#mortuary finals

[morvantmortuary]

paint the town red --

(Maxi Morvant x non-binary/genderqueer plus-sized Reader, 18+)

(summary: Maxi returns to you after some night work. You don't hate the result.

warnings: smut, minors dni. dead dove do not eat for the following: blood kink, minor descriptions of gore, Maxi goes down on Reader after some light cannibalism. oral (afab receiving, some anatomy mentioned), oral wound fucking (reader giving), pain kink, handjob. some possessiveness, mentions of stalking. some allusions towards a homophobic/transphobic politician who gets got. serial killers are serial killing, don't act surprised. needless to say: don't fucking try this at home, for all sorts of health reasons.

general: Reader is, as always, non-binary/genderqueer, fat/plus-sized, and also just plain Queer. afab anatomy is referenced for reader, so just be advised. otherwise, everything else is meant to be relatively neutral to let people have a more seamless experience, and suggested tweaks to that language are always appreciated.

general: well. this was meant to be part of @jmathesonandsiblings's Spooky Season in the Barrens (for 'covered in blood' and 'gore', in case you couldn't guess!) but life was Not Cooperating. :'D so! here's this, better late than never!!

'...hey rae wtf is with that warning section' buddy, your guess is as good as mine, honest to god.)

Standing on the back porch in the dark always reminded you just how far the House was from anywhere else in Greymoon.

The autumn chill was still nowhere to be found, the last crickets of the warm weather singing uneasily around you. The cicadas had fallen silent weeks ago, leaving the evening air feeling almost… too big. Too capacious.

Like something else would ooze into where the familiar bayou lullabies should have been, concealing itself in the silence until it jumped out to surprise you.

But tonight, you couldn’t bring yourself to worry as usual. The moon was full, pendulous, threatening to drip harvest honey all down the dangling strands of spanish moss and throwing your world into soft, gauzy focus.

You, however - your mind, your sight, the sense of certainty in the center of your ribs - had never felt clearer.

Your senses felt like the scalpel’s cold edge; the sussurrus of every breeze sounded like a chorus of whispers. The shadowy shapes in your peripheral vision, in the darkened corners of the porch and near the waiting light of the kitchen door, couldn’t draw your attention like they would have before. Like they wanted.

It was impossible to even think of those late shades when you were too busy listening to the sheer life all around you. Pulsing just beneath the night and your own skin was your heartbeat, calm and dependable and steady —

And one more besides, providing a counterpoint to the rhythm you could swear was filling the air around you.

You glanced down at your wrist again, the scarlet mark as fresh and vibrant as an open wound, glowing to rival the moon in your own tiny universe.

You hadn’t put much stock in any kind of invisible string when you were younger, red or otherwise. But when you brushed the sigil with two of your fingers, you almost swore you felt an answering tug from some distant spot.

A tug that you swore was growing stronger, more insistent, with the passing minutes. Something in the vast night was pulling you towards it, or itself towards you, already on course for an inevitable collision.

It must have gone well, you thought. Maxi had told you that the full moons always had more magic in them, even for that as necrotic as the Morvants’.

But the seasonal moons, the ones the world quietly turned around without anyone noticing anymore? Those were best of all.

All three of them had crept out tonight with some mysterious errand or another, each of them notably distracted during the daylight hours. You knew Hex and Rora wouldn’t be coming back before daybreak — they had their own people to visit, after whatever terrible deeds they’d done in the dark.

Maxi - or the Reaper - one of them - had promised they would come back for you, though.

They had even asked you, all sweetness and kisses, to wait for them, right at this spot.

So of course, there you stood. The unseasonably warm autumn caused your nightclothes to cling to your skin and every passing breeze to ghost a finger down your spine, somehow leaving you chilled and sweating all at once.

But he was near. He was so close, you were certain of it.

You had no idea how you knew — you’d barely seen him leave, already asleep in his bed when he’d kissed you goodbye and slipped near-seamlessly into the pitch black. But somewhere in the last hour, you had awakened instantaneously, as though you’d never even dreamed. You’d been walking down the stairs before you fully knew why, with not even a phone or a flashlight to guide you.

You had, however, at least paused to light the lone backyard jack-o-lantern to keep you company. You knew - again, no idea how - that he wouldn’t need it to guide him back to you. But you thought he might at least enjoy the welcome when he did arrive. A cheerful diabolical little smile he could see even from far away.

Your body sang, heady without so much as a single glass of wine. You wondered if your heartbeat always filled the world around you like this, consistent and assertive, and you’d just never bothered to really listen.

And there, again, just underneath - what had to be his, slightly slower, slightly harder. The reverb to yours, solid and deep.

Something dark to it, though you couldn’t say what or why.

Inhaling felt like drinking the warm, perfumed air, and you closed your eyes to let it wash more completely through your lungs. Your nerves twisted agreeably in anticipation of something, everything in you straining against the shroud-like black to catch every rustle, every ghostly step —

The taste of copper hit your tongue, heavy and brash, even before something took your hand.

You didn’t even realize you’d been extending it to the empty dark, only seeing when you finally opened your eyes that you’d been standing on the edge of the top step, your palm facing out as if expecting something.

And in answer, Maxi’s chilled hand clutched yours in his long fingers, the whole of it awash in clotting burgundy.

He was staring up at you from the bottom of the porch steps, eyes fully black behind his blood-spattered glasses. The usual red of his iris was everywhere else tonight - all over his face, clinging in his damp hair, utterly soaking his clothes. You knew immediately there would be no saving any of the fabric, even with hours of soaking. The knees of his trousers in particular were blooms of something near-black — stomach or arterial blood, you were willing to bet.

If you had been anyone else - if he had been anyone else - this would have been a vision that took away every chance you’d ever get at sleeping soundly again, until you finally breathed your last.

But instead, you found yourself smiling.

You stepped back, gently tugging him to follow you.

He walked up the steps as if asleep himself, almost immediately leaning down to be eye-to-eye with you as soon as he stepped onto the porch. For his perfect silence, his gaze felt searching, his face close to yours but still careful to leave you just enough room to lean away. To choose to remain clean of this, whatever new stain he’d brought home with him.

When he had you backed against the wall, his hands came to rest slowly at either side of your head as he continued to stare unblinkingly, his gaze an inescapable void. You knew from the way his palms were light as gossamer against the wall that you could break his stance and turn away if you really wanted. You could go back upstairs, leave him to come to and clean himself up. Pretend this whole thing wasn’t the life you had decided you wanted after all. He would understand when he was… sober, to speak. He really would. You knew that with absolute certainty.

With the slightest stuttering tilt of his head, there was an unspoken question he let hang between the two of you, as pendulous as the moon.

You reached up to his face, his skin sticking slightly against your palms as the blood continued to cool, and fully licked the waiting red from his lips.

The space between you was sealed by this. He was ravenous at your mouth, claiming yours with tongue and nipping teeth and a hunger that felt like the edge of a bottomless dark pit. You were caged between the sticky warmth of him and the solid wall behind you, his hands clutching at your waist, your stomach, his hips pressed impatiently to yours.

You shivered as his mouth moved lower, down your throat that you willingly exposed to him, at your clavicles, leaving bites sharp enough to bruise like they were jewelry. His knees dropped to the wood of the porch with a thud that would’ve made you wince if you hadn’t been so distracted, and you felt him mouthing, needy, at your chest and your stomach through your shirt.

You could only curl your fingers through his hair in response, your hands having to force their way through the tissue and heavy clots of blood that had tangled in it somehow. You would’ve worried about pulling if you knew he didn’t enjoy the pain, and when you broke through a lock plastered to his scalp, you felt him shiver lightly.

