#edway

[lycnfr]

Rapidly does the sign of the cross

[weddie-weddie-wedding]

Little vaguely-venty weddie drabble tw for gore violence and death

___

Some part of Eddie hesitated, just for a moment. As he stood, towering over Waylon’s small frame before him, Eddie couldn’t be sure whether the hitch was from fear or overwhelming excitement. Waylon was woozy, his head almost visibly spinning as blood dripped from his nose, slow and near silent. The only sounds in the room were of gentle drops of blood splattering against the cold floor below, and both mens’ elevated breathing. Waylon, with shaking and heavy breaths from the shock and dull pain; Eddie, with breaths quaking from a strange, dark pleasure stirring in his chest and weighing his stomach down. Before him, tied neatly to a chair, was his darling. Waylon’s arms and legs were tied with thick rope at the ankles and wrists. He didn’t bother resisting, as he knew it would be useless. Even if he managed to scrape enough of his skin away to free himself, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get far like this; not while Eddie was still in the room. At least, this is what Waylon told himself, how he justified his lack of action.

Hazy eyes lifted, Waylon’s soft head following slightly, and saw themselves glinting back, reflected by the knife in his captor’s right hand. Waylon blinked, long and slow, a blink that some might just mistake for a look of contentedness. The distorted eyes blinked back, it was fuzzy and distant but Waylon knew the eyes in the knife belonged to him. His eyes lifted higher one more time, and met Eddie’s own clouded pair. The other man’s face was burning, red with heat, but Waylon wasn’t sure whether the heat came from rage or excitement. Somehow, he wished for it to not be rage. Somehow, he knew he would get his wish.

“Darling,” Eddie’s voice came out in a wisp, more of a breath than a true word. 

Waylon did not respond, at least not directly. His head dropped again, staring at his bare feet and watching the tiny pool of blood slowly, slowly form between them.

“How precious you look,” Eddie continued.

Eddie’s arm moved behind him, extending the knife away from Waylon as his other hand made its way to Waylon’s jaw and held it. His hands were warm, large, and rough; they were calloused, but the firmness in his grip would almost have been comforting to Waylon in any other situation. Almost…

Eddie’s hand moved from Waylon’s jaw to his mouth instead. His fingers grazed Waylon’s lips, collecting the blood from his nose as they moved. A faint smile grew on Eddie’s own lips, his eyes half-lidded with bliss at the sight and feel and scent of Waylon’s blood. His hand trailed down Waylon’s lips, down his chin and onto his neck, leaving a thin layer of still-warm blood.

Eddie could feel Waylon’s heartbeat through the veins in his neck, and it was pumping exceptionally hard. Strange, he thought, that the other man was showing no other signs of terror; it was almost as though his heart wasn’t pumping out of fear, but for something else. Regardless, Eddie stretched his fingers out and to his delight, discovered that one hand fit almost perfectly around Waylon’s neck. Unable to help himself, Eddie’s hand clenched and cut of the circulation there. Waylon tried to gasp, but could only make a strangled, gurgling squeak in its stead. This sound was overwhelming to Eddie, he wanted more of that. 

Without taking his left hand off of Waylon’s throat, Eddie set his knife on the nearby sewing table and shifted so both of his hands could ever so gently squeeze Waylon’s soft throat. Waylon choked softly, then pushed his head up and blinked innocently at Eddie. His eyes half-lidded from the daze he was in, mouth hung open slightly, with drying blood trailing all the way from his nose and lips to Eddie’s strong hands. It was far too much, and Eddie found himself unable to resist digging his fingers into his love’s neck. Waylon began to choke louder, trying desperately to gasp and wheeze as his hands began to seize up and clench themselves into fists, his legs trying to kick around despite being clearly unable to, he could feel the bruises forming where Eddie’s fingers connected to his delicate neck. His face turned red, as did Eddie’s, and his body went into a full-blown panic as he tried to push or kick or beg Eddie off of him, but he was met only with Eddie’s gentle smile and a burning feeling in his chest.

Eddie leaned forward, leaned right into Waylon’s ear, as close as he possibly could without placing his mouth on Waylon and whispered, “I want to make you beautiful.”

Finally, just as Waylon’s vision began to fade, Eddie’s hands released. Color rushed back into his vision and his lungs almost hurt more from the shock of returning air than they did when he was choking. He began to pant, struggling to get a normal amount of air down his gullet, eyes wide and unfocused. He heard, dully, the scrape of Eddie’s knife being picked up from the table. No, not picked up, dragged, like it was intentionally taunting him. His eyes shot to where Eddie stood, having taken a few steps back, and Waylon tried to push himself forward to no avail.

“Why,” Waylon groaned. 

Eddie took a step forward and used the flat side of the blade to lift Waylon’s chin, bending forward to meet Waylon’s eyes. “It’s all because I love you, my dear.”

