#outlast fanfic

[foxieflower]

Take Me in Your Hands, Darling

Headcanon Snippet Chapter

[ao3feed-weddie]

New AO3 Feed: Weddie

This blog will automatically post each new story from Archive of Our Own that is tagged Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park

Remake of @ao3feed-weddie-archive

[thesimonthedevious]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63221371/chapters/161928664

Name: Rats in a Cage (Chapter 1) Rating: Mature/canon compliant kind Description: The Prime Assets have been pushing too hard - and a new nurse has been brought in to deal with the consequences of poor management.

Coyle and the Prime Asset The Mortician dance around each other in their violent way, exploring love as best as two broken people are capable of. Which is not much. Pairings: Coyle/OC Prime Asset main but other shit will probably pop up cause they're all fucked up

“Want a hit?”   “I ain’t no druggy.”   “It’s hardly illegal.” she held the bottle over her head, pouring some of it onto her tongue. It burned. She had gained an intolerance over the years to the formaldehyde in the mixture, but Hell it still felt good. Coyle watched her lick her lips, teeth grinding on his cigarette, careful not to break it completely.    “Pass.” he turned, back to her as the door opened on the ‘street’ outside the police station. He marched out first, smashing his baton against one of the cars, sparks flying as he screamed after one of the reagents sliding past him, “You ain’t free from the eye of the law!”  

[evilejfan]

Y'all... idk who will see this but, please keep making and posting OC art and fan art for Outlast!! Everything I'm seeing from all of you is simply divine. You are all so talented and I'm proud of every single one of you.

[klownfuckery]

I love the way you write 👉🏻👈🏻 May I request some more Franco from you? Perhaps with a reader who is fascinated by him and follows him around only to panic when he spots her! (Totally not based on my behaviour ingame) Thank you! 🩷

Yes ofc 🫶 Sorry for the late reply. I’d kept making drafts for this ask and every-time I thought I was finished my brain was all like, ‘… yeah, that’s great. But what if we re-wrote it again? 🥴’

Anywho, hope you enjoy :P

.*✩Franco il Bambino Barbi/Reader ✩*.

Surviving in the Sinyala facility was no small feat, some took to their new living conditions more easily than others— like fish to water. You were not among those lucky few. If you were to continue the trend of using comparisons, you’d suppose you’re more akin to that of a sad little sardine. Flopping about awkwardly on the docks, waiting for somebody to grant you pity and mercifully nudge you back into the water.

Whereas others would brazenly leap into the fray, stun-rig ready at hand; you would creep around the perimeter of the trial-grounds. Scavenging and scouting, giving call-outs when able to. Never had you been a confrontational person, and if your teammates wanted to take a more combative stance, who were you to get in the way of that? You’d still support them, of course. Safely. From a distance.

It was during another such occasion, when you’d been helping chuck hearts at the Futterman targets. It wasn’t morbid once you got used to it, and as long as you didn’t think too long about the squishy organ in your hand— well. It was almost enough to not question where the hell a seemingly infinite amount of vital organs were coming from. Almost.

Creeping through the gloom of the faux diner to re-arm yourself with more hearts, you quickly scrambled under one of the booths with bated breath as the diner’s bell jingles cheerfully. Something, or someone, has followed you inside.

Through infrared goggles, you watch, transfixed, as the newest prime-asset, ex-mafiaso, Franco Barbi, stalks forward.

It was silly to admit even in the sanctity of your own mind, but you’ve always been a fan of those detective novellas. More specifically, their frightfully charismatic antagonists. You swore up and down, it was sheer happenstance that Franco unknowingly managed to check all of your boxes— and not the man himself.

You don’t think he can see you, at least you’d hoped so. The man’s eyesight is poor, and even poorer in the dark. You’ve used this against him more times than you could possibly count— and it was admittedly a little funny to watch the mobster huff and pout with you just a mere few feet away. One could even say he was almost… endearing like that.

Despite walking mostly blind, Franco moves with the confidence of someone who owns the joint— or more likely someone who knows nobody else could possibly lay a finger on him. That speculation is only exacerbated by the sight of his pinstripe suit. Neatly pressed— or as neat as one’s clothes can be in here. The desired look is heavily crippled by the generous smattering of ruddy spills staining the once pristine fabric. His shotgun, Lupara, hangs loosely from his hand like an afterthought. The way he carries it utterly flippant. As if it’s presence isn’t a herald of death, and just… is. Like a an extension of himself, a limb. There was no Franco ‘il Bambino’ Barbi without Lupara.

The man’s eyes seem to glow through the lens of your goggles, pupils reflective and giving a ghostly-look as he surveys the area. Lopsided grin growing, crooked teeth bared as he takes in the overturned chairs.

“ ‘S a real cozy joint,” he muttered, his voice a pleasant rasp. His tone was casual, but there was an edge hiding beneath it, a simmering promise of violence. “Real nice place for a late-night chat, don’t’cha think, Sweetness?”

His wing-tipped shoes crunched on broken glass as he sauntered further in, his gaze sweeping across the room. His grin widened, baring crooked teeth in a lopsided sneer. “You’s cozy in here, Sweets?” he called, his voice deceptively teasing, almost familiar.

You fought the pounding in your chest, the desperate thrum of adrenaline urging you to run, move, do something. The only thing stopping you was a heavy dose of self-preservation. Realistically, he’d hear you before you could take two steps, and you’d end up a gorey, painted smear on the business-end of Lupara. Not only that, but another part of you was morbidly fascinated.

So, like any other sane person in your shoes, you lay still. Crouched low to tiled floor, and watched.

Franco paused near the counter, his engorged head tilting again as though he were listening. His breath rasped in the silence, heavy and uneven. Then he chuckled, a low, guttural sound that made your stomach churn with unease. He reached out, dragging Lupara’s sawed barrel along a nearby table, the sharp scrape setting your teeth on edge. A wordless threat meant to rattle you, and holy-hell does it get the job done.

“You’re not playin’ fair, doll,” he drawls, voice taking on a mockingly hurt tone. Nasally in pitch, wobbly, as if he’s about to cry. “I thought we’s had somethin’ special.”

