remainsofus

[remainsofus]

🃏👑🃏

You were married off to the king as a young noble woman. The arrangement was rather rushed in your opinion, not that anyone asked for it. The king only needed a show queen, a quiet but present symbol for the kingdom and you suited well enough for that.

He didn’t need a wife for pleasure, he had plenty mistresses for that and he seemed to be in no rush for a successor. You suspected it was because he had no intent to hand over power to anyone else anytime soon. Although, that's just what you assumed, others never blamed him for it. You were always the target of the hushed whispers and silent accusations of infertility, unruliness or even infidelity when it came to the subject of an heir.

The people's gossip aside, it was an easy marriage. You didn’t have to share a bed with a man you didn’t love and you didn’t have to raise his children. Many more deserving women would kill for such a life, which only made you feel worse about the utter discontent you felt. It was the loneliness, mostly. Such a privileged life and yet not a single companion in the world to share it with.

The king and his advisers only speak to you when they need you to make an appearance as queen. Their orders always dripping with condescension and near mockery. They’ve made you smile and wave for hours, waltz until your feet blister and recite a holy text’s worth of pompous poetry, but this most recent ploy was particularly concerning.

You sit on your throne next to your husband, hands in your lap, staring at the colourful figure in front of you. The bells on his ridiculous hat jingle as he bows his head so low they almost touch the marble floor. Quiet chuckles emit from the nobility crowding the massive ballroom and the unease in your stomach only builds.

When the jester picks his head back up, you can’t help fiddling even more with your dress, just like your husband's advisers have scolded you not to. The jester silently stares with his sheet white face, big red grin painted across his mouth. You want to shrink under the jesters stare, the blue diamonds painted over his eyes make his gaze feel piercing.

The king grins when he catches your nervous gaze.

“Do you like your surprise, my love? I thought you could use some cheering up lately. As did my advisers.”

He chuckles, looking over at the old men in the corner of the room. They smile back, amusing in a joke you're not a part of.

You just nod your head as politely as possible. You don’t know what's happening, but whatever they have planned can’t be good.

The jester skips up to where you and the king sit. He gives an exaggerated curtsy to the king, earning a laugh from him and the various nobility.

The bells jingle as he springs back up and steps closer to you. He stretches his hand out, you stare at it and then back to your husband.

“The fool wants a dance, my dear. Give him a dance.”

You try to hide the apprehension on your face and reach for the jesters white glove-covered hand. He doesn’t squeeze or pull you up like you expected, instead he holds it gently, waiting for your next move. You rise from your throne and cast one more glance at your husband, who only offers a self-satisfied grin in return. This whole time all they've wanted from you is a perfect queen and now they want you to dance with a fool?

The jester walks you to the middle of the room, encircled by leering nobility. He places your hand on his waist before dramatically correcting the mistake and placing it on his shoulder instead, looking bashfully to the audience who snicker at the joke. He takes your other hand in his and gives you a little nod before the musicians starts playing and he guides you into step.

Now obviously you know very well how to dance, you enjoyed it quite a bit when you were little although, now it’s just become another part of your queenly duties. Did any of that even matter now? Now that it’s clear the king and his peers see you as just as much of a joke as the man you’re waltzing with.

Your deep thoughts are broken when said man unexpectedly twirls you in a dizzying circle. You flail slightly in your surprise but you’re brought back into his arms just as quickly to continue your steps. You fully focus on him now and you wonder what his features look like under that gaudy clown makeup. Even in the bright chandelier lights of the ball room, you can’t make out the colour of his irises. Earlier, you thought they were hazel but now it seems they're an impossibly dark brown.

The dark pools look as if they could swallow all the colour from his face and your own. Actually, has he blinked even once during this dance, or at all for that matter?

You’re not sure if it was your mistake or the jester’s but you step on his foot and he suddenly pulls away from you. He clutches his foot and jumps up and down in theatrical pain. The room bursts into laughter, bellows and cackles. These elite men and women delight in the humiliating performance you’re both putting on for them. It takes everything in you not to cave right there in the middle of it.

While the jeering continues, you try your best to steel yourself, replacing the need to cry with spiteful compliance. If they want a dance, they can have a dance.

You curtsy at the jester, offering an apology and hold your hand out to him. He looks around and then points to himself. You can’t help but smile and nod your head.

He takes your hand and when the music starts back up again, you step in time to the beautiful melody. You try and put your full attention on the jester, not anyone else in the large room, which proves to be quite easy as he is by far the most interesting person present. You can just make out the small smile under the red painted grin, his relaxed eyebrows under the bright blue diamonds, the crook of his pointy nose.

While moving in sync, you become almost lost in trying to map out his face under the make-up. You look for imperfections in the face paint but can’t seem to find a single smudge or brush streak, in fact the paint looks impressively even, like it’s a second skin.

It truly does feel like its only you two and the music, for the first time in a long time you feel wanted by someone else.

But when the king grows bored he demands new entertainment.

He motions for the musicians to stop their music and you’re brought back to reality. The jester bows for the crowd, he gestures to you and you offer a little curtsy before being escorted back to your throne. Form there, you watch the rest of the strange performers routine. He juggles an impressive amount of miscellaneous items, he folds himself into ridiculous positions, walks on his hands and generally makes a fool of himself for the crowd.

You watch in delight, though your husband doesn't seem as interested as he was before your little dance.

You think about the jester all the way back to your courters that night. You think about him as you slip on your night dress and slide into bed, and you think of him as you stare up at the ceiling for possibly hours. There is too much on your mind, the fun of watching the jesters performance has subsided and thoughts of what this means for your reputation and position in the court remain constant. A sigh leaves you as you lift yourself up and open the doors to your balcony.

You lean on the balcony ledge and stare out at the starry night sky, not even the strange jester can distract from the humiliation ritual you were just a part of. He could have been in on it for all you know and you're just naive enough to think he was being kind to you during the whole thing.

A shuffling sound from behind you makes you turn your head and it takes you just a split second to register the very colourful jester standing in the corner of your balcony.

The screech you let out is smothered by your own hand. You clutch the edge of the balcony, staring at the slender man who puts his hands up, waving apologies while moving his chest as if laughing, nothing comes out of his mouth. You clutch your heart, breathing quite heavily as you stare at him bewildered. You look around trying to discern where he could have come from, and how you only now hear his bells jingle as he waves his hands, still apologising.

He steps closer and stands tall in front of you, he’s much more imposing than you remember him being. He holds up one finger and then mimics a waltz. His head bows low and he holds his hand out for you to take. He’s asking for another dance but is there really much of a choice at all? Has this also been planned? If you say no, will he just leave? Do you want him to leave? The dance you shared was the most delightful time you've had in so, so long

You stare at him for a good while, he stays with his hand outstretched, bent over at a near 90 degree angle, not straining even a little. The longer you wait, the more uncomfortable you feel in his unwavering presence.