The hiss through your teeth was unbidden as his mouth dropped to the underwear you were wearing under your borrowed nightshirt, his tongue pressing a curious lick to the thin layer of fabric between your sex and his heat. When you pulled on his hair a little harder reflexively, he looked up at you, resting his chin on the softest part of your stomach under your navel.

He still said nothing, his eyes blacker than space itself, but the tiny exhale through his nose was all you needed to know what he was asking.

He stayed still as a statue as you bit your lip, pondering, scanning the backyard. There was no one here, you knew that. The nearest living neighbors were miles away. The dead ones — well. There’s nothing to say they wouldn’t watch.

But between the elemental contrast of his eyes and the moon above, you’d already made your decision.

When you looked back down at him and nodded, one hand left your thigh to yank your underwear down your legs with a force that nearly ripped it. You had barely enough time to see him lick his own lips in anticipation before there was a searing heat against your slit, and you gasped aloud to the now-silent yard.

There was the distinct smell of blood warming as he voraciously devoured you, sucking at your clit in a way that made your head fall back against the wall. He kissed your entrance like a man condemned receiving a reprieve a minute to his execution, like he thought he’d never get to taste you again. His hands clutched at your thighs, and every so often he would turn his attentions to one of them, kissing and nipping at the inside with a fervor that would’ve seared your face if the blood wasn’t already elsewhere.

Whenever you tried to move, your body shuddering and writhing at white hot electricity racing down your nerves, he would force your hips back against the wall with an iron certainty, pinning you there as he laved your clit and pushed his tongue into you the best he could.

As you gazed upward, unfocused, struck speechless and your breath elusive, you swore your vision was flickering.

Snippets of scarlet flashed in and out, your senses overwhelmed briefly with the impressions of somewhere else entirely: a ribbon of red that followed the sleek, precise strike of something silver.

Flesh opening itself to the impatient ripping of hands and steel, a rib cage being revealed like a boudoir.

A heart that still trembled in its home of muscle and bone even as an echoing scream died away, as the bespoke-suited man ( you recognized him, distantly - a state senator?) trapped and pinned between your (his - your?) thighs started to convulse from shock.

When the hands that now clutched your hips tore the heart from its proper place, holding it aloft as it ceased to clumsily twitch and spurt, the sound you made was something unholy.

You remembered faintly why you usually avoided wearing white, even to bed — the borrowed undershirt of his was now blooming with rust-colored stains, handprints overlapping over where the cloth covered your hips and stomach, swipes of red where his head had rested as he dipped the hard bridge of his nose just so to make you gasp, or grazed his cheek against the fabric as he circled your clit intensely enough to make your leg begin to shake.

You were barely aware of the world around you, but just enough to feel an insistent grinding against your shin, your surroundings coming into focus just enough for you to put together that he was already aching for attention from this alone. When you moved your leg just a fraction of an inch closer to his hips, he groaned gratefully while he still had the tip of his tongue in you, which in turn had you seizing his hair again just for the sake of having something to anchor you to earth.

You were trying your best not to double over him or fall, but your thighs were traitorous, too-warm and shaking slightly as you felt your juices already dripping down them - from your own cunt or Maxi’s panting mouth, you weren’t entirely sure, but it was all the same. Distantly, you were still aware of him rutting lightly against your ankle, and just the faintest sensation of something slick through the fabric of his pants.

You heard a sound that it took you a moment to realize was a word, and then a repetition to realize what was being said —

“Please,” a voice with an echo like something frigid rasped between lingering strokes of his tongue. Against your leg, you could feel the slightest shaking of his own thighs, the muscles taught with need.

Your hand clenched in the hair at the back of his neck as you finally let out a groan from the shadowed parts of you, shoving your clit roughly against his waiting tongue as you rode out the storm that felt like it had been building in you all night. He moaned low in his throat, holding admirably still so you could grind against his mouth with abandon until every last drop of your orgasm had pooled like liquid fire onto his tongue.

When your knees finally gave out, sending you sliding down the wall, he wordlessly moved his body further between your legs so he could catch you against him.

The two of you sat like that for a while, you straddling his lap, your chests heaving against one another as the smell of blood and sex permeated the air with every gasp and pant.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling almost blindly down the fabric of his vest, then his arms and his mussed rolled sleeves, as if to make sure he would stay solid under your touch. He pressed his forehead against yours in response, and you felt a mixture of blood and sweat transferring to your own skin with a heat that was near-searing.

His eyes were still pitch black as he gazed at you, mouth still slightly slack as he tried to catch his breath.

You couldn’t help but smile once more, your hands catching at his shoulders to pull him closer. Planting kisses to either side of his mouth, you hummed, soft in your throat. “What’d you do with the heart, lover boy?” He had to have known you’d seen. There was no way he hadn’t felt the memories, visions, whatever they were, passing from him to you as if he’d licked them into your skin.

The demon behind your beloved’s face leaned back slightly to give you a slow grin that exposed almost every tooth, tell-tale pieces of thin red tissue caught between a few towards the back.

“Oh yeah?” You were still checking him over, palpating flesh and bone gently in your palms to search for any sign of something wrong, something that might have been missed in the adrenaline of the chase and the subsequent catch. “You could’ve brought it home. I would’ve at least seared it with some seasoning for you.”

He made a sound from somewhere deep in his chest, pushing his face into the side of your neck to lave his tongue lovingly over the marks he’d left in his frenzy.

You giggled at this blatant affection — until a feeling under your palm made you suddenly still. A spot on his side was too warm, the blood too fresh even after his journey back. When you pressed cautiously, another warm wave covered your skin.

“Baby,” you said, leaning back to inspect the spot more thoroughly. “This is yours.”

Maxi followed your gaze even as his hands remained clawed at your hips, his still-pitch eyes looking more distractedly curious than concerned.

Your fingers discovered a rip in the fabric before you could tell it apart from any other bloodstain, parting the damp cloth to discover a wound that made you hiss through your teeth again.

“Maxi,” you whispered, even though being overheard had hardly been a concern mere minutes ago. “What happened?”

Your lover’s ribs had been grazed by something — experience you couldn’t imagine having years ago now told you, based on the angle and the specific marks of damage, that it was something close-range but not too sharp. An attempted defensive wound from the quarry, you guessed, remembering the brief scarlet flashes of Maxi pinning the man down for the prize between his ribs.

His own flesh was torn: too deep for some hydrogen peroxide and a bandaid, but hopefully able to fix itself relatively quickly with his own magic and a couple of sutures to hold it closed through the night.

“Come on,” you coaxed, trying to force yourself to your feet despite your body’s exhausted protests. “Let’s go get that clean.”

Maxi - or the Reaper, or the combination of them that had made enough peace to share his flesh for now - made a sound that was somewhere between a protesting groan and a sullen whine, caging you more insistently in a hug and nestling his ear over your own heart. You knew this now for the tell it was.

“I’m not saying we won’t still cuddle,” you said, unable to help a smile at his peculiar priorities. He was always clingy, but especially so when he wasn’t… entirely his human self. “But you can’t have an open wound in our bed, babe. You’ll drive yourself crazy with the bleach in the morning trying to get it clean before we open. Not to mention, you just changed the sheets yesterday, remember?”

Your demon was quiet, and though it was harder to tell when his eyes were monochrome, you got the distinct impression he was glancing off to the side as he always did when trying to recall something.

“Please?” You angled your head to kiss the end of his nose, causing him to blink in an owlish way that was almost entirely human. “You said I needed the practice, after all.”

He sat there, seeming to consider this, and for the briefest moment, a tongue that was slightly pointier than it usually presented probed absently at his teeth, as if searching for remnants of the evening’s ritual.