Abruptly, he fired without warning.

The booth beside you splinters in a deafening blast, plates clattering and metal screeching. The reverberation rings around in your skull, causing you to jolt in surprise— for a moment believing you’d been shot. In your panic, your cranium thuds against the underside of the table. Pain throbs through your skull, causing you to whip your hands clasped over your mouth, stifling the reflexive cry that threatened to escape. Above, the countertop rattles with your movement, betraying your presence.

Franco stills.

For a horrifying moment, you thought he’d heard you. Through the lens of the goggles, you watch him crouch low, one hand reaching out to grope blindly under the ruined booth. His fingers curled, grasping at empty air.

“C’mere mommy,” he mutters darkly. But when his hand fails to find you, he sorely swears under his breath. He then rises back up onto his feet, kicking at the splintered wood like a frustrated child denied dessert.

“Fuckin’ slut, givin’ me the slip.” he roars, spittle dribbling down his lip. The man’s stocky shoulders quake, panting heavily in enraged exertion. For a moment, you think he’s about to double down, rip apart every booth in a mad-rage until he found you. However, in the next moment, he’s taking a deep, stuttering breath. Already back to his smarmy collected calm in the next exhale.

With a disgruntled sigh, he straightens himself out. Wiping his mouth, gloved hand then reaching to fuss with what little hair he has left. When he’s ensured it was coiffed presentably back into place, he slung Lupara over his shoulder, meandering back the way he came.

As the bell jingled again, signaling his exit, your shoulders sagged in relief. The once palpable tension in the air melts, leaving you a trembling, boneless puddle. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Somehow, you’d slipped by him again. But you knew this definitely wouldn’t be the last.

[oatsa-the-humanoid]

Another piece of the little fanfic I want to make of a Reagent named Janie and Franco

"After the bleeding had mostly subsided, they sat close to each other, waiting for the doctors to find their location after the lockdown. It felt odd to sit so closely to another person again. Odd for the both of them. Their arms brushing against each other and hearing one another's breath as their eyes scanned each other's faces. They sat in patient silence, taking in one another's features, memorializing each other's face within their mind."

[evilproxxy]

silly scribble based on this (sfw) fic by @makeucrawl 🤭

no text version ⬇️

[wackulart]

Wrote a lil thing based on @bonefries's franco reagent post!! bc the design inspired me a lot, it does feature a reagent coyle but he's not based on any design, just some speculation and hcs i talked abt with friends!

FRANCO REAGENT AU FICLET

Franco’s leg bounces under the table, eyes burning into the side of a reagent’s face. This dark haired prick has been making quite the stink as of late. It’s been quite the toss up, a good amount of people can’t stand the guy, but he’s found his group. Enough that they tend to stick together and make it hell for everyone else. Franco’s heard rumours that the guy used to be some sorta cop. It would make sense, the guy’s a total blowhard. 

Part of him is jealous. 

Okay, all of him is jealous but that’s only because the guy’s got people flocking to him like sheep. 

In here, Franco’s got no power, no gun, no nothing. The occasional reagent’s tried to chat with him, but it’s always with that look of pity and desperation.

He’d rather be alone than team up with some pussy.

He waits, watching one of the reagent’s goons exit the room and head over to the cafeteria. Franco keeps his head down as they pass by and he makes his move. He gets up and walks down the hall, spotting the asshole’s name written above his room.

Leland Coyle. 

If he had any doubt the guy was a cop, it’s gone now. The room is full of propaganda and police paraphernalia. He wants to roll his eyes at the sight. Those pigs always get a bit jittery if they can’t get a taste of that leather boot.

Franco steps over to the door, sniffling and clearing his throat. There aren’t any locks on the rooms so he pushes the door open. Coyle’s back is turned to him, fiddling with some shit under his bed. Franco’s tempted to try and attack him while he’s distracted, but he decides to wait. His work before this had a lot to do with violence, but there was also time for talking. Sometimes words held more power than spilling blood did. Though, it’s still pretty fun to shoot someone in the face.

God, he misses Lupara.

“Hey, you the cop?” He folds his arm, hoping to exude confidence despite his stature and pounding heart.

The man pauses, looking back over his shoulder. His eyes are cold before he pulls his sunglasses down over his face. He stands, kicking some box under the bed. Even behind the glasses, Franco can tell the other’s sizing him up. Then Coyle laughs, the sound making a pit in Franco’s stomach and his eyes grow hot. He blinks, fighting the already short temper he has.

“I asked you a fuckin’ question!” Franco spits back.

Coyle’s smile begins to fade as he walks up to him. He looks down and while the man himself isn’t particularly tall, he’s just a bit taller than Franco. Which seems to be enough to establish some form of dominance. 

“Who d’you think yer talkin’ to like that, you little tumor?”

Franco’s mouth barely opens before he’s grabbed by the collar. He can barely breathe while all the blood in his body drains. 

His eyes scramble around as he claws at the man’s grip. “Let go a’ me, pig!”

Coyle tosses him into the wall and he feels old bruises ache. Franco already feels his eyes watering, but he’s quick to action. Being further in the room, he jumps to his feet and grabs the nearest object he could find. A megaphone finds its way into his hands and he swings it as hard as he can when the reagent rushes him. It breaks over the man’s head. Franco charges back, wrapping his arms around his chest and pushing him over the stairs.

Unfortunately with all the adrenaline flowing through him, he doesn’t think ahead and the both of them fall over the railing. They hit the ground with a loud thump and Franco feels his head ache before he blacks out.

He comes to his senses in a hospital bed, looking around the room, it seems familiar. It’s likely the same one’s across from where he got his introduction surgery. Franco rubs his forehead, his head snapping to the side when he hears a groan. Coyle wakes up in another bed a few feet from his own. He blinks and looks around before his gaze lands on Franco.

The look of his storm blue eyes darkening in a sickening fury sends a shot of fear down Franco’s spine. Then, Coyle lunges at him and Franco’s hands go to cover his face from any further damage. All he hears is the clanking of metal yet no pain comes to him. He opens his eyes and lowers his hands to see Coyle’s been cuffed to his bed. He grins and laughs, now having the freedom to do so. He sits up on his bed, about to start more shit before they’re interrupted by a doctor arriving.