Against your better judgement, you reach out and touch his gloved hand. He curls his fingers around yours and stands upright. You let him bring your hand to his shoulder, place his hand on your waist and step closer. This time is different from the last time. Now it really does feel like his attention is only on you, not with the other guests, not with the performance. It should be frightening, but you find no malice in his eyes, no ridicule in his demeanor.

As he steps into motion, you begin a slow waltz in the small space of your balcony. It's slower than in the ballroom, it's more intimate. While you dance with this complete stranger, your thoughts run rampant, you second guess your judgement again and again. Maybe the kindness you sense from him is a ruse. Maybe he is here on behalf of the king, setting up another degrading show. He could even be an assassin, come to rid you quietly in the middle of the night.

You would deserve such a fate for giving in so easily. You slowly spin in his arms and this time you don't hear the snide laughs of the nobility, just the sounds of the night. Both of you step in time and you let him guide you to the edge of your balcony. You hold your breath as he dips you over the ledge. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out what could be your last breath ready for him to let go and let you fall.

But he doesn't let go, your grip on his shoulders never slips. You open your eyes, a bit blurry from wetness but you can make out his face, because it's right in front of you even though you're bent over the balcony far enough that your feet have left the ground. You stare back at his unrelenting gaze. In the dim light of the moon his eyes look even darker than before and something new swims in the deep black of his pupils, something sad.

They are lidded as they examine your face, your entire being. His hand on your back presses your chest further into his until you're sure he can feel your rapid heartbeat through your very flesh.

He lifts you upright again, turning you away from the ledge and out of harms way. You’re still chest to chest, he’s so close but you can’t feel him breathe. Your wide eyes stare up at him, trying to discern his expression. Your breaths are short and your grip on him hasn’t let up a bit.

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, the warm fabric of his gloves on your cold cheeks has you easing into them far too easily. His eyes examine every inch of your face while his thumbs stroke your cheeks, you can just barely see the frown on his lips behind the painted smile. He brings your face closer to his, slow and methodical, making it very clear what his next move is. You’re not sure if this was due to his own hesitation or to give you time to pull away, regardless you let him inch closer and closer until his lips grazed yours and you finally feel him breathe out one long breath.

The kiss is deep. Despite being slow and gentle, it still forces a struggled breath from you. You would’ve thought he tasted like paint but he doesn’t, he’s warm and inviting. It’s nice.

Your eyes close, surrendering all hesitation to the stranger in your arms. Fingers dig into the fabric of his puffy striped sleeves as your body melts further into his. You quickly learn to breathe through your nose, out of necessity and unwillingness to part from his affections.

You let him work your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The feeling is so foreign, you can’t help but whine. The backs of his fingers flutter over your throat and you shiver.

His tongue fills your mouth, sliding along yours and savouring your taste. The wet muscle reaches far into your mouth, farther than you thought normal but your experience is slim and you don’t have the awareness to fully question it. It’s overwhelming. Your knees tremble and he lowers you both to the cold stone floor. His tongue reaches into your throat, a feat you know is impossible.

You’re too lost to even think of the implications of this, as you gag and convulse around the thick muscle in your throat that no longer feels like a normal tongue. He reaches so far, your eyes roll back, your lower region warms uncomfortably and you forget how to breathe. You tap his shoulders quickly, a plea for air, and he retreats from your throat. He holds you as you cough and heave, wiping the spit from your chin.

You look at him with the an expression full of shock and fear and bewilderment and every other emotion shooting through your fuzzy mind. His expression is hard to discern but he seems both amused and sad.

He stands and brings you up on shaky legs. When he starts to back away, you panic and clutch his hands tighter. You don’t know what you were hoping for. That he would stay? That he would spend the night with you?

His face is full of what you hope is longing and not pity, you know what pity looks like. He holds you close in what you know is a goodbye embrace. He presses his forehead to yours and he places one last short kiss on your lips. Its playfull and very much not what you’d consider a proper good bye kiss. You search his gaze and you’re met with rather boyish mirth, lifting your spirits slightly. Maybe this isn't goodbye then?

He winks at you and takes your hand, spinning you around once, twice and three times before he lets go. When you rebalance yourself and look around the balcony, there is no sight of the jester. It's just the pitying sounds of the night and your only other witness, the moon. Like he was never there at all.

[remainsofus]

🃏👑🃏

You were married off to the king as a young noble woman. The arrangement was rather rushed in your opinion, not that anyone asked for it. The king only needed a show queen, a quiet but present symbol for the kingdom and you suited well enough for that.

He didn’t need a wife for pleasure, he had plenty mistresses for that and he seemed to be in no rush for a successor. You suspected it was because he had no intent to hand over power to anyone else anytime soon. Although, that's just what you assumed, others never blamed him for it. You were always the target of the hushed whispers and silent accusations of infertility, unruliness or even infidelity when it came to the subject of an heir.

The people's gossip aside, it was an easy marriage. You didn’t have to share a bed with a man you didn’t love and you didn’t have to raise his children. Many more deserving women would kill for such a life, which only made you feel worse about the utter discontent you felt. It was the loneliness, mostly. Such a privileged life and yet not a single companion in the world to share it with.

The king and his advisers only speak to you when they need you to make an appearance as queen. Their orders always dripping with condescension and near mockery. They’ve made you smile and wave for hours, waltz until your feet blister and recite a holy text’s worth of pompous poetry, but this most recent ploy was particularly concerning.

You sit on your throne next to your husband, hands in your lap, staring at the colourful figure in front of you. The bells on his ridiculous hat jingle as he bows his head so low they almost touch the marble floor. Quiet chuckles emit from the nobility crowding the massive ballroom and the unease in your stomach only builds.

When the jester picks his head back up, you can’t help fiddling even more with your dress, just like your husband's advisers have scolded you not to. The jester silently stares with his sheet white face, big red grin painted across his mouth. You want to shrink under the jesters stare, the blue diamonds painted over his eyes make his gaze feel piercing.

The king grins when he catches your nervous gaze.

“Do you like your surprise, my love? I thought you could use some cheering up lately. As did my advisers.”

He chuckles, looking over at the old men in the corner of the room. They smile back, amusing in a joke you're not a part of.

You just nod your head as politely as possible. You don’t know what's happening, but whatever they have planned can’t be good.

The jester skips up to where you and the king sit. He gives an exaggerated curtsy to the king, earning a laugh from him and the various nobility.

The bells jingle as he springs back up and steps closer to you. He stretches his hand out, you stare at it and then back to your husband.

“The fool wants a dance, my dear. Give him a dance.”

You try to hide the apprehension on your face and reach for the jesters white glove-covered hand. He doesn’t squeeze or pull you up like you expected, instead he holds it gently, waiting for your next move. You rise from your throne and cast one more glance at your husband, who only offers a self-satisfied grin in return. This whole time all they've wanted from you is a perfect queen and now they want you to dance with a fool?