Before you could entreat him again, though, his eyes locked back on yours - and for an instant, you wondered just how that snide little grandstander, one who’d whipped his constituents into a frenzy about the ungodly corruption lurking in schools and public libraries, had felt when he realized just what kind of “demonic influence” he’d failed to take into account.

A secret part of you, one you would’ve refused to acknowledge not too long ago, hoped he’d felt every second of it.

But before you could linger too long on this thought, Maxi gave a small sigh through his nose - assent, you guessed, combined with a sleepily satisfied urge to return to closeness quickly.

“That’s my good boy.” Your smile grew to a grin. Demon scion of an ancient line of necromancers or not, he was still quite agreeable when it counted.

The grin stretched his features again, eager and weirdly sweet despite the deep red stains on his teeth.

As you tried to stand again, he lifted you to your feet as though you weighed next to nothing, taking a touch too long to gaze at your exposed thighs at his eye level before he drew himself up to his full height.

“Come on, you.” You rolled your eyes, taking his cold fingers in your own and leading him back inside.

He followed, a deeper, darker version of his familiar laugh echoing as the door closed behind you both.

The jack o lantern snuffed itself, though neither of you had bothered to check.

—

The bright lights of the embalming room activated as you walked through the drop-off door together. The tools needed were already carefully laid out on the embalming table, pre-sterilized and arranged in order of procedure as always. You hardly ever needed them - thankfully - but it was still a ritual he performed before every solo trip out of habit.

Too many years of having to fix himself alone made him overly prepared, you’d realized. There was still some part of him - you didn’t know how much - that always quietly expected the worst.

“Up,” you said as you washed your hands at the sink, too light to be a real order. You were already glancing nervously at the curved needle — it was new, fresh out of the wrapping, but the severity of the tools for the dead always made you a little gun shy when applying them to your still-mostly-alive soulmate.

Maxi hopped up on the table, his feet kicking just slightly as he watched you with keen interest. He could do this in his sleep — hell, he could probably still do it now, not entirely in his own mind. But you doing it seemed to delight him in some strange way.

“Shirt off.” You’d crossed to the table, now focused solely on trying to thread the thing, your hands shaking just a little as you were watched. You knew he would only ever offer gentle correction or guidance, but still. There were studies about how people were worse at things if they knew someone was looking at them, right?

There was motion in your peripheral vision as he wriggled free of the sticky dress shirt and the thin undershirt, the two of them tangled together as they were soaked all the way through. He tossed them lightly towards the crematory, as if also having come to the conclusion they were unsalvageable. His skin still had a rust-ish tinge even bare, small crystalline red clots occasionally dotting his dark chest hair.

“I’ll get your glasses next,” you added, glancing up at him as you set the needle down to pick up a sterilizing solution for the wound itself. “It’s a wonder you could see at all on the way home, handsome.”

Something laughed, too deep to be human. As used to the sound as you were now, it still set off goosebumps as some deep primal part of your brain tried to warn your body.

Run for your life, it whispered, generations of your ancestors echoing in your ears. Death is here, and it won’t leave until it has you.

He already did, though, you thought. Body and soul.

“I say something funny, love?” You looked back to him, the eerie grin, the empty eyes. You could tell the difference by now between a threat display and genuine amusement - this really did seem to be the latter. “This might sting,” you warned, reaching towards him with the cotton pad and stopping short so he could give you permission.

He nodded, and when you dabbed at the wound, you heard the sluice of air between his teeth. It wasn’t a pain reflex, though — at least, not all of it. It sounded too close to when he had his hair pulled.

“Didn’t need to see,” he hissed softly, his voice still double-layered. He closed his eyes, shuddering lightly as if enjoying you tending to the raw wound.

“No?” You trapped the tip of your tongue between your teeth as you cleaned, making sure you could tell where his prey’s blood stopped and his own continued to run and start to clot. “So why’d you need your glasses, then?”

Maxi made a soft, exasperated huff and nudged you gently with his elbow. The Reaper, as familiar as the two of you had gotten with each other — as intertwined as it was with the man you loved, as much as you didn’t quite understand where it ended and he began — was at least becoming more willing to joke around with you about its dark agenda.

“S’different,” he rasped again, his voice submerged in the otherworldly presence that still possessed him.

“Yeah?” You were stalling a little bit, the needle clutched in your dominant hand as you stared down the wound. For your relative lack of squeamishness with everything else about this arrangement… you still hated this part. The actual piercing of flesh.

He was already hurt, and you knew at his rate, it would be a mere flowering bruise by morning. But you were still somehow scared of hurting him more, despite everything. Despite the violence that had engendered it, the life that had already been taken.

A bloody hand covered your wrist, and you turned your attention back to the thing sitting in your partner’s body.

The fathomless eyes were somehow gentle, watching you, and you realized they were just beginning to lighten: the voids were sliding slowly from black to deepest maroon, the iris starting to somewhat distinguish itself from the sclera. The Reaper was giving the reins back, at least a little.

“I saw you,” their voices spoke again, and the ominous timbre had given way ever so slightly, like someone was fiddling with knobs on a speaker for balance. “Through the darkest parts of the night, I saw you there, bright as fire.”

You tilted your head, trying to figure out the metaphor, but he only nodded at the wrist he was covering.

“You think you don’t call to me like I call to you? I can always find you,” he said, and there was more of Maxi there. “Anywhere. In the pitchest black of this world or the next, you are mine.”

That would be utterly terrifying, if those teeth and eyes and that voice were coming from anywhere else.

But it was Maxi that tapped the back of your hand softy with his index finger - twice. Two squeezes, two taps, two knocks: your universal signal for ‘are you okay?’.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, trying to force your heart rate to slow so you could think clearly. “I’m fine,” you said, trying to sound more certain than you felt. “I do want to do it,” you added, looking at him so he could see you were genuine. “…Unless you rather would.”

You looked back to the wound again, frowning. You didn’t blame him; he’d been doing this so long, he could probably stitch up a whole body with his eyes closed when he needed to.

…Okay, maybe not quite, but you bet he could get pretty close.

“Try,” the thing said, and there was a stronger undercurrent of your partner in there than there had been yet. The smile was less tooth-y, but still a touch manic. “You can’t hurt me, pretty baby.”

“I wish I was that sure,” you mumbled. Even just looking at the wound again made your mouth automatically tug downwards at the corners.

But you took another deep breath, and the thing in your boyfriend’s lean frame sat up straighter, giving you better access to the angry red gash that split his pale skin.

You reached forward with the needle… before your hand stopped itself mid-air, second guessing yourself.

Glancing (what you thought was) surreptitiously to him, you startled ever so slightly when you realized he was still watching you, unblinking.

“All you have to do is look first,” he said. “Just look. See the shape of it.”

Nodding, you set the needle down on the steel surface, grateful for any excuse to get it out of your faintly trembling hand.

You stared at the wound instead, just as he said. You winced automatically at the angry red edges - you supposed you should be grateful whatever swiped him hadn’t been more serrated. But even if it wasn’t as deep as it could have been —

You didn’t realize what you were doing until your fingers rested, feather light and unsteady, at the very border of the torn flesh.

The Reaper inhaled sharply through his teeth, reminding you exactly what you were touching, what it was, and you went to withdraw your hand like it had been scalded…

Until you heard the tiniest little sound at the end of that hiss that made you pause.

A small, punctuating groan from deep in his chest, rich and dark — But one you recognized from another context entirely.

…No, you had to be getting some wires crossed somewhere. You leaned back in the chair, searching his face while your hand still hovered anxiously in place.

Once again, his gaze was riveted on you — but this time, rather than finding the void of space waiting in the sockets of his skull, you recognized the color of a deep wine.

No pupils still, so Maxi wasn’t alone. But he was definitely in there. No words passed between the pair of you, but the twitching, jerky tilt of his head was a question.

