#outlast fic

[lost-tanuki-tales]

Waylon and Miles my beloved messed-up human experiment asylum escapees on the run, this week i shall update the story where you can run from Murkoff Corp but you can never run from your trauma <3

Look forward to a new chapter of Horrors Told soon bc i am loving how poorly these guys are doing, here’s a small excerpt

Everything hurt too much, and his mind was too erratic to formulate a full explanation on what was wrong with him. It was a mess of jumbled thoughts and pain signals firing through his brain, like blinking pixels on a white screen. His only sensical thought was a short phrase on repeat, constant, all-encompassing. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

[lost-tanuki]

Was drafting some more Outlast fanfic today, those of you who read this story are going to be pulling your hair out with how emotionally constipated Miles is :D

(Story is Horrors Told)

[synelven]

lilith and the night hunter bonding over being vets <3

[iguessigotta]

Eddie gluskin with a pregnant darling maybe

you know what's funny about Eddie Gluskin being one of my faves? i am terrified of pregnancy just headcanons for now - this ended up being more an exploration of the inherent horror of this situation than anything shippy, whoops. also kind of an au where Waylon does not survive his encounter with Eddie 18+ just in case CW: injuries, noncon, hostage, pregnancy, suicide mention cannibalism(?) probably more i missed. (no r*** - it is alluded to tho) i mean it's Eddie. the man is a walking billboard for "dead dove do not eat" ok lmao

being Eddie’s darling wife was a living nightmare

you’d been one of the few employees allowed near Eddie, and he’d developed a….thing…for you. well, not you, really, more the idea of you

and when the Mount Massive asylum fell into chaos, you were one of the unlucky people trapped inside

when Eddie found you he was quick to make his image of you your new reality

whether you wanted it or not

you’d initially fought him at every turn. unfortunately, Eddie had a temper, and was prone to snapping with no warning

you’d learned that lesson the hard way - your forearm was still in a makeshift splint, a dull ache where he’d fractured the bone in a fit of anger. or had he broken it? you weren’t sure. all you knew is it hurt like hell and made it nearly impossible for you to fight back

after that incident, you thought keeping your head down and quietly obeying him was the smart choice. that you’d be safe enough to ride out this mess until someone arrived to help

you had to believe that someone was coming. you told yourself you’d be rescued within the week, that there was no way a facility as large as Mount Massive could go down in flames like this without someone noticing

days turned into weeks, weeks into months (how many had it been? 3? 4?)

every night you sat, ankles bound to your chair at the end of some wobbly, bloodstained table, Eddie at the opposite end, a makeshift dinner spread between the two of you

occasionally there would be some sort of meat among the sawdust-flavored rations - Eddie was always vague when you asked him what kind of meat it was 

you resisted for the first month, but your resolve broke a week into the second, the hunger pains driving you to tears and forcing you to make a choice

so you ate. and you tried not to think about where he got it from

it was like the two of you playing some sick game of house

Eddie kept a close eye on you when he was around, restraining you when he wasn’t

you’d be tied to a chair. strapped down on your back atop some bloodstained hospital mattress. arms bound behind you, tied to a support beam and forced to sit on the cold concrete floor

all of it was miserable

Eddie said it was for your safety, but you knew better. especially after he’d found you with a knife you’d managed to get your hands on. he’d stopped you from trying to slash your own throat, spewing some bullshit about his darling preferring death over a blissful life as the proud mother of his many, many children 

 he wasn’t going to let you leave him in any way

some part of you thought about pleading with Eddie to “think of the baby” and untie you - but that only reminded you that you were, in fact, pregnant

and it was starting to show

whatever mental energy you could spare went to trying (and failing) to block that fact out of your mind

you felt like you were trapped in two horror stories simultaneously - one, enduring whatever Eddie decided to do to you on a daily basis, and two, the unwanted life growing inside you against your will

not to mention the mental anguish of what to do after the…birth. would you even survive that? would you want to? 

should  you try to raise and protect it? or would it be more merciful if you…

it was a horrifying decision to make, one that you flinched away from whenever you found yourself thinking about it

every day you wondered if it would be better to piss him off, have him kill you in a fit of rage. it wouldn't be hard to do, but for some reason the knowledge that you were pregnant stopped you

well, you told yourself, at least you got to skip Eddie’s “operation table”. all the men who came before you weren’t so lucky, if the video on that camera you found was to be believed….