The jester walks you to the middle of the room, encircled by leering nobility. He places your hand on his waist before dramatically correcting the mistake and placing it on his shoulder instead, looking bashfully to the audience who snicker at the joke. He takes your other hand in his and gives you a little nod before the musicians starts playing and he guides you into step.

Now obviously you know very well how to dance, you enjoyed it quite a bit when you were little although, now it’s just become another part of your queenly duties. Did any of that even matter now? Now that it’s clear the king and his peers see you as just as much of a joke as the man you’re waltzing with.

Your deep thoughts are broken when said man unexpectedly twirls you in a dizzying circle. You flail slightly in your surprise but you’re brought back into his arms just as quickly to continue your steps. You fully focus on him now and you wonder what his features look like under that gaudy clown makeup. Even in the bright chandelier lights of the ball room, you can’t make out the colour of his irises. Earlier, you thought they were hazel but now it seems they're an impossibly dark brown.

The dark pools look as if they could swallow all the colour from his face and your own. Actually, has he blinked even once during this dance, or at all for that matter?

You’re not sure if it was your mistake or the jester’s but you step on his foot and he suddenly pulls away from you. He clutches his foot and jumps up and down in theatrical pain. The room bursts into laughter, bellows and cackles. These elite men and women delight in the humiliating performance you’re both putting on for them. It takes everything in you not to cave right there in the middle of it.

While the jeering continues, you try your best to steel yourself, replacing the need to cry with spiteful compliance. If they want a dance, they can have a dance.

You curtsy at the jester, offering an apology and hold your hand out to him. He looks around and then points to himself. You can’t help but smile and nod your head.

He takes your hand and when the music starts back up again, you step in time to the beautiful melody. You try and put your full attention on the jester, not anyone else in the large room, which proves to be quite easy as he is by far the most interesting person present. You can just make out the small smile under the red painted grin, his relaxed eyebrows under the bright blue diamonds, the crook of his pointy nose.

While moving in sync, you become almost lost in trying to map out his face under the make-up. You look for imperfections in the face paint but can’t seem to find a single smudge or brush streak, in fact the paint looks impressively even, like it’s a second skin.

It truly does feel like its only you two and the music, for the first time in a long time you feel wanted by someone else.

But when the king grows bored he demands new entertainment.

He motions for the musicians to stop their music and you’re brought back to reality. The jester bows for the crowd, he gestures to you and you offer a little curtsy before being escorted back to your throne. Form there, you watch the rest of the strange performers routine. He juggles an impressive amount of miscellaneous items, he folds himself into ridiculous positions, walks on his hands and generally makes a fool of himself for the crowd.

You watch in delight, though your husband doesn't seem as interested as he was before your little dance.

You think about the jester all the way back to your courters that night. You think about him as you slip on your night dress and slide into bed, and you think of him as you stare up at the ceiling for possibly hours. There is too much on your mind, the fun of watching the jesters performance has subsided and thoughts of what this means for your reputation and position in the court remain constant. A sigh leaves you as you lift yourself up and open the doors to your balcony.

You lean on the balcony ledge and stare out at the starry night sky, not even the strange jester can distract from the humiliation ritual you were just a part of. He could have been in on it for all you know and you're just naive enough to think he was being kind to you during the whole thing.

A shuffling sound from behind you makes you turn your head and it takes you just a split second to register the very colourful jester standing in the corner of your balcony.

The screech you let out is smothered by your own hand. You clutch the edge of the balcony, staring at the slender man who puts his hands up, waving apologies while moving his chest as if laughing, nothing comes out of his mouth. You clutch your heart, breathing quite heavily as you stare at him bewildered. You look around trying to discern where he could have come from, and how you only now hear his bells jingle as he waves his hands, still apologising.

He steps closer and stands tall in front of you, he’s much more imposing than you remember him being. He holds up one finger and then mimics a waltz. His head bows low and he holds his hand out for you to take. He’s asking for another dance but is there really much of a choice at all? Has this also been planned? If you say no, will he just leave? Do you want him to leave? The dance you shared was the most delightful time you've had in so, so long

You stare at him for a good while, he stays with his hand outstretched, bent over at a near 90 degree angle, not straining even a little. The longer you wait, the more uncomfortable you feel in his unwavering presence.

Against your better judgement, you reach out and touch his gloved hand. He curls his fingers around yours and stands upright. You let him bring your hand to his shoulder, place his hand on your waist and step closer. This time is different from the last time. Now it really does feel like his attention is only on you, not with the other guests, not with the performance. It should be frightening, but you find no malice in his eyes, no ridicule in his demeanor.

As he steps into motion, you begin a slow waltz in the small space of your balcony. It's slower than in the ballroom, it's more intimate. While you dance with this complete stranger, your thoughts run rampant, you second guess your judgement again and again. Maybe the kindness you sense from him is a ruse. Maybe he is here on behalf of the king, setting up another degrading show. He could even be an assassin, come to rid you quietly in the middle of the night.

You would deserve such a fate for giving in so easily. You slowly spin in his arms and this time you don't hear the snide laughs of the nobility, just the sounds of the night. Both of you step in time and you let him guide you to the edge of your balcony. You hold your breath as he dips you over the ledge. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out what could be your last breath ready for him to let go and let you fall.

But he doesn't let go, your grip on his shoulders never slips. You open your eyes, a bit blurry from wetness but you can make out his face, because it's right in front of you even though you're bent over the balcony far enough that your feet have left the ground. You stare back at his unrelenting gaze. In the dim light of the moon his eyes look even darker than before and something new swims in the deep black of his pupils, something sad.

They are lidded as they examine your face, your entire being. His hand on your back presses your chest further into his until you're sure he can feel your rapid heartbeat through your very flesh.

He lifts you upright again, turning you away from the ledge and out of harms way. You’re still chest to chest, he’s so close but you can’t feel him breathe. Your wide eyes stare up at him, trying to discern his expression. Your breaths are short and your grip on him hasn’t let up a bit.

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, the warm fabric of his gloves on your cold cheeks has you easing into them far too easily. His eyes examine every inch of your face while his thumbs stroke your cheeks, you can just barely see the frown on his lips behind the painted smile. He brings your face closer to his, slow and methodical, making it very clear what his next move is. You’re not sure if this was due to his own hesitation or to give you time to pull away, regardless you let him inch closer and closer until his lips grazed yours and you finally feel him breathe out one long breath.

The kiss is deep. Despite being slow and gentle, it still forces a struggled breath from you. You would’ve thought he tasted like paint but he doesn’t, he’s warm and inviting. It’s nice.

