh, but I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
He pulls you with more force necessary over to one of the arranged chairs, your feet tripping over the grimy hem of the wedding dress. He easily manoeuvres you with two large, firm hands on your waist, pushing you down onto one of the lined up chairs. The wood scrapes precariously, a loud screech that makes you flinch. The impact is jarring, but you don’t have enough time to focus on the flare of pain up your tailbone before Eddie is dropping down to his knees in front of you.
He easily catches a flailing ankle, giving him easy access to push the hem of your dress up your thighs. You squeal, more violently than you intended, fingers scrambling for his broad shoulders before he can dip under the rest of your dress. It’s hard to find any purchase against the rickety wooden chair, panic clouding your chest.
“Wait, wait—” You gasp, pushing so hard against his immovable form that the chair rocks and almost sends you tumbling backwards. Eddie is strong enough to still the moving chair with a firm hand, abandoning his pursuit under your dress in favour of making sure that you don’t fall. One of his hands cups yours, your other jerking back to your chest. He lifts it to his lips, kissing over your knuckles tenderly.
“Oh, dear, I know. I am eager to finally consummate our marriage, too,” he hums gently, mistaking your resistance for apparent excitement. “But this is just a game. Something for the bride and groom.”
He slowly rises to his feet, and you shrink back into the chair, pressing your legs close together. He’s more terrifying like this, looming over you, his form blocking the cascading rays of flickering light. Your heart pounds against your chest as the word consummate settles into your bones. Eddie has talked about it enough, but it never gets any easier to hear.
“Here, let me find something to keep you still,” he decides, moving behind you and into the shadows of the wedding room. “I wouldn’t want you to fall and hit your head in the excitement, darling.”
You curl in on yourself, fingers twisting into the front of your gown. Your lungs have tightened until they’re burning, your mouth gaping as you try to swallow air.
Even like this, you force yourself to your feet.
Your legs feel weak, crumbling slightly under your weight, but you force yourself up the aisle to search for some vague exit. Your feet snag against the hem of the dress, huffing as your knees hit the ground. Your hands fly out to catch yourself, suppressing a moan of pain, trying to clumsily pick yourself back up.
Just as you do, you feel an arm clamp around your waist, pulling you back against his side. You can feel the strength in his arm, the band of muscle easily tugging you with him. Your feet skim across the floor, desperately trying to toe at the ground for some leverage.
“I’ll make this quick, I promise,” he whispers, making your blood run cold.
He deposits you back into the chair, and a wave of despair so violent crashes over you. You try to wrench your arm away, but he catches it too easily, wrestling it against the arm of the rickety chair. His grip is tighter than before now, and you can feel your bones grinding together between him and the wood. You suck in a sharp, whimpery breath, your body stiffening and going still.
Eddie begins to coil thick rope around your forearm, the rough material scratching uncomfortably against your skin. It’s not so tight that it’s painful, but a quick, useless tug and you know you’re not going anywhere. Your gaze snaps to your lap, watching the ragged movement of your chest like it could somehow ground you.
His movements are slightly erratic now, the knot on your other arm sloppy and less uncomfortable.
You chin tucks further when he leans in to kiss your cheek, murmuring soft assurances under his breath that you don’t catch. You can barely watch as he slides back down to his knees, his hands working under the tattered dress to pry your legs apart. Your balance falters slightly, the front legs of the chair lifting from the ground for a fraction of a second before steadying again.
Eddie’s head disappears under the dress once more. His hands, despite everything, are warm, leaving traces of heat along your bare skin. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, and you can’t help but squirm as his lips trail from your knee, his breath ghosting over flesh.
Vaguely, you think you know the purpose of this game.
“I—I don’t—” Your voice comes out strangled, desperate. “I’m not wearing a garter.”
Eddie’s lips trail higher up your thigh, his hand slipping under your knee to lift it up over his shoulder. You hear him hum, the sound vibrating against your flesh, enough to make your toes curl.
“That’s alright, darling,” he murmurs, his voice slightly muffled but still clear from under the dress. His teeth scrape over your skin, making you jolt. “Oh, it would have been so perfect. Right—here.”
He bites harder then, the sharp sting enough to make you gasp. He smooths over the reddening skin with his tongue, his moan muffled against your flesh. You’re vaguely aware of how close he is to you, how he keeps spreading you wide enough to nudge his head between your legs.
You feel his breath against your cunt first, before his tongue works its way into your flesh. You squeal, the chair scraping precariously across the ground, but Eddie’s grip is firm, almost to the point of pain, his fingers digging deep into the meat of your thighs.