Waylon’s eyes drooped, mostly closed now, and he let his mouth hang open once again. He could feel Eddie’s warm, staggered breath on his face and he was sure Eddie could feel his as well. He let his eyes close fully and focused only on the warm air blowing in puffs against his soft skin. For a moment, even through the pain, Waylon was happy to feel Eddie so close to him, but only for a moment. 

Waylon’s eyes shot open and he hissed a breath in through clenched teeth as Eddie removed the blade from Waylon’s chin and sliced along his left cheekbone. Hot blood pooled and dripped down his cheek, almost like gentle tears streaming down his face but Waylon wasn't crying. He didn't cry; he didn't flinch as Eddie shifted his knife from his right to his left, placing his now-empty hand over the cut. Sweet, sticky blood began to coat his fingers, and Waylon only grunted softly in the response. 

"Is this beautiful enough for you?" Waylon croaked. His face was once again only mere inches from Eddie's, and he didn't try to push away. His cut stung where Eddie's fingers make contact, but it wasn't that bad.

"Oh, my pretty darling," Eddie leaned forward and pressed his head softly against Waylon's bleeding cheek, like an affectionate cat would do to their own beloved. "You've always been beautiful enough for me. This is all for you."

Waylon sucked air through his teeth again as Eddie nuzzled, getting warm delicate blood on his nose and right cheek. Waylon could feel the bumps and ridges of Eddie's scarring and somehow, he felt relieved to feel something so foreign yet so familiar. He tensed for less than second, resolving to relax and almost push back into Eddie's face comfortably. And yet, some part of him said that he shouldn't be here.

"Stop," Waylon mumbled. "You shouldn't be doing this."

Eddie hummed a low tune and pulled his face back, replacing it once more with his hand. "If you want to leave so bad, then go. I won't stop you."

Eddie swiped his index finger on the cut, collecting a small amount of blood then took two whole steps back away from the chair. He silently lifted his finger to his lips and pushed it into his mouth, his humming resuming when the taste of copper hit his tongue. He watched, bemused, as Waylon stared at him with a certain light in his eyes. Waylon did not even try to move. After all, he told himself, there was no point.

"Well, now, if you're through," Eddie broke the silence after nearly a minute.

Eddie moved the knife back into his right hand and placed it at the top of the slit he'd just made. He gave Waylon as smile, which Waylon almost certainly would have matched had it not been for the sudden pain of Eddie pushing the knife in slightly deeper than last time. This time, Waylon reacted more outwardly, groaning out loud and tensing up entirely as the blade slowly, slowly dragged diagonally along his cheekbone. It sliced his skin open even more, but even when he reached the base of Waylon's cheek bone he did not stop. Eddie pushed one finger into Waylon's mouth quickly, grabbing his upper lip with his thumb and index finger, and yanked the knife down. Waylon yelped like an injured dog as the blade ripped cleanly through his lip.

Eddie shifted his left hand to caress Waylon' face, his jaw. Eddie leaned forward, bending his knee and leaning it against the chair between Waylon's legs, and pushed his lips against the small man. 

"Mmph," Waylon groaned, but didn't move his head back at all.

Waylon's breathing picked up. Eddie's lips were soft, softer than his rough hands, and the juxtaposition almost sent Waylon back into a daze. The scarring didn't reach down to Eddie's lips,  so they were smooth and warm and pleasant to touch. Eddie held his mouth slightly open and accepted the blood into his mouth willingly. Waylon could feel the large man's breath begin to shake as his tongue lapped sweetly against the gash, collecting as much blood as he could from it. Waylon closed his eyes again and he pictured a new scene, a new world that became a temporary reality. He was free in his mind, yet Eddie still had his lips pushed against Waylon's. In Waylon's mind, his escapist fantasy, Eddie was kissing him; and in his mind, Waylon was kissing back. He felt strange drop, a heat, from his stomach. It was the same rushing feeling he'd gotten just as he sent the initial email, but it was more intense. The adrenaline was starting to kick in.

Just as that feeling overcame Waylon, Eddie moved away and made sure to stay in Waylon's line of sight as he visibly swallowed. His face was red again and his smile was so sickly sweet and loving; truly, like a groom witnessing his bride for the first time on their wedding day. 

"I can tell you want more," Eddie purred.

Waylon huffed and panted. No, of course not, why would someone want more pain, more bruises, more cuts and wounds? Surely it couldn't be true… could it?

Eddie used the blade to cut Waylon's shirt and jumpsuit from the collar all the way down to his waist, fully exposing his chest and stomach. "Let me give you what you want, my love."

Waylon could feel the blade poking into his chest, not enough to break skin but it was sure announcing it presence. Some place in Waylon's brain spoke for him, "Aren't you… getting ahead of yourself…?"

"Is that so?" Eddie moved the knife quickly to the bottom of the cut he'd just made in Waylon's clothes. "You want me to drag it out for you, you little minx?"