Your eyes close, surrendering all hesitation to the stranger in your arms. Fingers dig into the fabric of his puffy striped sleeves as your body melts further into his. You quickly learn to breathe through your nose, out of necessity and unwillingness to part from his affections.

You let him work your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The feeling is so foreign, you can’t help but whine. The backs of his fingers flutter over your throat and you shiver.

His tongue fills your mouth, sliding along yours and savouring your taste. The wet muscle reaches far into your mouth, farther than you thought normal but your experience is slim and you don’t have the awareness to fully question it. It’s overwhelming. Your knees tremble and he lowers you both to the cold stone floor. His tongue reaches into your throat, a feat you know is impossible.

You’re too lost to even think of the implications of this, as you gag and convulse around the thick muscle in your throat that no longer feels like a normal tongue. He reaches so far, your eyes roll back, your lower region warms uncomfortably and you forget how to breathe. You tap his shoulders quickly, a plea for air, and he retreats from your throat. He holds you as you cough and heave, wiping the spit from your chin.

You look at him with the an expression full of shock and fear and bewilderment and every other emotion shooting through your fuzzy mind. His expression is hard to discern but he seems both amused and sad.

He stands and brings you up on shaky legs. When he starts to back away, you panic and clutch his hands tighter. You don’t know what you were hoping for. That he would stay? That he would spend the night with you?

His face is full of what you hope is longing and not pity, you know what pity looks like. He holds you close in what you know is a goodbye embrace. He presses his forehead to yours and he places one last short kiss on your lips. Its playfull and very much not what you’d consider a proper good bye kiss. You search his gaze and you’re met with rather boyish mirth, lifting your spirits slightly. Maybe this isn't goodbye then?

He winks at you and takes your hand, spinning you around once, twice and three times before he lets go. When you rebalance yourself and look around the balcony, there is no sight of the jester. It's just the pitying sounds of the night and your only other witness, the moon. Like he was never there at all.

[remainsofus]

2024 + HORROR

[remainsofus]

Let's try this again

[remainsofus]

[remainsofus]

My new addiction

[remainsofus]

📢Spoiler Warning📢

It includes the story and endings from the game.

This comic features additional settings and my own ideas.

In the game, the main character is female; in the manga, I depict the character as genderless.

The characters use a special language, and the dialogue may not be very smooth. I expanded on this in the comic

✤ Had an argument ✤ + ✤ Borrow an umbrella ✤ + ✢ Feeling down ✢

✤ Dance ✤

When facing off against Mr. Scarlet, it feels a bit like battling a boss… but his shattered personality in the end is such a twist, and I really like it 💘

✤ Hug ✤

[remainsofus]

brahms!!!!!

sorry, GOD - brahms literally would need a fat lover - like, he'd prob have wanted to request that specifically but mrs heelshire knew that would be the weirdest fuckgin red flag to put in a job listing for a nanny

bonus points for being chubby but still shorter than him so he can still like. Loom. look down at you from his very tall height, so you can feel all overwhelmed by seeing this wide, tall, sweaty wall boy huffing - chest and shoulders rising and falling as he looks down at you all submissive and breedable uwu its size kink but going both ways, multiple ways, etc etc

if you EVER come into my home and try to tell me brahms isnt tactile as fuck i will kick you out

brahms needs someone chubby because here is where he wants to be at all times, i will paint u this Picture -> you are laying down on something (such as: couch or bed), brahms is laying between your legs (cushioned between thighs - which are over his shoulders, check) his head is resting around your sternum, so he can properly enjoy the fat of your chest literally on either side of his face, BUT he's still low enough on your body that his hands (which just to gently and kindly remind you, are Big and w/ such long fingers <3 just a friendly reminder <3) can easily slide up and down your body from your thighs, your hips, along your stomach, and up to your chest, at his leisure. all the best parts of you within an effortless reach for him to squeeze.

also sorry but - mommy issues -> needs someone w/ big tits. actually needs or he'll die he'll literally die 🥺

also also ALSO!!! you can share cardigans and shirts !!!! <3

[remainsofus]

MessageTherapist!Reader and PervLoser!Konig. He moans like a slut at the slightest touch and uses a tiny towel to hide his huge erection. But he offers to leave a huge tip if reader jerks him off.

You have a sexual harassment policy in your massage practice. You also have a debt you have to pay off if you really want to become loan-free before going into retirement. Konig makes you want to implement the first thing, but then the second one reminds you on why you still massage this guy's stress out even though he barely bothers to contain his moans as you touch his lower back and the tense muscles closer to his ass. Perfect, beautiful ass, only even blemished by a few scars and some bullet marks - but otherwise, touching it is heaven. It's firm, round, a whole fucking bakery for you to explore, and you kinda hate yourself for focusing too much on his ass, on his broad shoulders and all the tensity in his beautiful figure, but, then again, he is also sexually harassing you. You can harass him back, it's only fair. He leaves tips every time you make sure to press your hands in the middle of his back, releasing tension he had for years. You know he is a soldier, constantly carrying heavy weight and training to kill - you can see it in the muscles of his arms, always tense, always ready to snap. You ask him to relax and he can't, always making your job difficult - so you press a bit lower, touching and groping, hoping he would finally relax. It's a bit of a savior complex, a charity case - Konig needs something more to relax, so you drop your hands even lower. Caressing his balls as you ask him to turn around slightly, finally giving up. Knowing the guy, his choked moans and groans of pleasure as you jerk him off with a bottle of massage oil you always have on hand, he would give you a down payment on a house if you manage to jerk him off. You really need that money. Konig only ever relaxes after he cums - so you start jerking him off at the start of your sessions, making sure he is nice and limp in your hold. He pays you double after this - and triple if you let him lay in your arms for a bit longer. It's funny how such a big guy just needed someone to hold him, but you're trying your best to contain your fear. He is harmless, you think. Just a bit too obsessive.

[remainsofus]

zombie König

[remainsofus]

Just the Tip

— Thomas Hewitt x Fem!Reader —

MDNI!!!

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.

[remainsofus]

Fairy ring mushroom (apparently its a tumblr rumor that they grow around corpses, but…)

[remainsofus]

Hi! Love your stuff and I've been binging it a lottt!! Saw that requests were open so I wanted to send one.

I've been having a brainrot over Eddie Gluskin meeting a virgin!reader that has always wanted to be a wife (and a mother 😳).

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌����𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — one-shot.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — eddie gluskin x afab!reader.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — SMUT/18+! abduction, dubious consent, virgin!reader, eddie is his own warning lmao, descriptions of gore, breeding kink, choking, dirty talk, slight degradation, vaginal sex/rough sex, biting. not a nice character.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 5,020.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — thank you so much for your request & I apologize that I took awhile! I actually went back and played some of whistleblower for this lmao ,, I remember when I was obsessed with this character (you have reinvigorated the outlast spark, anon !!! ❣️) if you aren’t familiar with outlast (taglist) that’s totally fine! I hope y’all enjoy! ❤️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @loraxlola ; @the-wordis-bird ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @dootys ; @mehidktbh ; @darklylucid ; @lttlegore ; @the-anxious-youth ; @callmemeelah ; @comicalrage ; @horrorstories123 ; @krakersy ; @bloodwithpeachmilk ; @suguruswife

“Did I frighten you? I’m awfully sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to.”