He gasps raggedly against you, his tongue rough and frantic. It drags up your folds with little precision, his mouth pressing around anything he can find like he’s trying to take in and explore every little crevice. Your eyes scrunch for a moment, squirming uncomfortably whenever his tongue probes your hole too roughly.
“Oh, darling,” he moans against your flesh, his tongue just teasing the hood of your clit before it’s dragged back through your folds. The fleeting contact makes your whole body seize, breath catching in your throat. Even in his haze, Eddie instinctively closes his mouth around that spot, suckling at it until you’re wriggling more frantically now.
Pleasure winds through your belly, knotting into something too big to ignore.
Your arousal makes white hot shame flush your cheeks. Your hips jerked automatically into his mouth, only encouraging him further.
“Perfect,” he trembles, lapping at your leaking slick before you can even register it yourself. He moans raggedly against you, his ministrations nearing you to a faster peak than you would have liked. “You taste divine. So good, darling. So good.”
Your eyelids flutter, biting your lips to muffle your whine. You buck more insistently into his warm mouth now, your pulse and breathing rapidly building up in tandem.
“I’m…” You squeak, feeling his tongue pushing into you harder, his hand shifting your leg a fraction higher to make more room. Your head tilts back, his tongue working just right over your clit, warm and wet, stroking it until you’re just about to—
The chair groans and tips backwards. Your stomach drops for a fleeting second in realisation, the front two legs lifting precariously before it sends you both crashing backwards. The floor slams into your back, a yelp of surprise tearing from your lips before you can stop yourself. Eddie lands half on top of you, the dress flipped up over your stomach and one of your arms hanging in a loose tangle of rope.
Your cheeks are flushed, both with a prick of frustration from losing your orgasm and embarrassment.
Eddie hardly looks affected by the tumble, more concerned with any potential damage done to his bride. When he assesses you briefly, his eyes soften in relief.
“Oh, my dear, I’m awfully sorry,” he murmurs, nosing your temple with a deep sigh that stirs the little hairs there. “It seems we got a little carried away. That’s okay, that’s okay. Did you have fun?”
You weakly worm your left arm out of the loose rope, the weight of his body making it hard to catch your breath. The chair is uncomfortable, digging into your spine, having knocked some of the wind from your lungs when he’d landed on top of you.
Eddie relieves the pressure by finally sitting up, working his strong fingers through the rope of your other arm until that’s falling away too. Panic claws its way back up your throat as you roll onto your stomach, trying to dislodge your legs from the tipped over chair by crawling away from him.
Eddie simply wraps his hands around your hips, tugging you the few inches you’d dragged yourself. He moves you so easily that the fight seems to instantly drain out of you, the cast of his shadow engulfing you. Your fingers tremble against the ground as you hear the clanking of his belt buckle, reminding you of what you’d been fighting to prevent ever since he’d laid eyes on you.
You don’t find yourself at the mercy of his bad mood. You’re unsure if he’s ignoring your misbehaviour on purpose, or if he’s so taken by his own delusions that he cannot comprehend your fear and unwillingness.
It doesn’t matter.
You feel his fingers wind through the wedding dress, tearing through the fabric with a loud rip. You flinch, swallow down your frightened whimper, but it tears from your throat regardless when he presses his cock against you. A shudder dances down the length of your spine, pressing your forehead into the ground like it’s a last resort to save as much of your dignity as possible.
Eddie’s hips rock with trembling restraint, just enough that you feel the tip breach. You sense him shudder, like he’s grappling with his own self restraint, and vehemently losing. The stretch burns as he feeds himself into your heat, keeping you thoroughly pinned with a firm hand at the small of your back.
It’s overwhelming, uncomfortable fullness that makes your stomach knot with nausea. You fight the pained moan threatening to spill from your lips, trying to suck in a fleeting lick of air when his hips press flush against your ass. He stills.
“So perfect,” he groans against the back of your neck, having leaned forward enough to trap you thoroughly against the ground. He presses a few shakey kisses to your hairline before he rocks into your glistening cunt, drawing the entirety of his cock out of you just for his hips to hit your ass on the way back in. “My darling, my love, my wife, mother of my children…”
You gasp, rocking himself deep enough inside of you that it keeps spearing that spot that makes your vision flash white. The sound is ragged and choked, but it encourages Eddie to wrap a thick arm around your chest, his hand making a home for itself around your breast. He squeezes hard, enough to make you jolt in pain, your pussy instinctively clamping down on him.
He groans at that, and punctuates his delight with a hard thrust.
“Oh, I know, darlin’,” he mutters beside your ear, his ragged pants constantly blowing against a spot that makes you shiver. Mistaking your reaction for eagerness, he crushes your back to his chest, his other hand pressing up against your stomach. The sensation is immediate and overwhelming, like he’s pressing down right where the tip of his cock reaches inside of you.