Franco lays against the wall while Coyle struggles on his chains, yelling random shit at the doctor. He might get his ass beat when they head back to the sleep room, but if felt pretty damn good knocking the cop over the stairs.

That’ll keep Franco smiling for a while.

[foxieflower]

"The Hero Nobody Sings About"

Therapy was a rough and tiring process for a man so full of doubt for a system that utterly betrayed him, but it was something he worked at. And every day he came home from the session, he'd find himself wanting to decompress with his beloved as he watched him work from the comfort of his laptop, sunk halfway in the bed still, shirt too big for him and longer hair pulled up into a messy bun.

Removing his shoes and making his way back to their shared bedroom, Eddie found himself enjoying the disheveled and half awake look Waylon often presented himself with when he was diving into random IT project Eddie wouldn't dare try to understand.

Soft hair was grown out from his last dye job, darker roots showing underneath and a pair of glasses sat on his nose, the brightness of the screen reflecting back on them to hide away his eyes and his brows threaded into a furrow expression of concentration. Everything about it was a sight to behold.

Walking into the room finally, Waylon became alert to the massive man that was previously in the doorway, an exchange of pleasantries followed suit and Eddie made his way behind Waylon. Climbing behind him and encasing himself around the smaller man with relative ease. It was something that always crossed his mind in these moments, that this work he did now from the safety of his room was in someway similar to the work those Murkoff fucks had him dwell on during those months he was there. It was work like this that forced Waylon to witness the horrors of humanity that came about within the walls of that dreaded asylum. It was work like this that created such an unknown savior.

The tapes had circulated the media outlets far longer than any of the survivors had wanted, public outcry resulted in various completed and won lawsuits, it was somewhat a constant give and take of the good, the bad, and the ugly with this thing. Eddie found himself recognized out in the open while Waylon was practically safe due to his face being off screen and from the need to go into hiding.

It was bittersweet, Waylon could blissfully enjoy his life, disconnected from Murkoff and the damage they had done while knowing his email saved a few lives and got someone like Eddie out of the grips of hell. But there was an endless onslaught of conspiracy and rumor, muffled out articles that spoke on the events, the quieting down of media to the point that is was yesterday's news and frankly... news people wondered if they even liked the sound of.

How could saving a bunch of criminally insane men prove to be something heroic? Perhaps to the outside world it was nonsense, but to Eddie, sitting here, his chin resting on this gentle computer nerd's head, was everything he ever needed. And Waylon made the greatest sacrifice he had ever seen.

_____

Send me more title prompts to my ask box if you want a short little snippet!

[lumierexfics]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Postal Service !

Postal service rules : Don’t request any NSFW for TMC/The Mandela catalogue. Don’t request any kinks that involve bodily fluids. Don’t request any minor characters aged up for NSFW requests.

[Requests/Letters delivered : 8 out of 14]

You are beginning to make a letter for that special person, where do they live?

Detective Comics / Arkhamverse

Squid Game

Dead by Daylight

Elden Ring

The Mandela Catalogue

Ghost ( Band )

Identity V

The Magnus Archives

The Outlast Series

How long is your letter?

Couple pages, Oneshot

A page, Headcanons + Short fanfic

What envelope did you choose for the letter?

Blue Envelope, Angst

Red Envelope, NSFW

Lavender Envelope, Platonic

Pink Envelope, Fluff

What stamp did you put on the envelope?

Heart themed stamp, No AU

City themed stamp, Ex-Husband/Wife/Spouse AU

Food themed stamp, Slasher AU

Animal themed stamp, Monster AU

Bird themed stamp, Apocalypse AU

Semi-postal stamp, Hospital AU

NetStamp, Detective / Killer AU

Forever stamp, Yandere AU

Flower themed stamp, Cult AU

Ocean themed stamp, Siren AU

Horseshoe themed stamp, Wild West AU

What else did you put in the letter? (Optional)

Dried flowers : Early morning prompts

Paper hearts : Fluff scenarios

Paper flowers : Platonic sentence starters

Pink wax seal : Found family prompts

Scented letter : Levels of intimacy

One ring : Smut Prompts

Kiss stains : Inexperienced smut prompts

Photographs : Smut sentence starters

Deep blue wax seal : 20 prompts for friends with benefits to lovers

[makeucrawl]

I would love to see a Coyle/Eastermen drabble id your still up to requests 🥺👉👈

Maybe Eastermen realising hes not the only guy who thinks Coyle is hot and getting jealous? Perhaps reminding Coyle who owns him (Nsfw)

“ShockTherapy” ship

!!WARNING!!NSFW!!

Dr. Easterman had been sitting at his desk, working on paperwork for what seemed like an eternity. He tapped his pen on the desk, feeling slightly bored. His gaze moves to the screen on his desk.

There was a trial going on, and he watched as Sgt. Coyle stabbed a man in the chest with his cattle prod. The officer looked pleased with how the unfortunate reagent's body thrashed on the ground.

Just as the doctor pondered about visiting Coyle later, he noticed something else.

One of the guards behind the enclosed area appeared to be trying to grab the prime assets' attention.

Coyle appeared interested and walked over to the barrier. The two appear to be having a little talk, leaning dangerously close to one other on the fence.

Hendrick felt nothing towards the situation.

Coyle had always been a dog, so witnessing the officer flirting with someone didn't bother him.

It was only after the guard reached through the chain-link fence to grab the prime asset straight between the legs, did the doctor feel his eye twitch.

Coyle leaned closer to the barrier, a wild grin on his face.

The primary asset was thoroughly enjoying the attention.

He was enjoying attention.

From someone else.

Easterman looks away from the screen when he feels something wet on his hand. He had broken his pen, and the ink was all over his hand and on his documents.

With a heavy deep sigh, he shuts off the screen and stands up from his desk.

Coyle was being taken to the director's office. He didn't mind the chains on his wrists and ankles because he knew they would be removed soon. As they neared the massive doors, he smiled broadly.