[guardianhyren]

It is me coming back from the void with a redraw of this post because I was rereading it and looking at my old one is cringe.

This is of RogueDruid’s Locked in Digital, specifically the part where it’s talking about how Midoriya managed to massacre and entire group in the stairs/hallway and it felt so cool I wanted to draw it (again).

[rootintootingoosin]

He’s just standing there… menacingly

[sleepy-crypt1d]

if i took requests for fics, mainly reader x canon, would anyone be interested??

fandoms being borderlands, subnautica, inscryption, dialtown, portal, creepypasta <- primarily these

POSSIBLY things like outlast, uncharted, the stanley parable, stardew, pokemon but specifically Guzma, bioshock, homestuck

idk i have like a huge range of interests, but i wanna work my brain a little bit and do some random oneshots to get back into the flow of writing so i can finally finish my main fic lol

fine with fluff, angst, smut, whatever, some darker topics I'll steer away from simply cuz of what im comfortable with but!! if i opened up taking small oneshot requests for x reader fics would anyone be interested??

[coiled-dragon]

//Piggy Cunt//

Chris Walker x Reader Explicit Tags: Rape, Fem!Reader, Reader Dies

You go to investigate Mount Massive Asylum after receiving a tip, but you find more than you bargain for. PLEASE mind the tags

[evilvvithin]

©

[nicktremblaywayfu]

Like A Wolf in The Ruins (18+)

Author Note : This is a filthy Big Grunt fic. Every time you encountered that brown haired big guy, please know that the person behind this blog loves him more than anything. Summary : Cold War was harsh to your life and the facility you hoped as a prosperous place was nothing but a man-made hell. Between the miseries, you found a pleasure in pain, although you won't admit it to yourself. Or to the man standing above you. Pairing : Big Grunt x AFAB! Reader Characters : Big Grunt, Reader (as Reagents), The Snitch Warning : Dubcon, mentions of parents death, blood, and violence. also cursing Words : 2,760

Available on Ao3 as well

=== MINORS DNI | 18+ ONLY ===

Life couldn’t get worse in this man-made hell for the sake of science. And the fact that you are shorter than average people was the cherry on top. You'd rather be stabbed in the guts than laughed at by those damned ex-pops. Gooseberry rarely targeted you thanks to her delusion that you were a lonely child stuck in the middle of evil people. Although sometimes she snapped anyway and attacked you just like any other ex-pop. While Coyle simply mocked your height, spending more time making fun of you than chasing you. And if you think that was all, those big guys thought you were easy prey, particularly the one with brown hair.

It would be almost guaranteed you’d be the first to catch his attention, wanting to get you more than he desired your teammates. He would taunt you with his heavy, thunderous voice. Telling you how much he wanted you in his palm, which was almost as big as your head. Sometimes, your tiny body is a miracle. You could find a better hiding spot—a place that no other reagents could use. He was big and simple-minded, and he would think he could find an alternate way whenever he saw you hiding in the ceiling. But he would also curse his own giant body, which was taller than most doorframes because he couldn’t reach you.

You measured his height; he was roughly 8 feet. Whatever Murkoff did to him, sure, they successfully made a real-life giant. You were like half his height; your body was slightly bigger than his whole legs. And you took advantage of it, sneaking around while he was not looking.

— 

It was another day of lonely trials. You didn’t make many friends, and Murkoff mistook it for bravery as you often went through trials and programs all by yourself. It was hard—no lies. But do you have any other choice? Once you leave this place, you’ll fly to another country. No matter the cost, no matter how you would do it, anywhere else other than this place

Electrocuting a snitch was a classic way to go, and although you preferred something more leisurely, the rewards were good enough. You had found all the keys you needed to open those gates, pushing the snitch before Coyle found you once again. You sighed heavily, injecting adrenaline, and pushed the screaming snitch, who was begging for his life. You have grown immune to this crying and begging. You need to prioritize your ego, as saving those poor people would only put you in trouble.