“Fuck…” You slur, feeling that knot of nausea make its transition into pitiful arousal. The position is uncomfortable and claustrophobic, but it keeps Eddie grinding against that soft spot inside of you, melting the strength from your limbs with little effort. Your gummy walls clench until his thrusts become erratic and sloppy, driving into you again and again and again.
“I’ll fill you up—right here,” he groans, his fingers tightening against your belly, right over where your womb is. You claw for breath, each slam of his hips knocking the air from your begging lungs. Heat flushes your cheeks, the back of your neck, and you know that this time, it’s not just shame. “Fill this emptiness with my seed. Our children will grow, and I will protect you from those wicked harlots, darling. Don’t you want that?”
His voice is shaking now, bordering on breaking. His cock grinds deeper inside of you, listening to his desperate pants next to your burning ear.
“Don’t you, darling?”
His voice is sharp, his fingers digging uncomfortably into your breast, and you’re so close so quickly since your last orgasm was denied that you find yourself frantically agreeing without even meaning to.
“Yes, yes!” You cry, squeezing your eyes shut just as Eddie’s hips stutter and press flush against your ass. You feel his cock twitch before a flood of warmth is released, spreading through your lower stomach where you’re sure his hand is still pressing against. You grit your teeth and let out a miserable, desperate grunt.
Your neglected clit throbs, the second peak teetering for only a moment before you feel it slowly rescind. Your skin is hot and clammy, tears of frustration welling in your eyes before the tension in your limbs slowly fades. Eddie doesn’t seem to have any intention of getting up, remaining snug and warm inside your fluttering walls.
“Oh, my love,” he shudders, kissing away the fleeting tear at the corner of your eye. He smiles against your skin, his thumb rubbing your abdomen almost tenderly. “Let’s make sure my seed takes…”
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because I love the "good christian boy who's feral but not allowed to jack off" trope, Tommy teaching the sweetheart that Hoyt brought home for him how to grind on his pillow to get off. he insists through gestures you can't do anything dirty or touchy together cause momma says you'll go to hell if you do that, so pillow humping it is. it's the only way he's ever discovered on his own to get some kind of relief and he's glad to show you. ecstatic, really. he should probably change out his pillow case cause it's rank and it's got sweat stains and god knows what else on it, but....it makes him feel hotter knowing you're riding the same pillow he uses when he's pent up and dying for some kind of friction.
Tommy watches you after you've stripped off your lower half and sat up on his pillow, straddling it, your pretty little clit peeking out from the folds of his dark, dirty pillowcase. your shy, soft eyes as you try to get him to look away, trembling as you start clumsily brushing your folds back and forth against the fabric. it's already soaked within a minute or two and Tommy's in heaven. he's not just gonna inhale it when you're done, he's gonna hold that pillow to his crotch and spill all over it while he imagines spilling into you.
at some point he realizes you're not gonna be able to get off like this--you're too gentle--so he has to grab you by the waist and grind your hips down by force. making you really feel the friction that's gonna get you there. he hasn't got experience with women but he can tell it's working better when you start making those soft noises, when you jerk against his grip but you're too delicate and can't break out of it to run away from the pleasure. he can tell cause he's done it a hundred times himself and he knows what it feels like to cum from nothing but cotton and fabric pulling against your needy sex, dragging down wet flesh and slick until it becomes too much.
you're so cute when you run away. tugging and slapping at his hands to let you go when you weren't before, cause you're gonna cum and he knows you're gonna cum but it's coming too rough and it's gonna ruin you--your legs keep shaking and your hips won't stop bucking, mindlessly chasing more pleasure even though your dumb little brain wants you to stop and see sense. you just have to let it go. just let him push you down on the pillow like a doll, cause he knows you're gonna like it in the end. you need it. it's okay. it's not against the rules, you can do it, he's watching.
but it's more of a problem when the cord inside you snaps and you keel over like you're in prayer, hunched forward and gripping him with nails digging into his skin while the pleasure swarms over you. eyes rolling back and your head going blank--you didn't need any thoughts in there anyways--gasping and trying not to scream out cause momma would kill you if she found out what you two were doing under her roof. Tommy clumsily shushing you while still trying to see, lifting you up like your weight is nothing to him so he can watch your parts spasm and drool all over. he wants to touch it so bad but he knows he can't, he just has to make do with watching and committing those twitches to memory as your body bears down around nothing. if he could just put his fingers up there....and what would it taste like?