Eddie used the knife to rip the fabric from Waylon's lower body as well, leaving his boxers intact but exposing Waylon's thighs and legs. Eddie let out a sigh and kneeled before Waylon, a low peasant before a king, and rested his still-bloody cheek against Waylon's knee. Waylon could feel the heat from Eddie's face well. Eddie placed the tip of the blade on Waylon's inner thigh, just above the knee and began to poke teasingly. Waylon had goosebumps from the cold, and could feel his entire body tensing delightfully at the anticipation for being cut again. 

Finally, finally, after the longest moment, Eddie pushed the knife in. Waylon only groaned at first, but the deeper Eddie pushed the louder Waylon got. When the blade was in as far as Eddie thought Waylon could possibly handle, he used that great, terrible strength of his to drag the blade agonizingly slow up Waylon's beautiful thigh. The groan gradually turned into scream which in turn became a shriek as hot tears pooled and fell rapidly from Waylon's eyes. Eddie began to shake at the sound, pushing the knife deeper as he reached the top of Waylon's thigh. He frantically tossed the knife down on the floor and his fingers found their way pushing into the wound, prodding around and feeling whatever they could of the open wound Eddie had created. 

Waylon was shaking, buzzing from the pain and adrenaline, his head was rolling along with his eyes and his shriek turned into a dull groaning sound. Eddie's fingers were touching places in his leg that he'd certainly never felt before, because how often would one ever feel their muscle being stroked and prodded? He knew Eddie was pulling the skin, opening the wound like he was unwrapping a sweet piece of candy, and Waylon threw his upper body against the back of the chair. His eyes lolled back in his head and he could feel Eddie trying to grab, from inside Waylon's leg. It was certainly a new sensation. It burned, it ached and hurt so intensely as Eddie pulled bits of tissue inside of Waylon, almost like he was trying to pull it out. Waylon shrieked again.

"I love your voice," Eddie cooed, as if any of this were normal and loving. In Eddie's mind, it was. 

In Waylon's mind, it was.

"Please kill me," Waylon gasped.

"What was that?" Eddie angled his head, still resting on Waylon's knee, to look at Waylon's face.

"Kill me, Eddie," Waylon whined. "Make it slow but make it happen."

Eddie stood again and placed the knife just above Waylon's belly button. "I told you I'd give you what you want." 

Pleased with Waylon's compliance, Eddie cut the ropes on Waylon's wrists, freeing his arms. Then, without another moment of hesitation, Eddie plunged the knife into Waylon's belly, careful not to push so deep that it would kill him too quickly. He didn't wait to bring his knife up, jaggedly and slowly slicing Waylon open from his stomach to his collar. Waylon moaned low once again, but this time it did not evolve into a scream. Eddie pushed the skin open, the blood draining quickly and pooling on the floor. Eddie frowned, then dug his knife in again.

"Let me see those gorgeous guts, darling," Eddie mused softly.

Waylon was making sounds that even he couldn't recognize. He was in so much pain but he couldn't get enough. More than anything, he wanted the pain to increase. He shook and writhed as Eddie exposed his innards, touching his guts and his organs as softly as he could to avoid damaging them. Waylon shakily moved one hand from where it lay and ran his fingers through Eddie's hair over and over, petting him like a purring cat. 

"You're warm, my love," Eddie said.

"Eddie," Waylon sighed. "I love you."

"I know," Eddie replied. He pushed his hand into Waylon's belly, eliciting another shriek as he searched around. "I love you too, darling."

Waylon knew what was coming. He could do nothing to stop it, but he didn't want to. His heart pumped, loud and rapid and horrified as Eddie's arm extended in. It was his heart that Eddie was reaching for, and Waylon's head clouded with strange sensations, his throat filled with screaming, his eyes filled with tears, his heart filled with love. 

And then, after only getting a single moment to enjoy Eddie's rough, firm hands squeeze it lovingly, Waylon's heart stopped.

[the-husbando]

Someone’s gonna die..--Of FUN!

Eddie: Yours Truly

Waylon: @kevinhartsrightnut

[chiconugget]

I was dead for a long long time but guess who got into a new ship in a fandom that's way past it's prime? Me!!

The first two drawings are for @grimmy88 's fic After the Awful !!

[peachycans]

3 a looks so miserable that I totally have to ask for Eddie. Bonus if Waylon's in the background doing a 4 a and fingerguns :D

i hope i met the expectations, all without finger guns. i thought bride!waylon would look crazier if he had a knife instead D^:

[expression challenge]

[artbygaro]

finally i finished this. i want you to know this took like a total of ~18 hours lol ⚠️ small gore/blood warning but it isnt major

[lycnfr]

Friends helping each other memorize their prayers!!!! 🤭

[lycnfr]

Ok last update on the second page before they both publish on August 6th for patreon