He wondered what kind of fun they were going to have.

The guards lead him into the office before leaving the two alone.

"Ya just couldn't wait to see me huh?" The officer taunts and shakes his wrists, which are still tied behind his back. "Ya gonna come over here an take these damn things off or what?"

"What happened in the trial today?"

Leland raises an eyebrow at the unexpected question. "The hell you talkin about?…HEY! You said you saw all of my trials!” Coyle scoffs and continues. "Heh as usual I served justice to those stupid fucks." He puffs his chest up proudly, expecting praise.

"What else happened."

The doctor's dark tone was beginning to dampen Coyle's mood. What was it he wanted the officer to say?!

He started to think about everything that happened throughout the trial.

It hits him.

Easterman notices the officer's expression suddenly changing.

"Dunno what yer refferin’ to." Coyle struggles awkwardly on his feet as the cuffs begin to dig in. "Just get over here and get these fuckin’ things off of me! I am the law!!" He realized he was in trouble and wanted to at least try to defend himself.

As Dr. Easterman rose from behind his desk, the cop began to sweat slightly. "Oh come on! It ain’t a big deal! ‘Sides! It ain’t like you've been payin’ me any attention!”

"Oh? Are you looking for attention?”

The doctor grabs the sergeant's tie, tugging him close.

“Allow me to shower you with attention then.”

Leland was surprised when the other kissed him. It wasn't what he expected, but it was preferable to whatever punishment the doctor had planned. He was really enjoying the kiss the deep slow kiss.

Until he felt the other man begin to bite his lower lip.

Coyle struggles, but it seems to make matters worse. Easterman only stopped when he tasted blood.

"You f-fuckin psycho! T-That hurt!" The police officer stuttered, felt blood forming on his lip. He lets out a painful grunt as he is forced back into the couch. His breathing quickens as he watches the doctor crawling over him.

"Heh I uh..I think I've gotten enough attention.." Coyle smiles faintly, but Easterman simply stares down at him with those dark eyes.

The director loosens the prime asset's tie before working on opening his jacket and shirt. Easterman began kissing, beginning with the exposed bare skin of the other's neck.

Again, he was gentle and slow at first before becoming intentionally forceful and rough.

He works his way down Coyle's neck to his stomach, leaving bites and dark markings in his wake.

"Y-You…fucker!" Leland snaps as he sees what the other has done to him. Not even his collared shirt could hide the marks on his neck.

He watches as Hendrick takes something from his pocket, and when he realizes what it is, he begins to thrash.

It was a bright crimson collar with a big bell on it.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

Easterman effortlessly places the collar around the huffing “dog's” neck. "You're honestly lucky I don't put a muzzle on you." The doctor spoke in a low, deep tone as he tightened the collar.

"But I actually have use for your loud mouth."

Hendrick now adjusted himself, practically sitting on Coyle's chest. He takes off the other man's sunglasses and cap before grabbing a fistful of the dark graying hair. His free hand proceeds to undo his belt and finally his zipper.

When the doctor notices the officer's face getting red, he smirks.

He taps the tip of his cock on the other’s lips. "Open."

When Coyle refused, Hendrick continued to press the tip against his lips and cheeks until he finally did.

The doctor brings Leland's head forward and shoving the entire length down his throat.

Almost immediately, the man choked and his eyes began to water.

He glances up to Easterman, pleading for air.

"Breathe through your nose, Leland."

Hendrick lets out a breathy laugh as he feels the other exhale heavily against his skin.

"So you can listen…”

He began moving Coyle's head, using his hair as leverage. The big bell on the collar loudly jingled with each movement.

"Then listen carefully….You're mine. Do you understand?"

The possessive doctor stares down at the gagged officer.

"You are mine. Y-You are goddamn mine."

Instead of cumming down the other man's throat, he pulls himself from Leland’s mouth before stroking himself to completion on his face.

Coyle clenched his eyes and winced as he felt the warm, thick fluid strike his face.

He groans weakly as he opens one of his eyes and looks up at the doctor. Easterman stood up and got off of the badly humiliated man, tucking himself back into his pants.

Poor Coyle lay there panting and his hard on twitched against his jeans.

"Do you understand now, Leland?"

"Yes..hnnn D-Doc..Cmon..”

The officer whines for his own release.

Easterman just chuckles at him.

"No."

He says this as he approaches his office's big doors. He opens one and addresses the guards waiting down the hall.

“You can take him."

"W-Wait!"

Coyle sat up quickly on the couch, not wanting to be seen this way.

"Goodbye, Sergeant. Have a good night's sleep. Remember what I told you.”

Easterman assists the police officer in standing and kisses his forehead before allowing the guards to remove him.

As they left, the doctor could hear the tinkling of the collar's bell and the guards mocking the prime asset.

Coyle would do well to remember who he belongs to.

[loboto-bear]

Happy (late) Halloween!

It’s time for the spookiest thing of all- a smutless fanfic!

Yeah, rather unexpectedly, the first chapter of Part 4 has zero smut whatsoever and I can’t guarantee chapter 2 will have any either. However! That’s subject to change.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy nearly 4.5k words of Franco psychoanalysis. As usual, please mind the tags and enjoy!

(Feedback on this one would be especially appreciated because honestly I don’t know how to feel about this one-)

[klownfuckery]

.*✩ Franco ‘il Bambino’ Barbi🍼/Reagent!Reader ✩*.

Just a little blurb that I’ve been wanting to write for Franco. I’ve also opened the ask box so if you’d like to req some hc’s or anything,,, y’know 👉👈 I’d love to write more of this dummy-dumb and see what other stuff y’all’d want to see.

.✩* Chances are, if you’ve managed to survive in Murkoff’s demented little playscapes long enough, you’re bound to be noticed in some form or another. To survive a trial is already a rarity, but to consistently come out on the other side largely unscathed? It’s asking to be acknowledged. Either by Dr. Easterman himself, or by his beloved Assets. Unfortunately— or fortunately, you’ve somehow garnered the attention of one Prime-Asset in particular. Franco ‘il Bambino’ Barbi. Murkoff’s newest pet-project; and Dr. Easterman’s seemingly newfound pride and joy.