When you didn’t immediately voice the logical response - ‘no,’ obviously, there’s no way, not to mention the sanitary concerns… the response any other person would have given by now - the frozen, toothy smile somehow spread even wider.

Your brow furrowed. This was… not something the two of you had discussed before, as extensive as your discussions of desire often were.

And yet. Your eyes drifted to the wound again, scarlet and dark and… inviting. A split pomegranate, red with promise.

…Well. This was… new.

The Reaper shifted ever so slightly where he sat, and you clocked the way his thighs were pressed together, hopeful. The way the dress trousers seemed tighter than they had when you’d walked down here.

You sat all the way back in the chair, taking him in, nervously wetting your lips with your tongue. Even with the feeling of a double pulse racing now under your skin, you had to be totally sure.

“…Use your words,” you prompted, your voice hushed even in the sterile silence of the embalming room.

His head tilted the other way. “Kiss it better?” the layered voice asked, higher than usual, a note of pleading. He knew what he was asking, then.

Your eyes moved between those of the thing sitting in front of you, to the wound in its side, and back again.

You recognized a point of no return when you saw one.

A distant facet of you reasoned from the depths of your mind, as if in a dream: Did Thomas the Apostle not inquire of the wounds of his returned Lord, after all? Did he not part the flesh with his own to find his own proof of divinity, to alleviate his fear?

Was this really any different? Another form of worship, without the doubt?

Did that not make your love all the stronger, that you already knew you had nothing to be afraid of?

You got to your feet, resting your hands on the embalming table on either side of Maxi’s knees.

“Come here,” you whispered, but it was somehow less tentative than your earlier hush.

Maxi moved to the edge of the table, taller than you again when he was this close, and you leaned up to kiss the questioning smile.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, still, and more besides. Just the faintest trace of blood, not yours, not his.

Blood from too deep down to taste like a surface wound.

Maxi’s hand curled possessively around the back of your skull, and you wondered what it would feel like for your teeth to pop the thin membrane around the human heart.

Your hands were steady now in their purpose, moving between the two of you to free his cock. It was already hard again and leaking, and when your thumb slid the pre-cum along his slit, his hips bucked into your hand.

“Please, pretty?” he rasped against your lips, the need returned in full force.

As your hand moved lazily along his shaft, causing him to shiver and sigh, you looked again at the wound, leaning down as best you could without giving up your grasp on your prize.

The scarlet mouth waited in his flesh, hopeful, expectant.

With a bit of careful angling, you leaned closer. Your breath shook just slightly before you probed it with the very tip of your tongue.

Maxi was abruptly racked with a full-body shudder, his hissed curse somehow ethereal and unholy.

In your hand, you felt him spasm and flex, warm and heavy against your palm.

You swallowed the first mouthful of your lover’s blood like communion wine, searching inside yourself again first. Making sure.

Anything given in less than total faith in your love - in him, in you, the life you were building amidst the bones of those before - would be sacrilege.

The way he moaned when your tongue pushed further in relieved you of all doubt, however.

You weren’t entirely sure what to make of the feeling of blood flooding over your teeth and tongue as you kissed the gash in his side, lapping at the edges with the same greed he’d shown you. But you could feel the way his cock was achingly hard in your hand, the way his thighs began to shake as you could feel your mouth being coated with a red in a mirror of his when he’d arrived here. When he’d found you.

You used your free hand to hold his hip firmly in place when he tried to thrust against the hand gripping him, his fingers curling in your hair possessively.

“More,” he growled from somewhere down deep, and it was hard to tell which of them you were hearing speak. “Please, pretty, more, that’s perfect, that’s exactly…” He lost his words to something between a keen and a groan as you deepened the kiss, the warmth slicking your cheeks, your lips, dripping hotly down your chin.

You picked up your pace, your strokes faster and harder now as his mouth fell open and he outright panted, unable to hide just how much he was enjoying this. You sucked delicately at one edge of the wound, laving the place where the skin parted, and his head fell back with a moan.

“There, just there, that’s—” Maxi did his best to restrain a whine, his hips nearly arching off the table to meet your hand as your face was smeared in his blood.

You ran your tongue along the length of the injury, a bit dazed yourself in just how warm it was. How soft and willing the flesh was to part, even when it shouldn’t.

You heard his breathing hitch and felt him shift under your attention, turning slightly.

When your eyes flicked upwards to see what had changed, they locked with his, and his hips spasmed hard as his now-visible pupils ballooned black again to swallow the lingering red.

With a strangled guttural shout, he came over your hand messily, warm, coating your palm and fingers almost as much as you’d coated your face at his side.

You stroked him through his orgasm as he shook and whined desperately, wanting everything he had to give just as you’d given him.

You only stopped when he seized the front of your ruined night shirt and pulled you upright, seeming just as eager to taste his own blood in your mouth as you’d been to taste your orgasm.

There was an instant where the change from your tongue in him to his tongue in your mouth felt seamless, where you weren’t sure whom was gently probing at the delicate insides of the other, and the shiver down your spine was electric even as your stomach flipped dizzily.

“Thank you, sugar,” he whispered, peppering your face with kisses after the initial claiming. His hands were everywhere again, on your hips, in your hair, his arms encircling your back to keep you close. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you damned beautiful creature.”

You laughed, half-breathless, one hand tangling in his hair to kiss him fiercely again. “What,” you whispered, your lips brushing his as the two of you half-swayed together. “The fuck?”

Maxi giggled, high and manic, and he tucked his face against the side of your neck - his favorite place. “I don’t know,” he whispered back, and there was a shake to his nervous giggle. “I don’t know. But god, did I like it.”

“I’ve - I’ve never done that before,” you turned, your lips against his cheek now as he pressed needy, open-mouthed kisses to your throat. “I’ve never thought to… I don’t know.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Maxi’s arms tightened their embrace slightly on your back, and you caught the scarlet gleam of his eyes through his hair and his glasses, his tell for ‘mine.’ You knew the Reaper was still there — if it had been just him, he would’ve been less concerned with that than other logistics.

“It’s just you, Maxi,” you soothed, kissing the corner of his mouth. You stood between his thighs as he sat on the embalming table’s edge, and he tilted his head to catch your mouth again, the two of you still out of breath even as you couldn’t let each other go.

When you went to clean the mess off your hand, still waiting for you, he leaned over, his tongue brushing against and even caressing yours as you licked your palm clear together.

Maxi continued to suck hard on your index finger after, his eyes never leaving yours, until you pulled ever so slightly on the hair at the back of his neck. He shivered agreeably, and you kissed the other corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know what possessed me,” you said quietly, resting your forehead against his. “I’ve never done… anything like that. You’re just the only person I’ve wanted to let under my skin like this.” You nodded dreamily at your wrist with your mark, the obvious thing, but your other hand rested just at the edge of the open gash you’d just tongue-fucked.

Maxi chuckled, the sound still layered underneath by something demonic, and he tilted his head without separating from you. “You’re the only one I’d trust enough to undo me, darlin’.” He kissed the end of your nose, weirdly gentle even as both of your faces were still thoroughly coated in drying blood. “It’s not a wound when I’m with you. It’s just… opportunity.”

You actually laughed - a real, genuine sound, both your arms wrapping around his neck as he kissed your cheek with all the sweetness in the world.

The two of you lingered like that for a bit in the silence of the surrounding dead, your hearts beating confidently in sync despite the separation flesh between them.

If this was your forever, you thought to yourself, captivated by the hush of your shared breath, then you were fine with that. More than fine.

You weren’t sure who moved, who decided it was time, but at some point, the two of you wordlessly took your original places. In a comfortable, sleepy silence, you thoroughly cleaned the wound like you would have cleaned him off in your bedroom. Like he’d cleaned you countless times, lovingly and with ardent attention.