"Please... I know you're a good one. His muffled words sounded desperate, but not enough to change your mind.

"Killing me would only put you in this chair as the next candidate."

You didn’t say anything.

"Trust me. I'm the one who pushed the previous one. I killed him, and now look where I am!"

You just shook your head while your legs kept moving forward.

"Oh, you son of a bitch. Somebody help me!

"Would you please shut your fucking mouth? You’re putting us in the spotlight, and that was the last thing I needed. " You shouted, forgetting that you were, unfortunately, making yourself audible.

It was too late to reckon with what you had done, as you saw a shadow towering over your figure.

"Honey !"

"Fuck nope!" You dodged as he tried to grab you. You threw a brick on his head, but of course, it did nothing other than make him pissed.

"That hurts!"

"As it should be." You planted a blinding mine before you ran to the infirmary. You hid inside a locker, not having any time to find a more hidden spot.

"Where’s my little naughty scrawny babe?"

You covered your mouth in fright. You’ve encountered this man many times, yet he never fails to scare you anyway. He was irritating and terrifying with his size.

"Not..here…" He grumbled. I walked away, looking for another spot, acting like I had magically teleported to another room. He was stupid, or was he? What if he knew and planned to bait you somewhere with a less hiding spot? You shook your head, peeked through the locker room, and ran the opposite way from the infirmary.

You couldn’t care less about the snitch, at least until you found a bottle or a brick to distract him while waiting for your rig to fill up. God damn these trials, as the damned Murkoff made your rig charge twice the usual length. You found some things, but not the ones you were looking for. You sighed. The more you spend time in this place, the more ex-pops will be released to hunt you down. You looked around, but nobody was around. Strange. Where have all the ex-pops gone? It was eerily silent—too quiet.

Perhaps you celebrated too early, as you heard a door clicked open by a figure that you just met a while ago. Your eyes widened, and you ran like a deer.

"Little rabbit!" His voice was excited, and he ran like a wolf. He was fast—too fast for his size.

Just as you reached the infirmary’s door, he grabbed your head and pulled it roughly into the darkness in the opposite room.

"Shit, that hurts!" You scratched his hand but to no avail. He didn’t flinch; your nails felt like tickles for him.

"Sshh, I will not hurt you like the others. You will be fine with me here." Ironically, what he did was the opposite. He then put you on a table, pushing and crashing stuff on top of it.

"Let go of me, you freak! Fuck !" You tried to punch him, slap him, and do everything you could to fight him, yet what stood in front of you was the embodiment of a human weapon. His body was hard like there was no flesh or muscle, but instead, they put machines inside of him.

"What are you going to do to me? Just kill me already without all this unnecessary bullshit. I’ll just come back to finish this shit and fly away from this place !" You spit on him and kicked him in the chest with your knee. If only you could reach his groin.

"I want to love you." He sounded like he was half-pleading.

"You-wait, what?" " You were taken aback by his statement.

He put his face closer to you, making you press your back and head closer to the surface. You were used to the foul smell of this place and some ex-pops, but somehow his breath smelled like fresh blood. With the metallic, rancid smell of blood, you were certain he had just eaten a poor reagent hours ago or was probably an unfortunate fellow ex-pop.

"Let me love you."

"I don’t want to."

"You have to. You’re the only one who could love me here."

"You’re talking crazy, you son of a bitch. Let me go now.” You bit one of his hands that pinned you on the table. He growled in surprise but managed to press your forehead to the surface to restrain further movement.

"That hurts!" There was no blood drawn, but sure, you left a mark there.

"I can do worse; I’ll never give up. It’s up to you whether you want mercy or not, boy." You grinned, trying not to show any fear. The giant just furrowed his brows, not affected by your threats.