.✩* Being on opposing ‘sides’, Franco and you are rarely granted the pleasure of each other’s company. Naturally, you’re housed in entirely different buildings, with no real way to communicate outside of ‘therapy-sessions’. Sometimes you’d go months without ever catching a wink of your beloved psychosexual deviant. Given the circumstances, when you finally do manage to stumble across one another mid-trial, it’s an occasion Franco warrants worth dropping anything he’d have been doing prior.

“Ow— Th’ fuck!? What kinda son of a whore lobs a bottle at a fuckin’ baby?”

Abruptly, you drop the gas canister held in hand, ears straining at the sound of glass shattering— or more importantly, its target. Your head whips around so fast, you’re half-surprised you hadn’t broken your neck. “Franco!” You shout, leaping over traps and wickedly sharp shards of glass. Completely uncaring of your volume as you scrabbled towards the familiar voice. There’s a muffled noise of surprise in the next room over, a quick shuffling of feet that ordinarily would’ve automatically sent you into a panicked crouch, before the door you’d been reaching for slams open inches away from your grasping fingers. The sheer force of the figure barreling through the frame has the wood splintering, near completely broken off the hinges as they barge through.

“Marone— Sweetness? That you?”

An ear-splitting grin threatens to erupt across your face, and it takes all of your will-power to stamp it down and keep some semblance of dignity— rare as it was here.

“Got any other sorry schmucks out here hollerin’ your name to high heaven that I should be worried about?” You jest in a simpering tone, heart hammering in your chest. Maybe it’s just a residual fear response from the early days, but the mobster still has a way about him that sets your nerves skyrocketing. The feeling only multiples by tenfold when he saunters forward into the gloom, all cocky swagger befitting of his profession. Realistically you know he wouldn’t hurt you— mortally, at least. But old habits die hard and the reagent in you, the part that’s kept you alive, instinctively takes a half-aborted step backwards.

Franco’s lips quirk in an unabashed, crooked grin. Surely about to pounce on the opportunity to make some dirty little quip about how you could go screaming his name all night. Hell, you’d practically gift-wrapped the delivery for him. Yet to your immense surprise, he doesn’t.

“Nah, my broad’s not too fond’a sharin’… ‘Sides…”

You can’t fight the reflexive yelp that escapes you this time as gloved hands snags you by the hips, greedily catching you flush against his buttoned-up front. Already you can feel his dirty mitts wandering, pawing blindly to undo the straps of your ESOP’s harness. Eager to feel the plush flesh underneath, unobstructed.

“I ain’t either.”

[evilproxxy]

hey babe, if you’re up to it i’d like something predatory involving night hunter. fem!reader is fine. suggestive/nsfw is totally up to you but i do love size kink. thanks for considering. 💚

thank you for the request!!!!!!! of COURSE I'm up for it! 😍

got a bit carried away so this ended up much longer than expected, but I hope you like it! 🙈

pairing: night hunter x fem!reader

rating: nsfw 🌶️

tags: dubcon (at first), size kink, smut (kissing/groping/fingering), a dash of praise kink, kinda enemies to lovers??

🔞MDNI🔞

Where's a damn battery when you need one?

Knowing your luck, one's tucked right there in the inky black room that stands before you. Probably nestled alongside the last key you need to finally kill that fucking snitch. That, coincidentally, is why your goggles are currently on life support. It's been almost half an hour now, you and your fellow reagents stumbling around getting shocked by booby-trapped corpses, failure, failure, failure.

The door sits open - is it an invitation, or perhaps a dare?

You'd heard him. The elevator siren had blared its shrill warning, and you hadn't seen the pulsing glow of fire nor heard the whine of compressed gas. No, you'd heard him - snarling, ranting, dread on legs.

The man with the x-ray eyes, as he likes to call himself. He's got those goggles drilled into his damn skull and the idiot doesn't know the difference between x-ray and night vision?

You've not had many dealings with the Night Hunter as you'd mostly tried to avoid him, but the most recent rendezvous had been a miserable one. He'd cornered you in a dark office, pouncing on you while you'd been focused on picking a lock, and you'd managed to get away with only one chunk of your flesh hacked into. Lucky you.

Still tender from the unhealed wound, stitches bumpy and tight under your sleeve, you steel yourself. You're going in. You have to. It's the only place you haven't checked yet.

If you just had one damn battery.

You try to shake off your nerves as you head inside, attempting to manifest some kind of bravado within yourself. There's no point even bringing your lifeless goggles down, so you try to adjust your eyes to the darkness instead. Your fingertips brush along a desk, loose paperwork shunting on the surface as you blindly navigate the void.

You wince when you hear one of your colleagues screaming out for help, followed by the pounding footfall of a big grunt in pursuit. The obscenities and threats being yelled into the air send a chill down your spine, and you fight the urge to turn and run out there, to create a diversion and rescue your fellow reagent - but you know you need to focus on the task at hand. Get in, find that key, and get the fuck out.

The silence in your own room is somewhat reassuring. Perhaps the commotion outside has drawn the attention of every ex-pop in area, and if the Night Hunter is still around then he's bound to be searching for them instead of you. With a sliver of selfish confidence, you crouch down in the darkness and continue your mission. One clammy palm presses against the tiled floor, the other reaching out into the darkness to blindly search the area. You find a few boxes full of junk, a glass bottle that you tuck into your belt, more discarded documents. No battery, and no key.

As you continue to feel around, what you're hoping to find is that elusive final corpse, some poor nameless soul reduced to a simple prop for your therapy session. What you actually find, however, is a pair of legs.

The small, amused hum above you makes your heart dissolve in your chest.

"Found what you're looking for, little mouse?"

You freeze, as if he somehow won't see you if you just stay still. You can't swallow the saliva pooling behind your teeth, nor the lump growing in your throat. Your breath is caught in your chest, strangled by the sound of that patronising voice.

"Hm, not gonna try and run this time? Don't wanna make it fun for me?"

You can't help the whimper that slips from your lips.