part of him really wants to sit you on his lap, on his meaty thigh, and have you do the same thing over his pants. but he knows he wouldn't be able to handle it and he'd go over the edge, cum in his pants and then make you feel it on his fingers when he smears it inside you. but if he can't be inside you yet...he could always find other stuff to do it. it might scare you a bit but he needs to know how you'd react.
the end of a hairbrush, the handle of a knife, a tube of lipstick momma bought you, a crochet hook turned around.....anything and everything he can find. once he's coaxed you into the butterknife handle, he gets the idea and wants you to "bless" all of his butchery tools for good luck. picks them out one by one, (thoroughly cleaned, of course, only the best for you) and slowly eases them into you, doesn't stop until you've ridden the thick handle enough to cream all over it and then it's lucky. he takes it day by day--every day is a new tool, a new object he can use to get you off and explore that sensitive area of you where his cock isn't allowed to go yet. it makes him so eager and nervous to do it for real when the time finally comes around....but won't it be so special, though? cause he'll know you so well by then, all you'll be able to do is cry and moan his name as he takes you to the brink over, and over, and over again.
A redraw of the first ever drawing I posted to tumblr :D
This was meant to be a celebration type thing for 100 followers to my blog but it took me a while to get to it and now I'm way past 100! It's unreal!
Not to mention, I've come so far from the first time I've drawn her!! Like, it's a huge difference! wow! :3!!
It's been 8-ish months since I've joined Tumblr and it's been amazing :) I've met so many cool people and i've loved every minute interacting with you all! especially my mutuals, you guys are so cool!!
Eddie Gluskin has a very strange grip on trans people and cis women. I rarely see cis gay men who are into him. Maybe the whole castration thing is too much for them. I am not going to say everything perfectly in this "dissertation" because I am in a manic episode. Please keep this in mind.
This is outlast and Eddie Gluskin. So CW for canon typical themes. I'm also gonna speak on certain things trans people deal with, along with the connection between trauma and kink, so enter at your own discretion.
I think for all of us, there's something about the dichotomy between violent slur throwing sex obsessed brute, and charming old timey gentleman. The former ties into the appeal of bodice rippers, and the latter is just... He's an older gentleman who calls you darling and dear and seems to have this reverence for you. This all consuming "love". Plus there's the "I can fix him/I'll be the exception" thing.
Now for us transgendereds. Trans people have this unique tie in to Eddie. I don't want to concretely speak on Trans men, because I am a doll, not a t-bloke. So take everything here with a grain of salt. Trans men are men, but they are all too familiar with the plights of how men treat women. There's the concept of being ABLE to appeal to Eddie's nuclear family delusions and obsession with pregnancy, while also being a man. You can read his actions in the game however you want, but there is a pretty solid interpretation of internalized homophobia. Trans men solve both of those issues. (Plus there's the whole force femme thing that plenty of trans men are into. Trauma and kink are a flat circle for many).
Now onto my demographic. The dolls. We know what it's like to have it implied that we're leading men on. We're all too familiar with a man who's into us, finds out we're trans, and becomes agitated and believes we're leading him on and tempting him (despite showing no signs of attraction). Trans women have a special relationship with castration. For those of us who want to be surged, it is by definition castration. We aren't as viscerally disturbed by it as cis men are. Like trans men there is this level of playing into Eddie's obsessions, but in reverse. You are a woman. You can be the housewife. But you also have the "vulgarity" that he is so fixated on. There's this level of "if I am already a woman, maybe that would be enough for his delusions".
Frankly, I think Eddie would be as satisfied with a cis woman as he is with a cis man. His initial crimes that had him institutionalized were against cis women. So for us trans people, the "best of both worlds" thing really does potentially apply here. As an aside, I feel like saying this is unfortunately necessary. Cis bi people, please don't call us the best of both worlds, it leans into the "heshe shemale" thing along with the "trans men are just tomboys" thing. We are not a concept, or a fantasy, or an object. We are people. Trans women are women. Trans men are men. Respect it, or you are not for us.
I don't really know how to approach enbies attraction to Eddie aside from again, "best of both worlds" which again. Transphobic. Most enbies don't aim for perfect androgyny.
Cis women. If you don't look at Eddie's in game actions as internalized homophobia, you are what he desires. There is the trauma aspect of Eddie being a misogynistic abusive murderer. But he's also a sweet, crooning, doting gentleman. Trauma tied in with the prototypical ideal man. You are what he wants. You can fix him. You can give him the nuclear family he so desires.