“You won’t hurt me. I know that.” He moved closer, you could feel the friction of the screws on his chest device. He moved his hands from your head, putting both of your hands above your head with ease. One giant palm was more than enough to restrain both of your hands, while the other started to explore your still-clothed body. 

“Fuck off Let go of me-” You struggled under his grasp, with him trying to take off your ESOP.

“Let me help you.”

“You better not break that thing. They’ll put me in trouble if I do and you probably won’t see me again.” Right after that, he looked at you right in the eyes. You probably won’t see me again, and just like that, he went more gentle or took off your ESOP. He carefully took off the belts, pulling the ESOP out from your body. He then reached your night vision.

“You can’t pull it off. Believe me, I tried, it was drilled inside my skull.”

“Drilled into...bones? Like this ?” He pointed to his device that was put all over his body. You winced, what they did to you was nothing compared to him. 

“Yes. Just like that.”

“But it makes me stronger.”

“I don’t want to be strong. I want to be free.”

“Don’t go, you should stay in my house.”

“In your dreams, gigantic freak.”

“Then..then I'll live up to my dreams.”

“What the fuck? Hold on !” Before you could say any words, he pressed his lips onto yours, trying to fit between your smaller lips. You could taste the fresh blood from his tongue that overlapped yours, you gagged at the metallic taste. 

While you were troubled in breathing between the kiss, he proceeded to unbutton your white shirts. You were about to say something, embarrassed that your underwear beneath your shirt was revealed, but he kept pressing your mouth.

“Let me-” 

His hand crept under your back finding the hook of your bra. After he unhooked it, he pulled it over your chest, leaving your nipples to be seen.

“Shit, I can’t allow this to happen.” Your face reddening, and so is your torso in humiliation. 

“You don't have to hide it from me.” He whispered to your ear, although it was still loud for a whisper. He moved like an experienced man, once had a woman in his life before mayhaps.

His hand was way too big for your chest, but still found enjoyment in kneading your breast. You moaned quietly, not wanting to show submission under his touch. You couldn’t lie to yourself, you always desired sex after months of being imprisoned in this facility and treated like guinea pigs. But doing it with an ex-pops holding the title of “Big Grunt” was not the man you expected. Not even someone you were looking for. 

Between your struggles, there was one thing you realized from his close-up face. A long scar across his right eye, something that he got from a fight. At the same time, his right eye was blinded, pale blue almost white like his sclera while his left green eye was heavily injured. His nose was big and pointy, while wrinkles decorated his face showing he had aged. You suspected he was in his 50s, which means you were about to fuck with someone as old as your parents. They had died from the war, but if they knew about this, they could die for the second time.

You snapped from your thoughts as he bit the spot between your neck and your shoulder. You screamed in pain, as he drew some blood and drank it a little bit. If you let him, he would probably cut off your head and make you a dinner tonight. He licked the blood left in the mark, then moved to the lower area. Much lower, reaching your pants.

“Not there, please. It was more than enough.” Your breath was shaking, legs trembling with the feeling of embarrassment. What should you say if the guards question your deeds with a big grunt?

He continued, slowly pulling your pants onto your ankles. He looked at your undies, and wet spot on the crotch. He grabbed the side of your underpants, dragging it down until there was nothing vulgar to hide anymore. You didn’t dare to look at him, shy and embarrassed that you showed your genitalia to a stranger who wanted to murder you these months. 

He pulled his face closer, smelling your crotch. He knew this smell. It wasn't just a regular wet slick slime covering your vagina, it was the one that you had whenever you were ovulating. Mature eggs meant a more wet and sticky vagina, perfect for his hard waiting dick. He licked the hole, making you flinched and mewled. His pointy nose rubbed against your swollen red clits, while his tongue started to explore inside the canals.

“Oh god..” You spoke in a higher pitch, no longer able to hold your moan. Not enough with eating you up, he put a finger inside you. Then two, which make you shriek. His palms were like, twice the size of average people’s. You gritted your teeth and squirmed under his grasp as he thrust his two large fingers. You could feel your hole stretched to its limit.