Do you run? You might make it out to the light before he catches you. It's unlikely, but perhaps it's not impossible. Adrenaline is a powerful motivator. But he's fast, unexpectedly agile for his size. You learned that the hard way last time. There could still be another grunt outside too, you might stumble out of the frying pan and into the fire. And that machete, it gives him a longer reach, another lesson you'd learned last time...

As your mind races through your panicked risk assessment, trying frantically to weigh up costs and benefits, you hear him laugh. It's not friendly. No, it's malicious.

So, you run. Your pulse skyrockets, your heart threatening to simply stop in your chest as you try to scramble across the tiles, fighting to get to your feet. The faint light of the now-distant doorway beckons you as you slam into a desk, crying out in pain as you stumble back against another.

He's on you in an instant. You knew he would be, if you're honest with yourself. You feel ashamed, a foolish little girl playing stupid, stupid games.

"What's the deal, glow worm? Trying to earn yourself another scar?" He snarls as he grabs you by the jaw, slamming you back onto the desk. You hear the glass bottle smash at your hip, your only chance at defending yourself now laying in shards. Your back throbs as your harness bites into the soft skin on your back, and the shadow of his large form looms over you as your hands raise defensively. The glowing lenses of his goggles are inches from your face, as though he's examining each little detail of your terrified expression. "You got away from me last time, didn't you? Slippery little thing. That won't be happening again."

Last time?

He slides your sleeve up your shoulder, and a long finger traces over the stitched up wound as you're frozen in place. It's as though he's admiring his work.

Surely he doesn't remember you. There's no way.

"It's a shame to taint such a sweet little thing, but don't you worry," he hums thoughtfully, leaning in to breathe against your ear, his chest pressing your E.S.O.P. harshly into your chest. "I'll leave that pretty face in one piece."

A scream builds in your chest and swells uncontrollably as it escapes your lips. You despise the display of weakness, but you can't help yourself as you cry out, praying that one of the others might be close enough to hear your pleading, but a large hand clamps over your mouth.

"Mmm, I missed that sound," he groans breathily, keeping his body pressed firmly against yours as he forces himself between your legs. You try to keep them together, your hands grasping at his wrists as huge hands hold you in a vice-like grip, but it's useless. He's got you pinned and completely overpowered. "Haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

He really does remember you.

"But I need you to be quiet now, little mouse," he continues, brushing his nose against the side of your face as he breathes you in. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that your teeth might just crumble in your mouth, your cheeks stinging under his crushing grip. "Because if any of your little friends interrupt us, I'll be redecorating this shithole with their insides."

Paralysed by the threat, you try your best to nod a tiny confirmation in his grip - it's barely noticeable, but he feels it nonetheless. His grip on your jaw loosens slightly, and the hand over your mouth slides away, seemingly satisfied at your compliance as he reaches up to stroke your hair.

"Such a pretty little glow worm," he sighs, and it's almost affectionate. "The moment I saw you, I just knew I needed to get my hands on you."

Your mind is spinning, horror and intrigue swirling in your mind as you listen to his frightfully saccharine words. You've never heard him sound like this before, the softness in his voice so foreign, and you simply can't make sense of it.

"I-I don't... don't understand," you manage to croak out, your tongue heavy in your mouth as you try to speak.

"What is there to understand?" He hums as he brings his face close to yours once again. "I wanted you, and now I've got you."

You try to swallow, but your mouth is unimaginably dry. "Are you... going to kill me?"

His grip tightens on your jaw again, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you brace yourself for a stab, a claw, a rip - but it doesn't come. He just speaks softly, calmly, as though reassuring a nervous dog.

"Now why would I spoil our fun by doing something like that?"

The words make your stomach drop, your hands going limp in resignation. It's impossible to read his expression, eyes concealed by glass, face mostly obscured by his goggles, and everything else drenched in an endless darkness.

"So..." you begin to ask, but you're not sure you even want to know the answer. "...what are... what-"

You're cut off by his laughter. "No, I'm not going to kill you, little mouse, but I am going to have a little fun with you."

You can't help the tears that gather along your lash line, nor the choked sob that leaves your trembling lips.

"Please," you start, but you don't even know what you're hoping for. Freedom? Mercy? You can't see either of those coming your way any time soon. "Please, just... don't hurt me again."

He exhales through his nose, and it's slow, thoughtful. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Not too badly, anyway. No, I'm going to make you feel so good that you won't even want to leave."

Despite all the shit you have to put up with in this place - the barbaric tasks you've had to complete, the rotten places you've stuffed your hands into, the shit you've been made to wade through - all in the name of therapy... you never thought you'd be contending with something like this.

"I- please, I don't want that," you whimper, hands trembling as your eyes strain to see him in the darkness. "Please, I- I just want to go... I shouldn't have come in here, I'm sorry, please just-"

"I like how it sounds when you beg."

Tears begin to spill down your cheeks, unable to contain them anymore. You shake your head - well, as much as you can in his grip - and he sighs.

"Don't cry, little mouse," he coos, but the words feel almost like mockery. "See, I just knew this place would bring you back to me. Had to make sure of it though. Needed a little insurance to help guide destiny along the right path."

His hand leaves your hair, and he reaches down into the darkness. Then, just in front of your eyes, he holds a key.

It was him.

He's the reason you're here. He orchestrated it, playing puppet master to your trial. He knew you'd waste your battery searching for the last key. He knew you'd have to go into the darkness, into his world, desperate to find the last puzzle piece. It all played out exactly as he planned.

You know it's useless, but you reach for the key anyway. As expected, he pulls it away.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast," he scolds, the grin evident in his voice. "This is the only way you're getting out of here, isn't it? Can't kill the snitch if you can't get to that last chamber. I'm sure that big nasty F grade would look hideous on your record, wouldn't it? I see how hard you work around here. I see how much you want to impress those white coats. I see everything." He taps the key against the edge of his goggles, the clacking sound loud in the silence of the room. "So, what's it worth to you?"

Your mouth hangs open, but no words come out. You can't even try to form a sentence, your mind a mess of confusion, frustration, fear, curiosity. Why would he go to those lengths, risk whatever repercussions he might face for tampering with a trial, just to get hold of you?