Pinned between a table and the splintered, dilapidated hardwood, you were biting into your palm to keep from making any noise. Perspiration built up upon your back, sending cold shivers up your spine as echoed footfalls began to stalk closer and closer, weaving their way through the numerous shelves and sewing units. You could hear your heart, hear your blood pumping, ringing within your ears.

Mount Massive Asylum had become your personal hell — your own dimension bent on tormenting you. You were only there for what seemed like less than an hour, desperately hoping to visit your brother, a patient at the facility, but the carnage began with you inside of the building.

You’d been beaten and thrown, chased and maimed, but you were far more resilient than you’d ever let on. Your brother was the only remaining family you had left, and you had a sick feeling that he might not have lived through whatever disturbed carnival this place had turned into. There was gore everywhere you turned, countless corpses, maniacs running everywhere.

If your brother was alive, you prayed that he wasn’t like them, that he hadn’t succumbed to whatever nightmares these people dreamed. You weren’t going to be allowed to see him whatsoever until you threatened to slam them with a lawsuit, but of course, something terrible always intercepted something good.

There was a stranger prowling around within this room, you were locked in with a murderer. One of the patients that had chased you down here called him Mr. Gluskin. To your complete bewilderment, he spoke with a clarity that many others in the facility lacked, a suave, debonair charm that almost coaxed you out from underneath the table, at first.

And then you saw the bloody knife and the corpses — the absolute strength of the man, dressed as if he’d come straight from a vintage bridal magazine, a groom complete with a bow tie and a patchwork vest. He was moving about the tables, humming to himself as if this were commonplace for him.

His appearance happened to remind you of your own engagement, called off a few weeks ago. You were keen on being a wife and finding your happy ending, so to speak, but after you found out about the vast amount of lies fed to you by your fiancé, you backed out. Even then, you were young — early twenties with plenty of time to try again.

It all hinged upon whether or not you would survive, of course. There was the mounting possibility that you would die here, and this would be your final resting place, some hellscape of an asylum crawling with horrors beyond your wildest imagination. Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the onslaught of anguished tears.

As the bulky man crouched down to inspect the table across the room from you, you could barely make out your disheveled, terrified expression within the reflection of his knife. Your breath hitched, and you fought hard to stay quiet, pushing any and all thoughts aside, shoving lamenting to the recesses of your brain.

“Hm, quite a recluse, aren’t we?” He sighed, exaggerated and exasperated, growing tired with your state of hiding. He knew that you were close, that you were here in the room with him. One of the shelving units happened to obscure you from sight, but not for much longer.

The man clicked his tongue, tapping the blade of his knife against the top of the table. His movements were akin to a seasoned predator, searching for his prey, eerie-blue eyes fluttering over his surroundings. You couldn’t stay hidden forever, and as much as he thought about waiting you out, he was growing impatient.

He stalked forward, standing only a few inches away from the shelving unit and table you were huddled underneath, and it allowed you a closer look at him, even if it was dark. Moonlight pooled inside of the room, pale slivers dancing across his pale skin, one side of his face marred and riddled with scars.

You almost let out a squeak of terror, shoving yourself as far back into the table as you could go, your legs beginning to shake. He was so close, and if you were to reach out, you might’ve been able to touch him with enough straining. Your teeth were sinking into the flesh of your palm to keep from making noise, no matter how much it might’ve hurt.

“Where could you be, darling?” He hummed, gaze flickering toward the shelves and tables on his left. There was something terrifying about his glower, laced with sinister intent, intermingled with a misplaced adoration. Placing the knife back into his belt for now, he walked forward, giving you the illusion that he was searching elsewhere.

With an indomitable amount of strength, he wrenched backwards, gripping the table you were hiding underneath, and practically tossed it to one side, watching it fly across the splintered floorboards. He heard you scream, paralyzed and trembling where you sat, clad in the jumpsuit of a patient.

“There you are, my love.” He purred, standing tall above you, clasping his hands together. There was nowhere for you to go — you were trapped, pinned within the jaws of this man. “Not such a recluse now, I see.” The man grabbed you by the back of the jumpsuit, hauling you forward.

“P—Please don’t kill me!” You wailed, whimpering when he jerked you forward with an inhuman amount of strength. He dragged you from the darkness and into the vast stretch of moonlight upon the floor, and it hurt to feel some of the splinters catching upon your skin. “Please!” You begged.

The man was quick to crouch down on top of you, so much bigger and much, much stronger. In such close proximity, he was more human than the rest of them in appearance, save for that tangled web of livid scars on the right side of his face. His eyes were bloodshot, a sea of red around cerulean irises. A snarl left him when you wriggled underneath him, hands tangled into the front of your jumpsuit.

You were no patient — not at all, he realized.

You were clever enough to disguise yourself as one, for whatever purpose, but he wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t stupid. There were no female patients at Mount Massive Asylum — at least, none that he hadn’t created himself. Wherever you were from, whatever you were doing in this place, he took it as a sign that you were placed here just for him.

Why else would you be here?

Grasping your chin within his hand, he inspected you, your pretty face and doe-like stare, the small cut you’d endured along your jaw — nothing that he couldn’t fix for you before the wedding. You became quiet, letting out the occasional whimper, and you didn’t struggle nearly as much as he thought you would. The pad of his thumb stroked across your skin, brows furrowing together.

“So beautiful,” He uttered, lips curling into a lovesick grin. “It seems that I won’t have to do any sort of alterations this time.” You were perfect — at last, had he found his true love? Confusion permeated your gaze, accompanied by a furrowed brow yourself as you were completely still underneath him. No use in fighting to make it worse, you figured. “Marvelous.”

Alterations? You were baffled — this man was caught within his own nightmarish fantasy, just like the rest of the patients. You shivered when he caressed your cheek, your chest rising and falling with your quick, labored breathing. He terrified you, but not nearly as much as some of the patients you’d encountered here.

“So very quiet, aren’t we?” His thumb trailed across your lower lip, head cocked to one side. “You do speak, don’t you darling? It would be a shame if I couldn’t hear you,” His sigh was exaggerated, dramatic. He clicked his tongue, reveling in your softness. You were the silkiest thing he’d touched in ages. “Especially on our wedding night.”

Trapped underneath him, you didn’t even know what to say — words coagulated within the back of your throat, unable to force themselves out. Your breathing was sporadic and panicked; you were a canary caught within the jaws of a cat. He held your face with a strong grip, one that was demanding and not entirely gentle, commanding your attention.