You could only feel the painful pleasure as he rubbed against your walls, with his thumb massaging the clit. You were ashamed to admit this, but you wonder if out of other reagents that were willing to have sex with you, would they be this experienced?

Enough with the juice spilled and wetting the lips, he pulled his finger and started to give what he wanted in the first place. He let your hands go, knowing that you wouldn’t run in this condition.

You dared yourself to look at him again despite your face being as red as a boiled crab, only to be alarmed by the size of his girth. You almost laugh in desperation, because all of dicks you’ve seen from naked ex-pops, this was the biggest one. Like his dick adjusting to his height, standing proudly with precum leaking. Big Grunt positioned himself in front of the table, needed to hunch, and positioned his knees considering the extreme height gaps you both had. But the fact you were half of his size was his favorite. He loved imagining you carried like a sack of potatoes, practically portable-sized that he could bring everywhere.

It was the tip, but your heart beat so fast as you tried to take his shaft. This would be painful, stretching your hole more than his fingers did. Sadly, you were right. You screamed as he started to thrust his dick, holding onto the table with your toes curling. 

This did not happen , you cried in your hearts. Your body shivered, feeling the friction of his cock inside your clamping canal. But he was not in a hurry, despite all this anguish. He savored the moment, enjoying every second his shaft was wrapped around inside of you. Although there were few centimeters left on the base, he huffed in pride looking at you and accepting a major part of his manhood.

You pushed your head upwards, back arching as he started to take his pace. His movement as he repeatedly thrusts you. His tip rubbed against that particular spot, as well as the entrance of your womb. The base acted like it scratched the itch on your clit, stimulating your whole pussy with no area left behind. He growled like a monster, a heavy harsh voice that still frightened you yet somehow managed to increase your desire for more of him. You reached his head, he hummed in confusion only for then groan as you pulled his hair backward.

“Should’ve told Murkoff you’re into this stuff you naughty boy.” The eagerness to please him and hurt him mixed into one. But things you knew, it did make him more horny than before, uncontrollably thrusting you in lust.

He wanted to say something, but his voice cracked between the pace. Out of nowhere, he choked your neck. So hard, that you were alarmed that you scratched his arms until he bled. There was no word exchanged other than struggling breath and heavy whimpers. He pressed your head, in need of something to hold on to. And right after that, he came. He spilled every last drop that some leaked through the tight space. While he let off your neck and dropped his head to collect his breaths, you rubbed your clits at a fast pace to finish yourself. Ain’t no way you were gonna let that man thrust you again, that could led to a second round. As you came, your mouth let out a squeak, which he noticed.

His hair was more messy than before, wet with sweat. He finally pulled out, picking up his pants again while you realized the things you had done. Realizing that the cameras were everywhere and that they were watching. That Easterman was watching, without a second being missed.

—

[cultofthepigeon]

Pov: You're tripping balls, hiding in a barrel, and the leather kink cop trying to kill you has decided to start talking about his fucked up sexual fantasies apropo of fucking nothing and also your camera battery is dead

[lost-tanuki]

Who's ready to read some more Outlast fic where Waylon is miserable and Miles is a dick :)

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: A day goes bad to worse for 14 year old Izuku Midoriya, as he wakes up trapped in a computer simulation with nine different Horror games. The only objective given by the madman who locked him in? Beat all nine games, or be deleted. A year later, a very different Izuku shows up at the Gates of UA to take the entrance exam. What horrors has he faced?

Author: @roguedruid

Note from submitter: It's listed as a multifandom fic, but that's because Izuku physically enters 9 different horror games as part of the premise and plays out the entirety of each game in the fic itself.

[jagged1]

Freely Given

Fandom: Outlast Rating: Gen Characters: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park Summary: Waylon is sure he'll be dead by dawn, but an unexpected stranger appears. A Rumplestiltskin AU. Contains: So much consent. Word Count: ~2500 AO3 link

Waylon has sorely misjudged King Jeremy's greed. Somehow, even in this time of famine, he still believes the gossip of desperate men. He thinks that it's possible for a man to spin straw into gold. That Waylon's strange looks mean he must have fey blood. That the rumors could be true, nevermind that his village is just as destitute as those surrounding it.