"Speechless, hm? I felt the same way the first time I saw you. You glowed so much brighter than the rest."

You're still trembling as his hand disappears, and with it your chance at escape. He presumably tucks the key away somewhere, its resting place far out of your limited vision as he presses his hips against you once again, harsher this time, almost needily. Your chest rises and falls quickly with each shallow, panicked breath - just like the little mouse he likes to remind you you are, locked in the talons of the great bird of prey. His long fingers release your jaw, and he tilts his head to one side as heleans in to press his lips against yours.

The feeling is surreal, the scarred skin of his lips jagged against your own, the heat of him unexpected, the aggression of his kiss less so. You can't pull away, head already pushed back against the desk, but you don't even try. You just lay there, mind racing, eyes drifting shut as you feel yourself becoming completely overwhelmed. The hand that had been gripping your jaw now wanders down your body, tugging the fabric of your shirt out from where it's been tucked inside your waistband. His hand feels gargantuan as it slides beneath the material, long fingers sliding up neglected skin, the coarse digits tracing up the curve of your waist as he explores you. He hums into your mouth as his fingertips graze against the plush of your breast.

"So soft," he whispers as he breaks away from the kiss, his breaths noticeably heavier now. "Softer than I could've imagined. Only soft thing in this entire God-forsaken place."

He kisses you again, more desperately this time, and you kiss him back. You're not sure why, but you're body responds without your command. You feel yourself strangely relaxing a little at his touch, his hands much gentler than his lips, and his palm slides over your breast, kneading at the pillowy flesh as he groans against you.

You feel torn. This should repulse you, and under any other circumstances it surely would. Maybe it's the cover of darkness, or your own primal urges acting independent of your conscious mind - even with a gun to your head, you're not sure you could answer the questions running through your head. So you bring your hands to his shoulders to push him back slightly and, to your surprise, he instantly pulls back.

"Why?"

While you can't see his expression, he seems caught off guard. The bitter aggression you're so familiar with seems to have thawed out into something more... human?

"Why are you doing this?" You press on, urged by something tangled in your chest that makes your heart feel like it might burst. "I don't even know what you're risking here, but... there's got to be something, right? Interfering with the trial, falling out of line... Why? What's all this worth to you?"

As his hand continues to caress your breast, his other hand comes back to your face, cupping your cheek. It's tender, and it seems to challenge everything you thought you knew about the man.

"I've been watching you, little mouse. The way you move, the sound of your voice, the determination on your face... I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. And I never think about any of you. Bunch of fucking cockroaches running around, begging to get squished. But you..." He pauses, thumb stroking your cheek as he thinks. "Last time, I came close, but you ran. If it were anyone else it would have excited me, made me furious, made me want to spill some blood. But it just made me hungry."

The air is systematically knocked out of you with each sentence. It stirs something inside of you, a feeling you can't quite describe. You barely think before you speak, your chest tight as you look up at those glowing lenses, imagining the eyes trapped behind them.

"Are you lonely here?"

He scoffs, giving your breast a firm squeeze that makes you gasp. "More lonely than you could ever imagine, little mouse."

He pushes your head to the side, pressing kisses along your neck and his fingers stroke at your nipple, gently squeezing it as it firms up at his touch. Goosebumps bloom across your skin, little hums escaping your lips as he touches you over and over. His kisses are clumsy, the bulky night vision goggles bumping against the table as he nips as the sensitive skin of your neck, and his hips jerk against yours involuntarily.

Your eyes flutter shut again as the friction begins to ignite a spark in your belly. It's been so long, too long, since anyone touched you like this either. Strangely, you feel special, a fucked up kind of flattery nipping at your ego. You'd be lying if the words weren't getting to you, that pet name sounding almost comforting, his relentless ministrations untangling any sense of restraint you were holding onto.

You take a deep breath.

"Make me feel good."

He freezes, as though he doesn't believe his ears.

"Take me away from here."

The words instantly spur him on, your acceptance of his advances seemingly flicking a switch inside of him, and his movements become more hurried, more passionate. The warmth in your belly only grows as his hand pulls away from your breast to start tugging at your waistband. You help him, sitting up a little to start undoing your belt as he stands up straight between your legs, towering over you. You blindly fumble with the buckle, releasing the garment as he keeps his gaze trained on you alone.

"Beautiful," he sighs, and there's hunger in his tone that sends shivers through you. He pulls you into a kiss, hooking a finger under your chin as he leans down to you meet your lips. Then, he breaks away, nudging your shoulder so that you lay back down on the desk. "Just relax, little mouse. Let me take care of you."

His hand slips under the fabric of your pants before pulling at the gusset of your underwear. He moves it aside, and a small noise of surprise leaves his lips as a thick, long singer slides between your folds.

"Didn't think you'd be wet for me," he hums, and your cheeks burn in an instant. "Seems you need this just as much as I do, hm?" You nod uselessly, a hand reaching up to cover your face as his finger glides over your clit, making you moan softly. "Let me see your face."

It's easy to forget that, despite your own blindness, he can still see everything. Every time your brows draw together, the way your lips part each time you gasp, the way your chest rises and falls. You feel a sudden pang of self-consciousness, but it's easily forgotten when his finger pushes inside of you. It feels huge, your body tensing around the intrusion as he pushes in.

"So small," he whispers, his other hand resting on the desk just beside your head. "Such a delicate little thing... can barely even fit."

You whine as he begins to slide his finger in and out, your arousal making it easier, but the stretch still undeniable. He leans in close, his lips pressing against yours once again, and it muffles your cry as he curls his finger inside of you.

"I know, little mouse," he whispers against your lips. "But we need to stay quiet, can't let anyone find us like this, can we?"

You give him a weak nod as he continues to stroke against that soft inner wall, biting your lip as you try to stifle the moan that's fighting for freedom. He kisses you again, before bringing another finger to your entrance. As he starts to push it inside, you slap your hand over your mouth to hold back the cry.

"You can take it, can't you?" He coos in your ear pressing a kiss against your neck. "My brave girl, my shiny little mouse, I know you can take it."