You were halfway through closing it, your stitches surprisingly even and measured, when he spoke again.

“There was a part of me,” Maxi said quietly, and it was all him. The Reaper had fully abated now. “That was convinced I could only ruin you.”

You glanced up at him, automatically skeptical as you continued your work. “Yeah?”

Maxi laughed, and it was low, with only a sliver of nervousness still. “I was convinced you were too good for all this. That you should have somethin’ else. Somethin’ better than… well.” He gestured around at the embalming room, at you working on his side. “A nice house in some suburb. Someone who loved you who was… safe. Who would never come home to you with so much dark at their heels. Who would never dream of — of contaminatin’ you with it.”

He looked away from you, and when he spoke again after a time, his voice was small. “I guess that part was right about me, huh.”

You snorted audibly, pausing what you were doing to meet his gaze. “Maxi. Look at me, baby.” When he complied, you spread your arms wide. “Do I look I’m here against my will?” You gestured to handiwork as you picked up the needle again. “Do I look like I’d be content to just sit and twiddle my thumbs in someone’s dollhouse, somewhere?”

He gazed at you, and you saw his eyes were just his again, a rich brown bordering on burgundy and looking vaguely dreamy as he studied your face.

Slowly, tentatively, he shook his head.

A part of you melted inwardly at how, even after all this time, a small smile crept over his face the longer he drank you in. Like he was always pleasantly surprised to recall just who had his heart, and vice versa.

“Really look, now,” you urged softly, leaning close to him again so you filled his vision. You gestured with a hand to the blood that thoroughly covered the lower half of your face. “Do I look like I think I’m ruined?”

Maxi’s eyes moved from yours down your face, lingering briefly on your lips before they met your gaze once more.

You leaned your forehead against his again, closing the gap between you. “All I see in this is a mirror of the person I love more than anything,” you whispered. With the hand that wasn’t hold the needle, you smeared some of the blood from your face on your fingers, then added it to the blood coating his skin. “That’s all.” You repeated the gesture in reverse, adding some of the blood from his skin to yours - even though you were sure it had transferred in your original acts, as well. The important thing was that he needed to see you choose it.

“I love you,” you reminded him softly. “And everything that comes with you.”

You returned your attention to the wound, tying off your stitches before opening a fresh bandage. “So what if that looks different on us?”

You smoothed the bandage and some clean gauze over the incision, sealing it off behind its protective barrier. You knew by morning, it would have no need of any of those things, already miraculously closed.

Your eyes returned to his, your hand lingering over your work nonetheless. “I already told you, there’s no one else I’d let under my skin,” you said, your lips barely an inch apart. “And you’re the only person I’d want to be with when I do something that scares me. When I might even scare myself.”

You didn’t think your eyes glowed like his, but for just an instant, you swore this is what it would feel like. This certainty. This resolve.

You let him see it on your face. “I chose you,” you said quietly. “And I chose this too. Whatever shape it takes. Or I take.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re the only person I’d trust with whatever I become, love.”

Maxi’s arms encircled your waist, and the way his eyes sparked with light again, you could swear the two of you would burn if you stayed this close.

“The dark is so much better with you in it,” he whispered. “If you’re happy, then I’d spend an eternity here with you.”

“Good.” You smiled, reveling in his closeness. “Because I’m happy.”

The moon outside was the only thing that came close to how bright you felt against that endless night when he kissed you again.

— If the mortuary opened an hour later the next morning, no one complained.

It couldn’t be helped — it had been a hell of a time getting all that blood out of your bed sheets.

Even then, with all the remaining tinges of rust, you’d both eventually conceded to relegate them to being for “fun” rather than for regular sleep.

They wouldn’t be the last set you ruined, by far.

(so uh. a very dear friend of mine mentioned they'd sent this blog to someone they liked irl. and I would just like to say, on the offchance they're still reading this at all -

sup ig. [waves]

anyway! if you've read this far, as always, you're a saint and also wow what are you doing a the devil's sacrament buddy :'D

this might be the last long-ish piece I post for a while bc I have to make a mad dash on my dissertation before the end of the semester, but I will still be here, circling, reading every word directed my way, thinking deeply on them, appreciating them, taking forever to respond as always

Ilu all <3 happy belated halloween, cheers to spooky season year-round for the believers)

#spooky season in the barrens #morvant mortuary #maxi morvant #maximilian vincent morvant #maxi and his reader #maxi's final them #southern slasher oc #slasher oc #necromancer oc #plus size reader #fat reader #curvy reader #non-binary reader #genderqueer reader #queer reader #queer horror oc #queer horror #slasher oc x reader #slasher oc x you #daniel brühl fc #no use of y/n #monsterkisser fics #mdni

[sendmyresignation]

i almost forgot!!! listening for march was really productive, nice mix of new releases, stuff ive needed to check out, and old favorites :)

#finally getting into husker du proper. like okay i do get it now. #my favorite discovery was probably the jr walker.... incredible stuff #but finally getting to garbage smart went crazy spitboy and foxtails (newish) felt awesome i liked them all #also the mortuary drape record is in ms paint on last fm for some reason???? banger i swear it doesnt look like that 😭😭😭 #anyway. music <3 #my posts #music recs

[junminjaes-angel]

God bless Xikers and Koong because I haven’t been so hyped to the point of almost crying by a Kpop group’s performance in a while.

#honestly just give them roty rn #we don’t need to hold a whole ceremony #just send it to the company #truly one of the best performances I’ve ever seen #that bridge!?!? that final chorus?!?!?! call the mortuary because I am DECEASED #xikers #minjae #sumin #yechan #junghoon #hunter #xikers hunter #I don’t know all of the members 😭 #kpop #word posts

[sar-cast]

Fuck, why is Raymond in Mortuary Assistant so fine? The fan fiction potential? Raymond x Demon reader? Raymond x Succubus reader? Vampire reader who uses Raymond to get some of that possessed blood cuz it's stronger than human? I have to stop thinking about this or he'll become my next hyperfixation...

#bet it's because he looks like Pagan Min #everytime I see him at the end of a shift I get excited #like 'finally someone who's not trying to get into my head' #but he could get into something else od mine #wink wink #the mortuary assistant #raymond delver

[frogboy0]

Hiiii guys, sorry my blog's been a DESERT for over a YEAR,,,,, Life has been,,,,,,,,,,, something LOL

I feel SOOO bad for not posting😭😭😭, I've been able to make art here and there and I've jumped from like 3+ diff fandoms over the course of this year but have had no time or energy to like,, compile them together into smth cohesive and makes sense for anyone other than myself hahaha

Anyway, maybe expect some oldish art to be posted here soon!!!!