He sits on the stone floor of the highest, coldest, most desolate tower of them all and closes his eyes against the moonlight. When morning comes and the piles of straw around him remain unspun, it will only be a matter of time before the king beheads him for his failure and making a mockery of the throne. He swallows thickly, already mourning his future. The church bells soberly ringing out the hour only add to the dread sitting heavy in his stomach.

A gentle breeze blows past him, and he would swear he heard the chime of bells floating by. He must be going mad and barks a harsh laugh at the thought, startling badly when a soft voice calls out from behind him. “What troubles you so, my dear?”

He spins around, eyes wide to take in the man who was decidedly not there moments ago. His gaze is immediately caught by the intense blue eyes staring at him from a strong pale face. His aristocratic mien is only supported by his clothes. While the riotous colors are more apt for the court’s women, the well-tailored shirt, coat, and slacks are befitting for any high ranked nobleman.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“My apologies, but I cannot tell you that. Not without something from you.”

His face is twisted in a small moue of displeasure, so Waylon is inclined to believe the man is sincere about that. “I won’t pry, but in return, please tell me why you are here.”

“Why, I merely wish to know what troubles you,” he repeats.

Waylon laughs despairingly, the distraction provided by this strange man no longer able to keep his mind and mood light. “The king has demanded the impossible. I’m to spin all this straw into gold by daybreak or else he will execute me.”

The man’s brow furrows, whether in confusion or thought, Waylon does not know. He remains silent, absentmindedly pushing his long dark hair aside as he waits for a response. He has nothing else to look forward to until his unfortunate end. Short though his life may be, he has no desire to press the man for an explanation. This last bit of human interaction is more than he’d thought possible.

The movement catches his eye, and the man focuses on Waylon once more. “If I were to spin this straw into gold for you, what would you give me in return?”

Waylon feels his heart seize in his chest, heartbeat stuttering before beginning again. “Do not toy with me, sir, for that is truly cruel of you. No one can perform such a feat.” His golden gaze is harsh, but wet with tears at the momentary swell of hope, and he hates him for that.

The man frowns outright and raises a hand to his chest, pressing it flat over his heart. “My deepest apologies, I meant no harm. You may not be able to, but I am certainly capable. Let me prove myself as recompense.” He approaches the spinning wheel and settles comfortably before it. A flash of movement has him feeding straw through the wheel and Waylon watches in awe as the spindle fills with golden thread. Once the handful of straw is gone, he turns to Waylon once more. “My offer was quite sincere, darling. I will gladly spin all the straw in this room to gold, but I require something in return. What would you give me for this service?”

He pulls his gaze away from the shimmering thread, throat closing tightly on itself. He forces himself to respond, choking out “I would give you anything I could, but I have nothing but myself to offer.”

The man tuts, eyebrows knitting themselves together once more. “Do not ever think yourself worthless. You are far more valuable than any material thing.”

He cannot help but laugh. “Sir, if that were true, I would not be bargaining with a stranger for my life. I would not be here at all, under the scrutinizing eye of the king, and instead toil away at a meager existence. While you flatter me, the fact is I have nothing to give.”

“That is where you are wrong.” The man rises smoothly from his seat and walks towards Waylon, kneeling on one knee once he’s next to him. He raises his hand, palm towards the ceiling, and asks “May I touch your hair?”

“My hair?”

“Yes. I have yet to see such long, lovely, black as night hair as yours. Even as unkempt as you are, it still draws the eye.”

Waylon flushes, unused to such blatant praise and no small bit of embarrassment. “May I ask why?”

“I would have my payment to be allowed to touch you. To braid your hair into something that suits you. To look upon you whilst I work.”

He averts his eyes, unable to keep the man’s intense gaze. “If that is your price, I will gladly pay it.”

“Thank you.”