In the end. We're all convinced we can fix him (or make him worse), we all like that he's a dangerous gentleman, we all have the dealing with trauma through kink thing, and we all love this fucked up, handsome, poor sweet hurt man. Amen.
thinking about plus size y/n dating Eddie in a no asylum AU where he’s your older partner and generally supportive of your hobbies and stuff even if he doesn’t get it… as old fashioned as he is
he’s kind of hopeless with social media since it all updates so fast for him. but I think his happy place would be watching vintage cooking videos and those really long summary & analysis video essays on his favorite sitcoms. gives him something to listen to while he’s sewing.
you send him a video joking about how bad the choices are for plus size shopping at some stores and he just responds “Lol.” with a thumbs up emoji
an hour later he sends you some sketches of more stylish versions of the clothes in the video, as well as some outfits he think you’d look good in. some with clothes you own already, but especially with his own designs thrown in.
whichever ones you respond to favorably he’ll start making for you
Hear me out. Franco somehow finding out a reagent is ftm during a trial and having his way with them. and of course the mommy/daddy thing would go crazy. AND (optionally) degreadee reagent that likes it when franco calls him a fag. ik the right people will eat this shit up pleaaaassseeee
Summary: It’s the 1960s and Luda Mae frowns upon premarital sex like any good Christian woman. You and Tommy are young, hot, and in love but the only problem is that Tommy was raised to wait until marriage and never lets you two go any further than kissing and some groping.
But the devil lives in the hot Texan sun and even God takes a break from the summer heat.
Notes: this is super short, just pure smut, self indulgent I’m obsessed with big boy Tommy 😭😭😭 i swear I’m working on part 2 of my sister Sinclair fic but Tommy has me in a choke hold and I needed an outlet.
No TW that I can think of other than bad smut and maybe ??? Coercion??? Cause Tommy wants to be a good boy and stop before y’all go too far but you flash him and then he’s absolutely 100% in. A bit of religious stuff, period typical sexism but vaguely. Let me know if I should add anything else and I’ll get right on it. Reader isn’t ever referred to using “she/her” pronouns but is described as having breasts and does have female genitalia so I tagged it fem reader to be safe
Enjoy!!!
The early morning sun burned, chasing away what little cool air remained of the night before. While the barn shaded you from the unforgiving sun and hid you from disapproving eyes — or lecherous in the case of the older men of the family — it also trapped in the heat your two bodies gave off.
Thomas pressed his open mouth to your own, tongue swiping over your teeth eager to taste you. Your hands gripped his dark hair, ruining any half-effort attempt he had made earlier in the day to smooth down his unruly hair. He held you in his arms, body pressed tightly against him in an attempt to get as close as possible, his large frame hiding you even further from prying eyes than the shadowed corners of the old barn. The kiss was deep and hungry and served as a brief respite from Luda Maes ever watching eyes. While she had been fine with you living with the family before you and Tommy were married, she forbade you from sharing a room or being intimate, a rule she absolutely refused to budge on and one that Uncle Charlie took a strange glee in ribbing you about. But much like the Texan heat, the heated looks you gave each other were unavoidable and only grew hotter as the summer days went on. Luda Mae wanted to wait until the following spring to make your union official but at the rate the town was drying up, there wouldn't even be a priest to officiate the ceremony, much less any guest to attend. You highly doubted anyone outside of the family would want to witness your union anyway but still, Luda Mae didn't want the few who would to get wise and start counting months.
These stolen moments in the barn were as good as you could get — and by god were they good.
Tommy’s large hands groped at your breasts, pawing roughy at your nipples through the worn fabric of your old dress. It wasn’t long before you found yourself in the familiar position of being sprawled out on the barn floor, coarse hay a discomfort you had long learned to endure for the sake of pleasure.
You desperately thrust your sex up onto his growing bulge, whining when he groaned and pinned your hips with his own, preventing you from getting your desired stimulation. “Please Tommy,” you beg, lips separating, “We don’t have to do too much, I just wanna touch you.” You press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, pulling softly at the flesh with your teeth and tongue dragging across the bites to taste the salt on his skin. Your hands eagerly worked to untuck his faded green shirt and wrap around him, roaming the vast expanse of his back. His whole body shuddered in your arms, an attempt to hold back from eating you whole.
You know Thomas will put an end to your romp soon, the tense lines of his shoulders and the way he shuts his eyes a sign that he's reaching his limit, that if you two don't stop now you won't be able to stop — but that’s exactly what you want.
You're tired of holding back, of this constant edging you have to endure when you’re in his presence and it gets harder every day. Just yesterday afternoon, Uncle Charlie sprayed Tommy with the hose, telling him that he was filthy and needed to get out of those clothes before he went inside. Watching as he undressed by the back door so that you could put his clothes on the line to dry had nearly given you a heatstroke — and if Charlie’s leering grin was any clue, you swear he did it on purpose in an attempt to rile you up. You ran off before you sinned right there in the yard, the memory of Thomas's shirt clinging to his arms, his chest glistening with water had kept you company well into the night.