This art will include Ever After High, MegaMan, FNAF, Hazbin Hotel and probably more that I'm missing!!!! ❤️❤️

#my post #it just might take a while bc of school and bc theres A LOT OF ART AND DRABBLES AND STUFFFL #SORRY GUYS!!!! #im in mortuary school and they work you to the BONE here haha #but my finals are this week + next week #so after that I'll have at LEAST abt half a month to post some stuff before i gotta go back for my 3rd semester #then it might be radio silent again #but im gonna try not to!!!!! #ill at least post some paper doodles when i can!!! #i think i just have this problem where i want everything i post here to be ✨ finished and clean✨ #BUT IT DOESNT NEED TO BE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[silentgrim]

i hope the trend of grey interiors/exteriors ends bcs holy fuck how bleak

#why did we stop using colors?????? #literally every modern building or interior design is fucking grey #my mom is into grey rn and it’s so ugly 😭 #all the walls are different shades of grey #i tried so hard to convince her to decorate with color and she’s finally listening to me #like i literally begged her for colorful couch pillows bcs HOLY SHIT i’m in a fucking mortuary… #pls #send help #end this nasty trend #ok bye! 🏊‍♀️ #chatter

[mrangeldevil]

i rant a lot about the problems of todays media and style but theres a ton of great stuff that has come out in recent years i just wish it was more common

#like say what you will abt the new pokemon games but i fucking love the ideas being explored in newer games #i remember when mha came out and as much as i dislike the show personally i still appreciate how it carries the torch for shonen #like yeah mha isnt my personal cup of tea but it does absolutely deliver as a shonen show #also The Batman Bullet Train & Nope give me hope for the movie industry #then theres the indie games like deltarune and the mortuary assistant #also i couldnt forget cult of the lamb! god i wanna play that game #its been a good minute since weve finally gotten new original content for the new era that doesnt feel cheap as hell #but these are few and far between and i really hope to see new worlds explored in 2023

[somethingaboutvampires]

So my new guy sends me this right? Says if we didn't meet he could see me doing this:

[ID: twitter screenshot from user Coll3enG (Colleen): my grandma just asked me if i had a boyfriend and i was like "no" and she was like "well i went to a random funeral because i was bored and that's how i met your grandfather" ?????? END ID]

And i was like uh. I actually did that with a few friends in highschool? Just showed up to funerals that didn't have a lot of people in them

And the fact that no one in my LIFE ever guessed that about me, never could even fathom I'd do that and it unlocked those memories is like how else do i describe how this man and i are on our own planet?

#de rambles #stopped going after a long think. a person at one funeral stopped us and asked why we were there #we told the truth that we started doing it after a funeral we knew the person and the next room over had no one in it so we sat to #like witness that person's life. they had someone there and we left when others came in #then we started doing that when we were all free #four of us. and said we only picked ones w few or no people. she said it sounded okay in theory but we didn't know who these people were #and they might be people who would have hated us irl. or hated strangers. or hated random acts of misguided kindness #and if we were doing it to feel good that was f'd up. for me it wasn't that it was just saying like hey your corpse isn't alone #in this depressing mortuary and I'll hang w your body a bit until your loved ones get here #and she explained we were at her uncle's funeral and she wrestled with going or not bc he was an ahole #and she didn't like the idea that we were being kind to aholes. like if his funeral was empty that was apt #so i said her vindication of her uncle did come. us three didn't fill out the room and we were there a few hrs that time and maybe two #others showed. and we don't give love and honor to the person's memory we're just acknowledging humans having a right #to dignity even in death. and she wrestled w that and finally just said we were wrong to do what we were doing and she couldn't explain it #i had two ahole uncles myself and knew what she was talking ab. so i thought and thought #we all kinda decided to stop at the same time and idk. i still don't know how i feel #death tw #yea it's ab him

[ideologyofone]

If anyone was wondering what mortuary school is like, here’s what my day looks like

#I also had finals and it made me want to DIE #ironic innit #mortuary school #bella goth #rip lmfao #sims 4

[indridlovelock]

so many people have said this so many different ways but people really need to be more comfortable with enjoying something Because it’s bad. i don’t mean being completely uncritical of problematic media you like, obviously don’t do that. that’s not what i mean by bad.

someone in my friend’s discord server told me a character in riverdale kept her dead brother’s body in her house for weeks, and while i was in the middle of on a tirade about stages of decomposition, they told me she used phoenix powers to bring him back to life, and when she went back in time to the 50s because of the town’s guardian angel, he didn’t exist at all, and was replaced by her triplet that in the original timeline she’d absorbed in the womb and was haunting a doll. and also that he was probably embalmed which blew up my entire tirade.

this is the only way i could possibly be convinced to watch riverdale. by tricking me into a hard sci-fi fueled rant where i critique a hyper-specific detail, thus cornering me and keeping me captive to throw strange shit at.

#final conclusion is that if he wasn’t embalmed his body was inaccurate bc it looked ~3-7 days old and he was in the ground for years #so he would be in advanced decay if not skeletonization and be severely discolored #but if he was embalmed it was actually kind of perfect bc that is about how far he’d be decomposed after a few years #i know this bc there’s a corpse man in the novel im writing who’s ~3 days dead #i’m not in mortuary school unfortunately

[yappacadaver]

I know you write for your oc. and I’m very nervous and shy to ask but will you ever do an x reader??

I only read 1 fanfic based on x reader

This feels really forced😭😭

aa dont be nervous it's a normal thing to ask xD

but i've never really considered myself a writer and never planned on doing any other fics besides TWIG o_o if i'm being honest i never planned on writing fic in the first place but i'm being possessed by the spirit of rayumi lmao

it's unfortunate but we'll probably need to hold out for a more prolific writer to make the x reader content you want u_u but again no worries and I hope you find what ur looking for! or you could make it <w< (i would love to read if you take a crack at it!)

#if we're talking raymond x reader i think i know the fic you're talking about and that one was honestly not bad at all #like yea i would suck his dick in the mortuary that's pretty in character #ahsdfgdfgdf but i love u anon ty for asking tho!!!!! #just genuinely baffled (in a good way) that anyone out there wants more writing from me xD #who knows though maybe in 20 years when i've finally finished up TWIG i could redirect that energy into something else #yappa answers

[morvantmortuary]

decompression -

(Maxi Morvant x non-binary/genderqueer!plus size!Reader.)

summary: you and Maxi, after a long day, imagine a comfortable future for yourselves.

warnings: discussions of a migraine, brief allusion to chest dysphoria. minor necromancy-related angst. casual discussion of top surgery and also the embalming process (not related), allusions of homophobia while living in the South, Queer people joking around about the stereotypes one experiences when being Out Down Here. one-off sugar daddy joke.

general: idk, I started writing this to take a much darker/smuttier direction (that’s still coming later don’t worry about it), but between feeling gross the last week or so, feeling anxious about my upcoming semester, and my gran having a brief unexpected hospital visit, this just turned into something light and fluffy and self-indulgent lmao. This is pretty specific about some of the things I’m thinking about lately, but I hope other people can find some comfort in it too.

anyway! here’s this, I hope it’s a quiet little reprieve in your day 🖤

Another afternoon curled in the cool sheets of your bed, your head pressed into the depths of your pillows and praying the pain meds would kick in sooner rather than later.

It wasn’t the worst day for a migraine, to tell you the truth. A summer thunderstorm lashed your window, and with your room lit only by the lights strung above you at the edge of your ceiling’s crown molding, it was actually kind of… nice, even. With your fans whirring continuously in the background, your room actually made for quite a cool, comfortable little tomb.

Still. As yet another clap of thunder rolled over your little house, you couldn’t help but open an eye to squint at your phone. It was getting late in the afternoon, and you’d peeked at your and Maxi’s synced calendar on your phone that morning when he’d left, after he’d finally kissed you goodbye when you reassured him there wasn’t anything else he could do besides bring you your meds and some toast (and only because he insisted on doing so). You knew that while he’d had a busy day at the mortuary ahead of him, he’d been supposed to close the office about an hour ago. Provided he hadn’t had to load a new pick-up into the prep room, he’d hopefully—

All at once, as the hair on the back of your neck slowly all stood on end, you became abruptly aware that something in your room had… changed. You couldn’t put your finger on it; it wasn’t the weather, you thought, or the air conditioning kicking on, but something in your space was definitely different.

Something, heralded by sudden, pressing silence, had joined you.

You kept yourself still, trying not to give away the fact that you knew to whatever was looming nearby. As minimally as you could manage, you began to turn your head, trying to get whatever was over your shoulder into the corner of your eye so you could actually see it…

A crack of lightning outside would’ve already made you jump, even if it hadn’t illuminated the figure bending over to look at you.