“Wh—What are you going to do to me?” You gushed, swallowing hard as the man released your face, gloved hand falling to your sternum. The way he towered over you and enveloped you was wholly intimidating, and you wouldn’t dare try and fight this man, no matter how he presented himself. You ogled the knife on his belt, instead.

“What you were made for,” He uttered, palm finally coming to rest across your belly. “To be my beloved bride,” He leaned in toward your face, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “To bear my children.” You couldn’t tell if he was serious, but his tone indicated that this was what he planned to do to you.

It sounded insane, but it was ultimately better than dying. Your head told you to run, to scream and flee, but you were fighting against all rationale. If you could subdue him, maybe it would be easier to get away. You couldn’t tell if he was toying with you, but it didn’t seem that way. You remembered the hand-stitched wedding dresses you saw when you’d first escaped downstairs.

You said nothing — maybe it was shock, the words coagulating within the back of your throat, or maybe you were unwilling to speak. Your chest rose and fell at a panicked pace, heart hammering so hard that it rang out within your ears. This man was glowering down upon you with a twisted smile, trapped within fantasy and not reality.

“Use your words, darling. I would hate to pry that mouth of yours open,” His words took on some frightening edge, dark and dangerous as he squeezed your chin so hard that you whimpered, and you opened your mouth right then. “Such beauty.” He sighed, petting your side with his other hand.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you reluctantly spoke, your tone kept sickeningly sweet in an attempt to subdue him. “Marriage?” You breathed, swallowing hard as you put on some sort of facade. “Ar—Aren’t you going to propose?” You inquired, and that seemed to delight your future “husband”.

He hummed, hastily removing something from one of the breast pockets of his crudely-made vest. “Of course,” He purred, and sure enough, he presented you with a tarnished, silver ring, topped in tiny diamonds and crusted crimson. You wondered whose finger he cut off to obtain the trinket. “There we are.”

Snatching ahold of your hand, he practically jammed it onto your left ring finger, no matter how ill-fitted it happened to be. You gulped, hand trembling throughout the whole ordeal as he managed to get it onto your hand. The ring would’ve been pretty if it weren’t for the environment, the dingy blood, or the man forcing it onto your hand.

“Now it’s official.” You squeaked, your finger throbbing with pain as you let your palm settle next to you. There was a tremulous tremor within the bottom of your throat, making your voice quiver whenever you spoke. It was some conscious response to fear, to the amount of stress you were feeling in that very moment.

Sweeping you off of your feet, your newfound groom held you like a blushing bride, squeezing you against his wide chest. His countenance was contorted into a lovesick grin, glittering eyes glowering down at you, but there was some unhinged malevolence behind it, lingering beneath the surface.

He carried you through his labyrinth of sewing machines and wreckage, humming to himself as he made his way toward the torture table. You almost gasped when you saw one of the patients bound and wailing on the wooden surface, completely stripped bare. His skin was mottled and strange, like the rest of the patients here.

You looked away, breath hitching within your throat, and your new companion seemed to notice your immediate discomfort. “If his screams bother you, darling, I will get rid of the little whore.” He murmured, and you shook your head. You weren’t about to have anymore blood on your hands.

You had no idea where he was hauling you off to — you could barely remember the way out, if there was any getting out at all. This man seemed far more cunning and more intelligent than most of the patients here, just as brutal and crazed as the rest of them. You intended on playing the long game, making him as docile as possible first.

“Oh, my love,” He sighed, pressing his lips against the top of your head, “I am so fortunate to have found you. I certainly hope that none of those filthy creatures have laid their hands upon you.” It was all said with such sincerity that you knew, for him, it was completely real — but delusional, all the same. “I will take such good care of you, I swear it.”

This was insanity — you should’ve run when you had the chance, try to find your way out of this hellish labyrinth, but it was too late now, wasn’t it? Tears pricked at your eyes, but you worked swiftly to blink them away, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. You didn’t know what to say or how to respond to whatever left this man’s mouth.

Even if it all sounded outlandish and strange, you needed to keep up the facade, you needed to subdue him, get him to trust you. Playing along was the only way that you knew how. “Thank you,” Your voice seemed much steadier than you thought it would. “For taking care of me, Mr. Gluskin.” Despite the anxiousness wrought within your tone, he paid it no mind.

This was a maze — a horrible, bloody maze. The more this man winded through corridors, marked by crimson stains and the stench of decay, the more your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. You were involuntarily clutching onto him out of fear, attempting to suppress your shudder as he passed by a set of doors — you swore you saw hanging bodies.

“How formal,” He uttered, lifting an eyebrow before shaking his head. “It’s Eddie, darling.” Eddie Gluskin — the man downstairs. You nodded several times over, terrified of upsetting the man. As Gluskin took you deeper into the depraved clutches of his own personal hell, you subtly searched for exits, for windows, any shred of potential escape.

At last, he arrived at a room at the very end of a corridor — a dead-end, of course. Wherever you were, it looked like a wing for a handful of patients. Moonlight pooled within the confines of Gluskin’s quarters, windows barred by wrought-iron bars, the pounding of rain reverberating against bulletproof glass. He locked the door behind him, unceremoniously depositing you onto his unkempt bed.

Scrambling to gather yourself, your gaze tore away from the macabre scenery of his room and toward the crazed man himself, eyes glistening like pinpoints of bright light. Gluskin only stood a few feet away from you, but the distance seemed so thin, as if he were pressed against you, weighing you down with his indomitable presence.

The sinful, hungry sheen within his stare only solidified why he’d brought you here — your stomach sloshed with a turbulent worry, goosebumps collecting themselves at the base of your spine. An equivocal tension built between the both of you, marked with your mounting awareness and Eddie’s violent lust. The gleam of the knife caught upon silvery rays — you knew you needed to tread carefully.

“Irresistible you,” Eddie crooned, his voice emerging as that familiar husky lull he’d used with you upon your first encounter. “I must admit to my vulgarities, darling.” He hesitated, breathing uneven and tight with excitement as he stalked closer, akin to that of a fearsome predator. “I don’t think that I can wait until our wedding night.”

Swallowing hard, you felt the knot within your gut, words coagulating within the bottom of your throat, unable to emerge to the surface. Your digits wrenched themselves into the sheets beneath you, heart hammering so hard that it threatened to burst from your chest. You were afraid, you were nervous — but you knew better.

Rejecting Gluskin would only spell your doom, and so you played along, played right into his hand, into his maddening delusions of lust and of eternal matrimony. Your lips parted, and only a stuttering breath emerged, your eyes fluttering between his grinning visage and the bloodstained knife hanging from his hip.

“You know how a man gets when he wants a woman.”