Waylon nods stiffly, startling slightly at the gentle touch to his hair. He flicks his eyes back towards the man and inhales sharply at the sight of him gathering a handful of hair and raising it towards his mouth.

The man merely presses his lips lightly to the ends before getting to work. He weaves Waylon’s hair into an intricate braid, dozens of small sections carefully separated and worked into a braid that wraps around his head. There is no mirror, but Waylon knows it befits nobility more than a commoner such as him.

“Beautiful.”

He says nothing.

The man does not press and returns to the spinning wheel. The sound of wood scraping against stone leads Waylon to look towards him. He’s re-arranged the entire wheel so that he faces Waylon. Once satisfied, he spins the remaining straw to gold, finishing, and vanishing just before dawn breaks.

-

The next night sees Waylon locked in the same tower, but with far more straw than the night before. King Jeremy had been delighted to find spools of gold thread where there once was straw. However, he declared that he could not trust this was not a trap of some sort and demanded he repeat the miraculous feat once more, greed and lust in his eyes.

Waylon is both incensed and resigned at the turn of events. He should have known better than to trust his word. There will be no second miracle, no return of the mysterious man who disappeared into thin air with not another word once his task was complete.

He settles against the stone walls, laying his head gently to face the moonlight once more, and drifts in his thoughts.

A soft, but bright sound wakes him. Crouched before him is the man, just as splendidly dressed, concern in his piercing gaze.

“Darling, what are you doing here again?”

Waylon laughs, a tired broken thing. “The king claims I may have tricked him and wishes for more proof. Truly, he desires more riches to line his coffers. Thank you for all your efforts, but it seems come sunrise I will die anyway.”

His mouth dips in displeasure. “Deals must be honored. This is most unbecoming.”

“Who can defy the king?”

Silence descends on the room. Waylon is not surprised. Magic as this man may be, no one can rebel against the king.

“What will you give me in exchange for my help today?”

Waylon shifts, eyes widening. “Why would you offer again? I have gained nothing this past day, and you have already braided my hair.” Unbidden, his hand raises to touch the braid, still intact even after the day’s events.

“You seem to have forgotten my words. You are worth more than any physical treasure. If you cannot decide, once I have spun this straw, may I dance with you?”

“I don’t know any formal dances,” he protests.

“I will teach you.”

Waylon sighs and smiles, exasperated, but nonetheless fond. “Do what you will. I won’t refuse a chance to see another day.”

The man smiles and if Waylon thought he worked quickly yesterday, it’s nothing compared to the speed he manages now, spools of golden thread littering the ground in short order.

He stands and offers his hand. “Shall we?” He lifts Waylon gently to his feet and proceeds to spin them slowly around the room, deftly avoiding the odd obstacle.

Waylon eases into the dance with each passing moment, delighting with each pass and turn, smiling brightly up at the man when he spins Waylon with a flourish. The return to his strong arms and broad frame feels like safety and Waylon wishes.

They dance until he can stand no more, reluctantly pulling away, regret in his eyes. “I cannot continue. I’ve yet to fully rest since this has all begun. I hope that was enough to satisfy you…?”

The man nods, the soft smile that appeared at their first steps remaining even now. “More than. Rest, dear.”

He would protest, but the allure of sleep draws him under with no warning. He thinks he hears the tinkle of metal, but it slips from his grasp.

-

Waylon is furious. He’s tempted to throw that accursed wheel out the window, crashing to the ground below, but he does not want to injure anyone who is not the king. Instead, he paces furiously as he awaits the moon’s rise and with it, hopefully, his visitor. This time he does not miss the gentle chime of bells that heralds the man’s arrival and departure. He whirls about as he appears, hardly giving him a moment to settle himself. “What must I give you to free me?”

The man blinks in surprise, never having seen this facet of Waylon. “That is out of my ability,” he answers quietly. “This tower is a remnant of ages past, and I can only move myself beyond these walls. What happened, darling?”

He throws his hands up in despair and rage, venom in his voice as he hisses. “The king demands one last show of proof, and once I’ve provided it, he declared his intent to marry me.”