“Oh, fuck.” You squeezed your eyes shut for a second as you smothered the urge to sit upright and throw a punch. “There you are, Maxi.” You laughed a little at yourself, embarrassed. This was hardly the first time he’d snuck to the end of your bed with supernaturally soft steps - were you ever going to get used to that?

You rolled over so you were staring up into his face, unable to help a smile even as you winced. “I was just wondering when you were going to get back.”

Maxi returned your smile, but you could still see the way his eyes were a little darker than normal, not quite matching the rest of his face yet. They looked just a little puffy besides, his usual bags beneath them deeper to match. “Hi, pretty,” he greeted you, still fairly subdued.

You closed your eyes as he kissed your forehead, his hand resting next to yours on the mattress. “You feelin’ any better?”

“Bleh, but an average amount of bleh,” you said quietly, scanning his lean frame as he bent towards you. “Could be better, could be worse.”

“Mm. Well, that’s better than nothin’,” he said. He smelled shower clean, with just a lingering trace of embalming fluid under that. He’d already ditched his work clothes back at the house, you could see — he was just in one of the million death pun t-shirts you’d given him since the two of you got together, and black sweatpants.

It was the sweatpants in particular that gave you pause: you could just spot the faded logo of Greymoon community college on the leg, chipped and distressed after so long since Maxi had gotten the necessary degree to take his licensing exam, with a hole blooming in the left knee where he sometimes picked at a loose thread.

You knew those sweatpants. Those were a bad sign.

You met his eyes again immediately, and you could see where he was following your gaze, obviously looking for what you saw.

“…You have a hard day, baby?” You were nervous, sometimes, asking. Your own folks had a tendency to snap when they’d had a long one, and while Maxi would never do that, you knew his work was just… harder. Heavier. You’d been reading a lot about the rates of burnout and depression in the funeral industry since the two of you had realized the two of you were going to be a permanent thing (being decreed Soulmates by each other but also the Horrors was like that), and you knew it was alarmingly, but not surprisingly, high.

Maxi’s smile slid away, leaving only his exhaustion. “…Yeah, you could say that.”

He sighed, not bothering to hide it from you. He reached up under his glasses to rub his eyes - from tiredness or tears, you couldn’t be totally certain, which troubled you even more. Maxi loved what he did, you knew that. It was that enthusiasm that probably had kept him from converting the Mortuary into anything else when his father finally died.

So the days even that passion wasn’t enough to ward off the sadness of his work just worried you all the more.

You immediately moved over, pulling down the covers over his usual side. “C’mere, babe. Lie down with me.”

“I will,” Maxi said, straightening up and re-adjusting his glasses like nothing had happened. “First things first, though, you hungry? You need another dose?”

“I just re-upped an hour ago, I’m good,” you said softly, sitting up. “And I’m not hungry, but if you are, you can just relax and I’ll—“

“No,” he said, just a little too quickly. You didn’t miss the nanosecond wince and a shudder. “I mean… I’m alright, for now. Maybe later,” he added, though it didn’t sound that convincing. “You lay back down, darlin’, I’m okay.”

“Why don’t you come down here and make me?” you teased, trying to keep the growing concern out of your voice.

Maxi gave you a ghost of a smile, at least. “Well, if you insist.”

He shrugged off his t-shirt and his let his sweatpants drop to your carpet — he had the distinction of being your first boyfriend to also have a thing about ‘outside clothes’ under sheets, just one more sweet mirror to your own neurosis.

But when he finally joined you on your mattress, he looked more vulnerable than usual in his skin, and not just due to his damp hair giving him that slight ‘wet cat’ look.

You took each other down, you pulling him to you by his waist, him kissing you as he lowered you gently back to your pillows, mindful of your aching temple.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapping your arms around his back as he kissed you like he’d been afraid you’d dissolve at first contact. You took your time rubbing your palms up and down his spine, trying to press some warmth to his bare skin as he seemed to seek it from your lips, your tongue, your very breath.

For a moment, the two of you broke apart, but you kept your forehead against his and hugged his bare chest to your thin sleep shirt.

“I’m here,” you whispered, not quite conscious of doing so. But you didn’t know what else to say — so much of his touch felt like he was desperate to make sure you were solid. Real.

Maxi hid his face in the crook of your neck, letting himself go slack on top of you as his arms burrowed under your back.

“I know,” he mumbled, his lips against your skin. He sighed again, and you could feel his shoulders shift under your palms. He kissed your cheek silently before hiding his face again.

You laid there in silence, your fingertips tracing lines between the faded scars and the moles on his back. “…You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Thank you though,” he mumbled, muffled against your neck again.

“Sure.” You reached up to card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, creeping closer and closer to the collars of his shirts lately. “Offer still stands if you change your mind.”

Maxi squeezed around your stomach, and shifted so he could get a better grip to hug you from your side. “…I don’t wanna make you listen to all that,” he mumbled, after a consideration. “It was… a lot. Even for me, after this long.”

“You’d do the same if it was my bad day.” You turned, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“S’different,” he said quietly. He rested his chin on your shoulder closest to him.

“I know.” You leaned your cheek against his hair. “But you don’t have to do this by yourself anymore. That’s, like, our whole thing,” you gestured between the two of you. “We kind of ran the undead gauntlet for it. Y’know. The usual relationship milestones.”

Maxi let out a low exhale of a laugh, and it was warm against your skin, which was a relief you couldn’t quite explain. “We got real into those trust-buildin’ kind of dates for a minute, didn’t we?”

“Exactly.” You kissed his forehead again before you turned in his grasp, moving down your pillow so your eyes were even with his. “So if I can watch your undead reanimated dad figure out how to work his knees again,” you said, moving his hair away from his glasses. “I promise, I want to be able to handle anything else that our life entails. Because it is ours now,” you reminded him, your hand cupping his cheek. “Yours and mine. All of it. We marked each other up and everything.”

Maxi chuckled, and for a second, his eyes were something close to their usual brightness. “You make it sound like I drew on you with sharpie or somethin’.”

“Is that not what happened?” You set your lips in a moue of feigned confusion. “Necromancers don’t get glowing markers? You didn’t start doodling on my wrist one night after I fell asleep?”

“Well, if I did that,” he said, amused. “Then you would’ve had to have been pretty sneaky with yours, considerin’ I had you… occupied, at the time.” He turned just a little pink as he said it.

For the breadth of an inhale, both of you were back in the cemetery again under your tree, a tangle of blood-soaked limbs and ragged, fogged breaths in the October night air.

You came back to yourself a moment later, your breath warm in your throat where you had been holding it. “…I’m just that talented.” You winked, and when he giggled, you felt your own shoulders relax. There; that was progress, even if just a little.

Maxi hummed thoughtfully, and you took the opportunity to snuggle closer in his arms.

“I know you’ll listen if I need you to,” he said, his gaze gentle as he laid next to you on the pillow. “And I love you for it. And I will tell you.” His eyes went briefly distant again, staring over your shoulder and crinkling slightly at the corners. “But even I’m kinda…” He trailed off even further, before he seemed to shake himself out of it.

“…I can’t yet,” he whispered at last. “I just wanna be here with you, and not… there.” His eyes searched yours. “Is that okay?”

“Hundred percent,” you said quietly, leaning forward and kissing the end of his nose. “We don’t have to be anywhere but right here.”

Maxi rested his forehead against yours again, but didn’t entirely relax.

“…Yes?” You couldn’t help but feel like there was a question hanging in the bubble between the two of you. You angled to meet his eyes, which were currently downcast again.

When he met yours again, you saw your instinct confirmed. “…I… Are you…” He paused, clearing his throat. “…Is today an okay chest day?”