Eddie’s voice was nothing more than some seductive purr, and admittedly, you found it alluring, deep down. It was vile to come to the conclusion that you were getting some sliver of enjoyment out of this, and you wanted to vomit, but you steeled yourself instead. The closer he stepped, the more you crumbled underneath the lascivious ogling he gave you.

You’ve never done this before — you’ve never been in this situation. It certainly wasn’t playing out how you expected it to be within your mind, but that's besides the point. “I’ve — I’ve never …” You left your sentence vague, but your implications ignited something dark and deadly within Gluskin.

“Oh?”

At last, there was nowhere left to go, the Groom looming directly in front of you, a malignant shadow that refused to depart. You caught the pearlescent sheen of his teeth through the caliginous room, feeling unnerved at the sight of his countenance. His grin was wolfish, chilling — it sank right into your bones, making you shiver.

“Saving yourself for me,” Eddie hummed, gaze raking across your form before he motioned toward your threadbare, bloodied garments. “Remove your clothes.” He stepped back enough to allow you proper room, but he wanted to watch for his own enjoyment, watch you unwrap before his very eyes.

Your hands trembled as you sheepishly unfastened the buttons at the top of the patient’s jumpsuit, attempting to suppress your nervousness. Your obedience was enthralling to Gluskin, whose hands tightened into fists in order to restrain himself, knuckles white underneath his gloves. He watched you like a predator would watch prey — obsessed, ravenous.

Sucking in a sharp breath, tears pricked at your eyes, but you fought against them, quivering as you peeled off the top of your jumpsuit, letting the tarnished fabric collect around your hips. Sheepishly, you adjusted yourself enough to wriggle the jumpsuit past your thighs, discarding it in a pile onto the splintered floorboards.

Instinct told you to shield yourself from this man’s grotesque stare, but you didn’t, sitting in your undergarments with skin so hot that you felt completely feverish. Laid bare before your newfound ‘husband’, his breath hitched, surveying your flesh, the canvas of perfection set before him.

“You must lack proper hearing, darling,” Eddie rasped, taking one step forward, “I didn’t say to stop, did I? It would be unwise to keep your beloved waiting.” He reveled in your doe-eyed stare, throat tensing, jaw tightening as you nodded, fingers clamoring toward the metal hooks at the center of your back.

Shrinking underneath his stare, you hastily removed your brassiere, terrified of the consequences if you went any slower. However, your mind bristled with an idea — your mouth began to move before you could make a rational decision. “Maybe you could remove the last piece?” You asked, bewildered by the sultriness that permeated your tone.

Christ, you were so fucked — you’ve never been looked at in the way that Gluskin stared at you, as if you were the incarnation of perfection, living and breathing, placed before him. You despised yourself, hated that you reveled in the way he worshipped you through eyes alone.

Foaming at the mouth, Eddie swarmed forward, brazenly stepping in between your legs, absentmindedly licking at his lower lip. “You’ve found your voice,” He purred, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “Such a little whore, aren’t you? I find myself unsurprised,” Those strong hands curled into the waistband of your panties. “Always the quiet ones.”

You nearly choked, hands flying toward his biceps, thick and taut underneath the dirtied fabric of his dress shirt. You hoped that you weren’t thinking straight, prepared to excuse this all away by means of fear and intimidation, but you couldn’t — desire crept into your mind, poisoning all sense of coherency.

He kissed you then and there, devouring your mouth with a sloppy passion, if one could call it that. It was domineering, hellbent on making you fully succumb, but to your chagrin, you were reciprocating his kiss, clutching onto him for dear life. You were cursing yourself tenfold for this — maybe it didn’t matter now.

A sonorous groan fell upon your lips, and Gluskin didn’t remain static for very long. Wandering hands wrenched your panties aside, just enough for his fingers to deftly stroke at your slit. You gasped, hips involuntarily jolting into the sensation of his hand. It ignited a fire within the pit of your belly, a fire that now demanded to be extinguished.

“Darling,” Eddie hummed, brazenly licking at the corner of your mouth, “So soft, so …” He kissed you again, famished and in desperate need of your embrace, rutting his fingers into your clit. A grunt ripped past his throat when you ground yourself into his hand again. “So very needy, aren’t we? I’d like to remedy that.”

You wanted to beg so bad — you couldn’t. It would leave you stranded with nothing but regret if you did, but he touched you with such want that it sent you spiraling. You were going to surrender your virtue to this man — this monster, this deranged killer.

So be it, then. You were tossing caution to the wind.

After he stroked at your soaked cunt, he brought his fingers to his mouth, greedily sucking on glistening digits before he let out some strangled noise. “You taste divine,” He panted, clicking his tongue. “If you behave, perhaps your husband will reward you.” Gluskin growled, pressing a palm into your chest as he pushed you down.

Squirming and writhing atop the mattress, you listened to the unbuckling of his belt, watching him wrench his vest open, buttons ripping from their sockets. He was deliciously toned, some bulky mass of musculature, some of the scarring having made its way down his collarbone. You wanted to hate him, and you couldn’t.

You couldn’t.

“You are going to make an excellent mother,” Gluskin husked, hunching over you, animalistic and tangled up within his own fervor and fantasies. He spread your legs apart, teeth gnashing together as he freed his cock, unbearably hard and slathered with precum. “Swollen with my seed,” He groaned, guiding himself to your cunt. “A gift to be savored.”

He was going to break you in half — you had no idea of what to expect, but your lovesick paramour was very well-endowed. Gluskin was cunning enough to pick up upon the momentary terror that settled within your gaze, and he grunted, callously pushing his cock inside of you without much warning at all.

You whimpered, crying out in both shock and uncertainty, but after pain, came pleasure. It was all rushed — it lacked tact, it lacked any shred of romanticism, all falsified within the twisted mind of Gluskin. He set an uneven, sporadic pace from the very beginning, pent-up and needing you.

“Let me,” Each word was enunciated with the brutal thrust of his hips, cock driving into your tight cunt with no amount of gentleness. “Let me fill you up.” Eddie snarled, growing somewhat impatient as he attempted to find some sort of rhythm. One hand settled against the swell of your hips, thumb caressing along the side of your stomach.

A wanton moan tore past your lips as you held onto him for dear life, eyes squeezed shut, your stomach flooding with a rush of relief. Warmth pooled between your thighs, and the more your arousal grew, the easier it became for Gluskin to fuck you without much hindrance. It wasn’t perfect — it was a little uncomfortable, his pace, but you didn’t care.

Grunts and snarls emerged from the man above you, voice strained with exertion as he let his other hand tangle around your throat. His grasp wasn’t exactly suffocating, but it was far from tender, thumb pressing just above your pulse point. Wisps of air were stolen from your lungs, but not enough to draw concern.