So before Tommy puts a stop to your roll in the hay you make your move. You lift your dress up past your breast and expose yourself to him, you can see his breath stutter in his chest, this was quickly becoming the farthest you two had ever gone.
“Just watch me, Tommy, watch me,” you say breathlessly.
And he does, he sits on his haunches like a predator, his engorged cock straining against his pants and imagining just a taste has your tongue darting out to wet your lips, his gaze fixated on the movement.
Sliding your panties off your legs, your fingers dip briefly into your wet hole, gathering slick to rub onto your clit. At the very first touch, you let out a shuddering breath and you watch as his shoulders heave.
You begin rubbing your clit at an intense pace already turned on from the earlier heavy petting, not once breaking eye contact with Thomas as you do. With each moan you muffle you see his eyes grow darker with desire breathing with his mouth open as though he could taste your scent in the air. When he finally lets his cock spring free you let out your loudest moan yet. It’s better than you ever thought. His cock is thick and heavy, drooping slightly under its own weight but still undeniably firm. It curves slightly and you imagine that if it was inside you it would scrape against your walls in a way you've never been able to do with just your fingers.
Thomas grips his cock firmly and gives it a few tugs, eyes alternating between hungrily drinking in the sight of your blissed-out expression and your dripping pussy. You buck your hips, desperate to press your clit against your fingers and Thomas jerks his length even faster, rubbing his tip and spreading his precum on his hand.
God, you wished it was you that was touching him.
Thomas settles onto his knees and after a brief hesitation begins to shuffle closer to you. The sight of him crawling to you on his knees with his dripping length in hand made your pussy clench around nothing and you let out a whimper. You remove your fingers from your clit, feeling the heat radiating from his cock as he settles on top of you, legs spreading around his waist, your hips slightly raised and resting on his thighs.
The tip hesitantly pressed against your clit and your moan fills the small space before you can suppress it. This was better than you were hoping and it felt as though you were pressing against the boundaries the lord had set for you. Tommy’s eyes find yours looking for reassurance, asking without words, “Do you think this is okay?”
You find enough comprehension in your lust-addled brain to come up with a coherent answer, “It should be fine, I think,” you stammer out, “I mean, it’s not like — not like you’re putting it in so, it should be fine.”
You’re not overly familiar with the word of God outside of Sunday services and Luda Mae’s lectures, both of which you were forced to attend and spent tuning out in favor of watching the sweat build on Tommy’s brow while he worked through the window.
You think that if God could feel the weight of Thomas like you did, feel the heat like you could, you think he’d forgive the sin of your act.
It seems like that was all the reassurance that Thomas needed because no sooner than the words fumbled their way out of your mouth that he begins to drag the length of his cock against your slit.
God, if this is what hell was supposed to be like, burning and full of decadence, then perhaps you didn’t mind being a sinner.
The way he ruts against you is euphoric. Heavy breaths escape you both and you can’t help the words that spill from your lips.
“God, Tommy, I wish you would put it inside me,” you whine out “‘wanna feel your fat cock in my pussy, wanna get filled,” you might as well be begging at this point, and Tommy's increases his pace to the point that you think he wants the same thing, that he’s desperate to thrust into you rather than against you and —
And then the tip of his cock catches on your entrance and you both stop breathing.
“Maybe — Maybe it doesn’t count.” You stammer out, “It didn’t go in and it’s just the tip, and I don’t think that the tip counts” With the slightest twitch of his hips the tip of his cock has slipped inside.
"It's - it's just the tip it's fine” Your words sound empty even to you but the reassurance is all Tommy needs to push forward and let the head of his cock slide into your welcoming heat
His soul nearly leaves his body when he feels your raw pussy on the head of his cock. He jerks his length furiously and your fingers begin to move against your clit again, eager to meet your high with Thomas.
But it’s not enough. He was right there, right there just one push of his hips he’d be right where you needed him
“Please Tommy” Canting your hips slightly so the tip begins to dig deeper into you, you begin to plead once more, “wanna feel you fill me up, wanna remember the shape of your cock please”
Thomas feels years of control break at your words and with one swing of his hips, he bottoms out instantly. You feel like you've been punched in the gut as the air rushes out of you and you let out a sound like a wounded animal. Tommy stays still deep inside you, shaking and heaving, absolutely drunk on the feeling of your soaked walls clenching vigorously around his length.
You feel full in a way you've never thought possible. His length throbs, its girth stretching you in a way that burns.
When he finally starts thrusting, you’re not ready. He’s like a man possessed, solely focused on the feel of you around him, your skin pressed against his, his blood pounding in his ears.