The man’s face spasms, expression twisting in a flash as menace oozes from his pores before he collects himself. “And you are opposed to this union? It could be very beneficial for you. All his power would be yours.”

Waylon would be offended at the leading tone if he hadn’t been watching him so closely. “I do not trust him to keep me as more than a bedwarmer once the ceremony is over. Nor do I think that would appeal to him without the possibility of growing an infinite supply of gold, courtesy of my supposed ability. No, it would never be true and very likely short lived. My future prospects are dim indeed.”

“Let us see you to tomorrow before you despair, dearest. Tonight, what would you give me?”

Even incensed as he is, Waylon can still feel his skin flush further with embarrassment. “I would give you all of me, if you asked.”

The man’s eyes sparkle. “That won’t be necessary, but I am pleased to hear so. I ask for your name, your trust, a promise, and seal of intent.”

“Done. My name is Waylon. I trust you and will follow you where you lead me. What promise must I make and how must I seal it?”

“In due time. I shall take care of this night’s work first.” He spends hours spinning, the room filled with so much straw it is in danger of toppling on them both. Waylon waits in agony and anticipation for him to finish, worried as the sky grows lighter and their deal left incomplete.

Finally, the man winds the last of the thread around the spindle, rising from his seat and approaching Waylon. He offers his hand and Waylon takes it without hesitation, letting him pull him close, and bending so his mouth is next to his ear. When he speaks, his lips graze his skin, and Waylon cannot help the shudder that follows.

“My name is Edward,” he reveals in a whisper. “Promise me you will never speak this until the moment is right.”

“I promise,” he responds, breathless.

“This promise must be sealed with more than words. May I kiss you, Waylon?”

“You may.”

The man (Edward) moves slowly and presses the gentlest of kisses to Waylon’s lips. He barely has a moment to reciprocate before he draws away. “I must go, but trust me, Waylon.”

“I do.”

In the next breath, he’s gone, the sound of bells and gleam of gold the only sign he was here.

-

Even a king as selfish as King Jeremy cannot rush the necessary preparations for a wedding. For the next week, he’s treated as an honored guest, tucked away in the depths of the castle. He never hears any bells, but Waylon trusts him.

When the day comes, Waylon is bathed in scented water, dressed in the finest clothing, and his hair braided into a complicated design. He’s reminded of the braid he gave him that first night and thinks it ironic that now it would suit him.

The ceremony continues, but as the officiant calls for any final objections, the bright ringing of bells sounds. He appears in a swirl of wind and gentle light, golden coat fluttering in the turbulent air. “I’ve come for what I was promised,” he says into the shocked silence. “Waylon will come with me, and I shall raze the ground in return for your impudence.”

King Jeremy sputters, indignation and fear in his countenance. “No promises were made with you and your kind! We have not broken any pact and any destruction will be wrought against you twofold!”

“Do you think you could stop me? You lack the power.”

“We shall see! Guards!”

The guards move to subdue him, but he bats them away effortlessly with bursts of magic and feats of strength in equal measure. In the quiet that follows, he offers his hand to Waylon once more. “May I have what I came for, or shall I continue this farce?”

Waylon steps forward. “You may, but you must promise to leave this kingdom alone.”

“And how will you ensure that?”

“You and I both know the power a name holds, dear Eddie.”

He bares his teeth in a threatening grin and laughs. “Absolutely beautiful, Waylon.” He closes his hand around Waylon’s and looks about the room. There is anger and hatred emanating from the king, but fear and awe from the guests at the image of two supposed fey. “Since my beloved so insists, I will spare you, but take this as a warning to hold to all promises made.” The color leeches from the king’s face and he laughs at the sight.

They disappear in a flash, never to be seen again.

-

“Was that necessary?”

“Admit it, darling, you enjoyed it.”

[sapphiretulips]

outlast moodboards // waylon park eddie's darling

I know you're lonely like I am... Don't you want love? A family? Someone to take care of you?

[mmundynical]

wip

a scene from this fanfic (GO READ IT!!!)