Gluskin rutted into you like a man possessed, groaning all the while, wanting to cum inside of you so very terribly. He fantasized about what you might look like, doting and full with his child, providing him with the family he’d always craved. Lacking the proper upbringing, he would replace such neglect with you — with a new life, with his aspirations.

His mind turned salacious very quickly, beginning to focus on now — on stuffing you with his seed, fucking you until every shred of energy was expended. Your cunt clenched around his cock, and you sang to him with your symphony of needy whimpers and mewls, panting his name as if it were the only word you knew.

“You like this, don’t you?” Eddie rumbled, pervious to your arousal — your subdued demeanor had only given way to the festering desire inside of you as he destroyed your walls. “Oh, you whorish madonna,” An amorous chuckle escaped him, followed by a breathy growl. He didn’t pause, no stopping him as his cock battered your poor, abused cunt. “I want to hear you say it.” He snapped.

Gluskin had flipped a switch inside of you — you wanted this so badly. The life you desired had been stolen from you when your engagement broke into a thousand pieces, and now, he was giving you everything. Albeit, he went about it in such horrible ways, but you couldn’t keep lying. You loved this.

“I—I want you so bad,” You whimpered, unable to stop yourself, now. “Please,” Doing the one thing you wouldn’t do — beg. “Eddie, please, please,” He was filling you up, cock pumping inside of you over and over again, pulsating with heat, fucking you ragged. “Cum inside of me.” The rational side of you cried out in dismay, in disappointment — you elected to ignore it entirely.

The noise that Gluskin made sent shockwaves right into the pit of your stomach, soaked slit giving way to the brutality of his thrusts. He stooped down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, biting at the thin flesh, tasting a swarm of copper during the exchange. Eddie was frenzied, face burying itself into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin, marking what now belonged to him.

With a strangled moan, you rolled your hips into his, feeling his cock pound into you until it could go no further, stretching your cunt with his size. Stinging bruises and bloodied marks were littered across both neck and collarbone, accompanying your myriad of injuries received from the rest of the Asylum. His hand held your throat, pressing underneath your jaw.

“Darling,” Eddie nearly moaned, using whatever wave of strength he had left to obliterate you, fucking you so hard that you swore you saw stars. His cock lewdly slapped into your womb, aiming to fill you up, carrying out his goal of breeding you. “Such a sin, you filthy,” He panted, sticking two fingers into your mouth, “Filthy little slut.” He rasped.

Sputtering and choking around his fingers, you felt them press toward the back of your throat, and you wanted to fly off the edge. Gluskin’s cock didn’t stop, not for a second, fucking you into oblivion, pulsating with heat, making sure each thrust reached for your insides. The tension was climbing, the coil threatening to burst for the both of you.

The sight of you gagging and sucking on his fingers was what really did it — Gluskin saw right through you like a thin, threadbare veil. You were just as desperate as he was, and his lips curled into some devilish grin, throwing you off-guard. “You’ll be perfect,” He grunted, purring next to the shell of your ear, “I am going to make you perfect.” Eddie snarled, and that’s when you came undone.

You felt weightless, floating — you made a mess all over his cock, tendrils of drool leaking from the corners of your mouth as he kept his fingers lodged into your mouth. Tears stung at your eyes, and instead of fighting them off as you had for so long, you let yourself sob from the pleasure.

Eddie’s hips finally lost their unyielding brutality, stuttering as he came inside of you, buried so deep that you thought he’d snap you into two. Rope after rope of hot, virile seed pumped inside of you, coating your insides, leaving you unbelievably full. He rasped and grunted, hunched in above you as he bred you.

He was staring at you again, slowly drawing his fingers out of your mouth before wrenching his hand around your chin. The suddenness of his gesture took you by surprise, but this hold wasn’t nearly as painful as the one he’d executed earlier.

Gluskin kept himself inside of you, ensuring that his attempt at a legacy be sealed, thumb tracing across your bloodied lower lip. His countenance contorted into one of pure delusions, an unrestrained obsession, the swell of possessiveness that threatened to swallow you whole. He wrapped an arm underneath you, pressing you close to his chest, lips lingering next to the shell of your ear.

“In sickness and in health.”

[remainsofus]

Imagine an alien buying you after you get sold to a slave trader by your alcoholic father and after seeing you in such distress after being sold around like a piece of meat, he takes pity on you and gives you the best bath you've had in months. He sees your happy face and is determined to see more so he continues to spoil you like the cute little pet you are

[remainsofus]

Micheal Myers x GN!reader drabble

.

Micheal pinned your hands above your head with one hand, and though it wasn’t the first time you’ve come to the realization just how large of a man he is, it still surprises you. Sure, he was tall and practically built like a bear, but having him pin you to the wall like this with one hand really solidified the fact that he was huge.

Michael’s got you pinned to the wall with one hand, while the other quickly and brutally ripped the clothes off of you. You let put a surprised yelp, “M-Micheal?! What are you doing?? Wait, no that’s my favorite shirt—“

you tried to struggle, protesting against the awful treatment of your favorite clothing item, but that seemed to excite him more, his grip around your wrists tightening momentarily. Though you would never admit but the rough treatment sent tiny shivers down your spine, and you watched as Micheal paused. His piercing eyes slowly taking in the view.

You waited for a bit, anticipation pooling in your stomach, but Micheal never made the next move, his rhythmic breathing causing the cold air to brush against your skin. You shivered.

“…Micheal? Are, are we not…going to do it?” Micheal didn’t respond, and you couldn’t see his expression through the mask, but then again even if you did, you doubt that you could tell what he was thinking. His free hand slowly ran up your stomach, towards the chest and finally, stopping to rest on your neck. He tightened for a split second, before releasing, his thumb rubbing against your carotid artery. The thumping of your heart was clear enough for both of you to feel. You were feeling aroused, but also a bit confused. You could feel like hard-on pressing up against you, yet he still wouldn’t do anything. What did he want?? You were deep in thought when he gave you another quick squeeze, his thigh pressing in between your thighs. He huffed, and you realized something.

He wanted you to beg for it.

Arousal came fast and hard, and you bit your lip, “…you want me to beg?”

He didn’t answer, he never did, but his hand tightened around your neck. Thigh pressing into your wetness down there.

You let out a shuddered breath, trying your best to lean into him.

“Fuck me, Micheal. Fuck me hard, please? Fuck me till I can’t stand, i’m begging you—“

Without another word, rough hands tore their way into your pants, and his other hand let go of you to spread your legs. the sudden drop make you quickly wrap your arms around his neck, moaning as he touched you.

You lifted his mask just enough to see his lips, moaning as you bit his lip, hard.

Micheal paused a bit, but soon a hand pressed your head in, and sharp pain mixed with a tingling sensation shot through you. He lapped up your blood, not waiting for you to catch your breath before delving back in.

[remainsofus]

the shape

[remainsofus]

“Keep the change babe🖤” 👻💵🔪🩸