“Wait— Tommy, ah, slow — slow down, oh god!” You can’t hold back your moans and he can’t stop, both fully engrossed in the feel of each other with no control over your own lust. Thomas crashes his lips onto yours in a halfhearted attempt to keep down your moans, it’s sloppy, clashing teeth and drooling tongues, spit escaping your lips, unlike any you’ve shared before.
This is completely different from what you’ve imagined your first time together would be like. It’s not your wedding night, you're laying on the dirty barn floor and there’s absolutely nothing gentle about the way Tommy is ravaging you. Your pussy is sopping wet and with every thrust, it lets out an embarrassing squelch, your juices and Tommy’s pre-cum leak down your ass and make a sticky mess in his dark pubes.
He doesn’t stop even as your walls spasm around him, cumming on his cock and digging your nails into his strong back. He works you through your orgasm even as your mouth clumsily forms the words to beg for him to slow down or to give you a moment. It’s too much, the sensations completely overloading your brain and all you can do is hold on tightly to him, lost in the ecstasy of your release.
Thomas lets out a deep, guttural groan as he cums, hips stuttering as he bullies his fat cock into the deepest part of your sex, filling you to the brim and your vision goes white.
Boneless, neither one of you makes a move to separate from the other, so thoroughly satisfied and content to lie where you are holding each other, Thomas’s softening cocking slipping out of you and spilling his release onto the ground.
His weight on you is comforting, you gently press kisses to his face and bask in the way his heavy breaths caress your sweaty skin.
“I love you.” You whisper into the shell of his ear and he squeezes you against him, repeating the words in his garbled voice the best he could. Your love is just for the two of you, no one else had a place in your world, no one else had the right to peak in on your affection or gawk at your differences.
This moment in time was just for the two of you.
“Thomas! Where the hell are ya, boy!”
Well, until Uncle Charlie’s voice brought you back down to reality.
concept: living in some idyllic 50s style suburb with something off about it, and you’re single and getting attention from two eligible older men in the neighborhood
Eddie Gluskin and Leland Coyle fighting to get your attention…
Eddie tries to convince you he’s marriage material by giving you flowers and showing off that he can take care of animals
meanwhile Leland is the type that thinks doing manual labor and getting dirty while shirtless is the most attractive thing a man can do for you
Eddie is definitely the type of guy to dig up dirt on Coyle just to gain your favor. He'd tell you that Coyle has already been married three times. Further, it is a cementing that maybe Coyle isn't a perfect husband, unlike Eddie that is.
what if comics era Chris Walker x reader who’s a patient at his workplace, and he uses some of the things he’s learned from watching their sessions to his advantage?
like your favorite foods, your preferences for a date, etc?
… actually idk if this is all that IC but he seemed to have no problem at all with watching all those therapy sessions anyway
I know that in a stream one of the writers or artists at red barrels said Chris was at a point where he was looking to protect someone vulnerable the way he wished he could’ve been protected
it’s messed up and tragic if it’s done in such an unethical way, like a parasocial relationship with you via hearing you pour your heart out to your therapist. maybe you have something in common and that’s what gets his attention, he just wants to reassure you and comfort you because he’s been through the same thing, he tells himself.
especially knowing he has some issues with communication and gets bullied by his colleagues… in a twisted way maybe he’d think this is the best way to get you on his side
Indeedy-do! On a side note, I think the tiny grunts have hilarious voice lines. Sorry this is a short one. I'm just now getting back into the swing of things on here!
Franco Barbi With A Grunt Reader
You weren't a prime asset. You weren't in the spotlight.. at least to the reagents.
To Franco, you were a superstar. The way you'd hack-n-slash at the reagents was beautiful. It was like you were performing a dance you'd done many times before.
You weren't the happiest ex-pop. You were damned to the program from an unfortunate series of events in your life.
Sometimes Franco would be herding the reagents towards your locations just to get a glimpse at your grace.
Now, meeting up with this goofball within trials can be difficult considering Easterman is always watching.
When you were able to meet up with him, you guys were always lovey-dovey.
Eddie hadn't been with a woman for so long that it was hard to contain his impulses every time he found himself alone with you. Ever since that afternoon when you gave yourself to him, the man couldn't get enough of you. You were so attractive, so perfect, that he felt like a fucking animal in heat just looking at you.