It burns just enough to be a little uncomfortable, and you try your best to relax your muscles to allow him inside, unable to help the way your walls desperately squeeze against him. You uncover your mouth, sucking in a deep breath as he continues. "Hurts- hurts a bit," you gasp, and he slows slightly.

"Mm, it's tight," he nods, kissing your neck again before pulling back to look at you. "But you just keep sucking me in, don't you? A little pain's never stopped you from getting what you want though, has it?"

He strokes his hand over the stitches on your arm as if to punctuate the comment before curling both fingers deep inside of you, and it makes your back arch off of the desk. He hums in approval before sliding his thumb against your clit, starting to slowly push both fingers in and out. You clamp your hands over your mouth to muffle a moan that would otherwise have been loud enough for the entire trial area to hear.

He strokes his thumb back and forth over your sensitive spot as he quickens the pace of his fingers, and you're shamelessly writhing under his touch. He brings his other hand down to pull your shirt up, the fabric bunching up beneath your E.S.O.P. as he reaches underneath it, kneading at your breast again.

It feels like your heart might just stop. You can feel it approaching, the sensation of your building climax unmistakable as you fall apart beneath him. You'd almost forgotten how it felt to be with anyone, nights spent pleasuring yourself with the cold, lifeless sex toys in your sleep room cell never coming close to the warmth of a lover. And even here, in the darkness of this shabby office, at the hands of someone whose role was always to be your enemy - you can't imagine anything coming close to this feeling again.

With his lips pressed to yours, long fingers buried deep inside you, a huge hand gripping your breast, you come undone.

Despite the darkness, you're seeing stars. He kisses you over and over as you come for him, your body trembling beneath him as he soothes you through your release. Little aftershocks, shaky breath, emptiness as he pulls his fingers out of you. Your mouth is open, but there are no words.

There's a beat of quiet, just the sound of your shaky breath filling the air, before he speaks.

"Come back to me," he says softly, and it almost sounds like a question. His hand returns to your hair, stroking it gently. "Need you to keep coming back."

You open your eyes to meet his, the circles of greenish-black glow watching you carefully, like you might just vanish if he looks away for even a moment.

"That'll be all for now, little mouse," he continues, almost matter of fact, like he's ripping off the bandage. "Can't to push you too far."

"But... what about you?" You ask softly, voice hoarse and quiet as you rest your hand against his chest.

You can almost make out a small smile in the darkness. "I'll take care of myself. Next time... well, maybe we can work you up to it. Need to be careful with my little mouse. Don't want to break you."

You sit up, body still shaky as you hold onto him. He tugs down your shirt before pulling you against him, just holding you for a moment as you breathe into his chest. Then, he reaches to his side, pulling back slightly and presenting you with that coveted final key. You'd almost forgotten about it.

"They'll be waiting for you," he says softly, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as you almost reluctantly take the key, accepting that you'll be going your separate ways for now. "And so will I."

[systemic-chaos]

u got any hcs for franco barbi x mother gooseberry?

OH BOY DO I!!! If I wasn't off my ADHD meds it would be OVER for you bitches. But unfortunately, you will have to make do with a simple list of what I can remember rn lol

-Franco talks big game behind her back about all the things he'd like to do to her, but when push comes to shove he is absolutely pathetic for her. Man would jump off a building for her if she said so.

-Phyllis thinks he is just a darling little man. She finds him hopelessly adorable. Like a pug dog of a man.

-Dr. Futterman however? He HATES that little fucker. He thinks that Franco is making a mockery of his dear Phyllis. Plus he's fuckin' ugly! She better not even THINK of getting within TEN FEET of that SHITHEAD-

-Despite this, I think Dr. Futterman would come around. In my personal opinion, Franco is more attracted to humiliation and degradation than gender, so I think Dr. Futterman would eventually have his own species of relationship with Franco, given enough time.

-Franco is a real traditional guy. If he had his way, he'd be wining and dining Mother Gooseberry, taking her to every upscale place she'd ever want to go. But there's no upscale restaurants in Sinyala, so he just tries to bring her any fancy things he can find. Including but not limited to: cool rocks, fancy bottles, postcards, origami cranes folded by a reagent, etc. She does not understand why he does this.

-I really like the idea that Franco was a fan of the Mother Gooseberry Hour as a kid. I feel like it would feed into his whole adult baby/mother complex to know her as an adult, which would make him ever more annoyingly attracted to her.

-Also, as confirmed by canon, Franco is a tits guy. And WOAH, does he APPRECIATE the ASSETS she was born with. I think Phyllis is equal parts charmed and revolted by this. Like on one hand, it's nice to feel like a real woman who can be beautiful, even after everything she's been through. On the other hand, gross, stop drooling all over the floor Franco.

-I also headcanon that Phyllis doesn't like to be in a submissive role in a relationship, due to the sexual abuse she suffered as a child (total projection on my part lol). She feels a lot more comfortable around Franco because he doesn't reduce her to a sex object for his pleasure, he more glorifies and deifies her which isn't an experience she's used to. This is also why I don't like to ship her with Leland Coyle personally. No hate to anyone who does, but I feel like the baby man is less intimidating to a survivor of abuse.

Thank you so much for giving me the chance to ramble about my thoughts anon!!! I also ship Franco/Easterman because of the whole thing with his gun. It makes me giggle.

Feel free to send me more asks if you want to, I am full of ideas!! Especially NSFW ideas, as I am an aspiring erotica writer lol

[ao3feed-weddie]

What You Forgot

by Anonymous Waylon hits his head in the elevator shaft, and now he has amnesia. Good thing his loving husband is there for him! (An AU where Waylon forgets nearly everything but his name, and a Groom who falsely has believed they've been married for years finds him. He then proceeds to patch him up because that's just what loving husbands do!) Words: 1832, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Outlast (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Eddie Gluskin, Waylon Park Relationships: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park Additional Tags: hurtcember's Hurtcember Prompt List 2024, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Amnesia, Eddie Gluskin Being Eddie Gluskin, lying his ass off lol, Amnesia where you forget your husband, It's a good end if you like, pretend it is via https://ift.tt/KfpW895