Oh, and being buried inside you to the balls was the best fucking experience of his fucking life. You were always so submissive to him, so malleable and willing to do anything. Even though to everyone else in this fucking hellhole it was you who had managed to tame the beast, in the safety of any place without cameras it was he who was in charge. He took you harder and more shamelessly each time, the trust between patient and nurse growing. By then he had fucked you in his bed, and in the showers, and even in the lift. He had been on top of you, and behind you, and under you too. He knew your body even better than his own. He knew where and how to touch you to make you finish again and again. Eddie knew you liked feeling trapped. For some reason (maybe just because you were as crazy as he was), you were turned on by him imprisoning you in some way. Whether it was locking yourselves in the bathrooms, or pressing the emergency button on the lifts, or simply putting you on your back and against the nearest wall.
The latter was the favourite of both of you. If you liked giving him control, he loved taking it. And nothing better to demonstrate that than pushing you, lifting your skirt, and sticking his fingers up to the knuckles to prepare you. You squealed and moaned, pleased by the treatment you received, your cunt getting wet at an impressive speed. Eddie was considerate of you, always taking the time to get you ready and avoid pain —The difference in sizes was considerable, after all.
You did your part, releasing fluids in cascades, while letting yourself be fingered without further ado.
That morning you were in the female block C, the one that had been burned and forgotten by Murkoff since they no longer had female prisoners anyway. You often walked around there, even before your first time, and even more so now. It gave you the space you needed, the freedom to be as loud and do as you pleased. Eddie had had a bad night, plagued by unpleasant dreams, so he wanted to get even as soon as you set foot in the area.
Without exchanging a single word, the man enclosed you in his arms, pulling your shirt open, your bra receiving the same fate. He was soon kneading you lovely tits, thumbs teasing your perky nipples as his firm thigh pressed against your sex. You began to moan and gasp instantly, soon leaving a stain on the prisoner's pants. Eddie arched his back to kiss you, tongues tangling, cold hands pushing his head into your face, temperature rising even higher than before.
Soon Eddie pulled away, grabbing your hips and turning you around. He pushed his body against yours, crushing you against the cold wood, and pulled back a little to get you into the right position. You bent over on your own, presenting your ass to the man, legs closed because, although a little painful, you liked it better that way. Eddie bit his lip, lifting the short skirt and looking at that beautiful body. Your stockings were wet, obviously, but your panties were soaked. The man pulled the former ones down, opting to just move the latter ones aside. You stood still, waiting patiently as Eddie got rid of the damn uniform. The orange suit fell to his ankles, and the man was quick to pull out his erection, stroking himself a little before bringing his fingers to you.
You stopped him, though. A shake of your head, not a word needed for him to understand. He put his hands on your hips then, and in a movement almost caused by muscle memory, entered you. It felt glorious, as always, and at the same time as never before. The lack of preparation made you stretch with his cock, stealing your breath, and Eddie's as well. You stood still for a moment, a small moment to enjoy the burning of his size against your cunt.
And then, the whole world disappeared for you. There was only pleasure as Eddie pounded into you, as you held on to the wood with all your strength. Your breasts were pressed against the wall, the movement stimulating your nipples, adding up to the pleasure of your entire nether region. You moaned and begged for more, Eddie obliging your requests, and nothing but that wall witnessed all the pleasure, perhaps more, in which you immersed yourselves that morning.
SCREAMING HI THE ANON THAT SENT IN THE ENABLER ASK AGAIN ITS SO GOOD??????? TYSM OMG (also i would very much like to see you do an nsfw version- when you're comfortable ofc)
WOOOOO! Thank you!! I apologize for the wait, I've just had this brewing for a bit! I'm sorry if this is a bit short, but I hope you still find it a good read! First time writing anything remotely NSFW, but I'm gonna try to brainstorm some more NSFW ideas for a oneshot potentially!
Now, we all know Franco is a touchy and handsy man, but only when it comes to his mommy. He'll soak up any drop of attention he can get from you.
You purposely treat him as though he were an actual infant, talking to him in a baby voice, grabbing things for him since he's "too short", or sometimes carrying him around.
Franco is whiny, plain and simple. He doesn't get his way? He'll throw a tantrum and cry, yell, or pout until you give in or discipline him.
Speaking of discipline, there are actual punishments, or funishments. I feel like Franco can be a bit cheeky and mischievous at times, and other times he's a super well behaved baby. However, the lines for this and his intentions can be a little blurry.
Punishments/Funishments include: no sweets, writing lines, timeout/standing in a corner/hold coin to the wall with nose, early bedtime, no snuggles, caning/spanking/whipping, orgasm denial, forced orgasms, chastity cage, and more.
One of his favorite evening activities is having you bottle feed him, or even better, breastfeed him. Even if you don't produce milk, he still loves to suck on your nipples. He loves how soft and plush your skin is.
In the bedroom, Franco is often reduced to a whimpering and begging mess. He loves to be on the bottom with his upper body propped up by pillows while you ride him. This allows him to bury his face between your chest as you move yourself up and down.