You blinked, trying to muffle the laugh that had bubbled up at the abruptness of the phrasing. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t know how else to ask,” Maxi said, his eyes darting sheepishly between yours and down as his ears pinked even after all this time. “I just wanna hear your heart beat for a while, but I know that’s sensitive, and I don’t— you already don’t feel well, and—“

“Maxi, if you wanna spend some time in marshmallow hell, that’s fine. I’m good with that today.” You felt a grin spread across your face.

He rolled his eyes, feigning irritation even as his blush increased. “You don’t have to call it that,” he mumbled.

“No, I think I do, if only because it makes you make that face,” you teased. You lifted his glasses off his nose for him, earning you a withering stare as you folded them and set them on your nightstand. “Be my guest. Get on in there. God knows I’m not using them for anything important.”

Maxi half-sighed, half-snorted in amusement. “As long as you’re not just keepin’ ‘em on my account, sugar.” He stole a kiss before you could reply. “Far be it from me to impose on my baby’s… desired architecture.”

You made a non-commital sound as Maxi slid down your front, resting his cheek on your chest. “I don’t mind them as much when I’m with you,” you said softly, your hand rising to comb your fingers through his hair. You smiled as you heard him sigh in contentment, nuzzling his ear to where your heart lurked, and for a second you were semi-grateful you’d left your compression top off today. “It’s just when I’m trying to do things by myself that they get in the way.”

Maxi hummed in understanding. “Well, if you ever decide you’ve had enough and want ‘em gone, we can research surgeons together. Find a good one. I’ll take you, whatever state.” He sighed again, deeper as he listened to your heart thrumming reliably away in its home of fat and bone and muscle, and you could feel the tension leaving his shoulders. “You can just stay at the House after, I’ll take care of you while you heal. Hell, maybe I can even make it go faster, who knows.” He popped his neck with a small sound of relief. “Put years of necro-bullshit to good use, at last.”

“That’s… sweet of you to offer, baby.” You muffled a laugh. It was. You’d never had a partner who’d been so utterly fine, even wanting to help, with the possibility of you getting top surgery before. “But someone’s gotta run the Mortuary. And I don’t know my insurance will cooperate, to boot.”

“Hector and Rora can cover for me. They need to start pullin’ their weight, anyway,” Maxi said, flipping a hand airily against your covers. Apparently thinking about the future helped on days like this - you made a note for next time. “And don’t you sweat your insurance, okay? You leave it to me; Hell knows there’s always money in the basement.”

“I hope the IRS is scared of ghosts.” Your smile grew to a grin as you absently braided some longer strands of his hair together. “Otherwise y’all would be busted for tax fraud well before they ever got you for murder.”

“I’ve reported all my earned income every year since I re-opened, I’ll have you know.” Maxi opened one eye to squint up at you pointedly. “But the US Defense Department has more than enough demon money in their coffers already, in my humble opinion.”

“I don’t disagree. I’m just glad you’re not the kind of sugar daddy who insists on buying me bigger tits,” you laughed. “That’d be a real bummer.”

“Excuse me, I am not your sugar daddy!” Maxi sat up abruptly with his jaw slack, looking vaguely scandalized at the thought. “I never— I would never dream of askin’- that’s not at all what I had in mind when—“

“I’m kidding, baby,” you said quickly, planting a kiss at the corner of his mouth to soothe his nervous babbling. “I’m just kidding. You’re not my sugar daddy, I never thought of you that way. I just call you ‘Daddy’ because I want to. Hell, you didn’t tell me you had ill-gotten gains until after October, and by then.” You held up your marked wrist with an accompanying quirk of your lips. “I was already yours, wasn’t I?”

Maxi stared at you for a long moment still, as if checking for the tell of a fib, before he let out a pouty huff and settled back on your chest. “I’m sensitive right now, dammit, don’t scare me like that.” He turned so he was facedown on your chest, squirming with embarrassment. “There’s nothin’ wrong with people makin’ a livin’, but I already feel like a cradle-robber when you have to explain a meme to me.”

You let out something between a belly-shaking cackle and an apologetic coo. “Aw, no, that’s not what I meant at all. I’m sorry, Daddy.” You stroked his hair extra tenderly before kissing the top of his head. “You have my whole heart, you always will. Both our places could burn down tomorrow, and I’d still be happy just to be together while we lived in a haunted cardboard box. Okay?”

Maxi shifted with some faux grumbling, planting his torso between your legs as he hugged your ribs. “Lord, don’t tempt me. Arson’s soundin’ pretty appealing after today.”

Your smile faltered, remembering just why your beloved was so in need of affection. It must’ve been a rough one indeed.

The two of you just lay there in comfortable silence for a bit, reassured by the presence of each other’s warmth (or relative warmth, in Maxi’s case).

“…You know, if you ever wanted to go back to school for something else, Maxi, I’d support you.” You shrugged, thinking about it as you continued to stroke his hair. “People put their spouses through school all the time. We might need to pick a place to move in together, finally pull the trigger on that and figure out a joint budget,” you mused. “But we could make it work out. It would be okay.”

Maxi pressed a long kiss through your thin top to the scar over your heart, the mirror of his own, making you shiver pleasantly. “I know you would,” he said softly. He propped his chin up on his hand so he could look at you, dark eyes adoring. “And I don’t take that at all for granted, sugar. But as much as I might want to, sometimes…” He gave you a small, sad smile. “I really do think I’m meant for… well. This. I dunno what I’d do with myself anywhere else, and besides…” He thought for a moment. “I think what I can do makes the most difference here. Even on days like this one.”

“Okay, then. As long as you’re sure.” Your hand trailed from his hair down his cheek, and you watched his eyes scrunch shut with affection as he leaned into your palm. “But if you ever change your mind, we’ll start looking into, like… Vet programs, I don’t know.” You shrugged as he chuckled. “Or medical school. I can see you making mad money as a plastic surgeon. Hell, if we put you through first, you could just yeet my tits for me when you graduate. It’d be a hell of a great investment.”

“First of all, good god, no,” he said between fits of laughter. “I think all my hair would go stark white the second I tried to put a scalpel to you for somethin’ that serious. And second of all, what happened to me not bein’ your sugar daddy, huh?” He nudged your ribs playfully as you dissolved into giggles again. “Why do I have to go to school for somethin’ that pays the big bucks? What if I wanted to go to — I don’t know, cosmetology school?”

“Oh come on, you’d still be making better money than me with that, easy,” you teased. You leaned forward, staring into his eyes to make him fight to keep a straight face. “What kind of hair would you wanna do, anyway?” You idly reached up to play with his again, impossible to resist when the two of you were hanging out so close together. “Or do you mean going for makeup and stuff?”

“Oh, I see myself with my same stalwart clientele of sweet little old ladies,” he said thoughtfully, which in turn set you off giggling again. “This time, though, I give them all their blue rinses and set their perms while they’re actually alive, and they can catch me up on the hot retirement home gossip without me tryin’ to wire their jaws shut in the process.”

“What, no little old men coming to you for a matching shave? A manly chat about sports while you wax mustaches? Or trim beards? Do… something that involves hot towels?” You gestured vaguely.

Maxi hummed at this, his mouth flattening into a line as he considered. “I don’t know about that, baby, that’s… kinda different, down here. If they didn’t think I was a fruit already… well,” he mused, his smile grim. “Me doin’ their wives’ hair and showin’ off my newly flat-chested spouse might sure give them suspicions. And besides,” he added, eyeing you. “When have I ever known jackshit about sports? I’d try to say one word about football, and they’d know I’m capital-q Queer for sure.”

“I’m pretty sure you have to take a course about sports talk at cosmetology school.” You nodded, trying to keep your face in check as he wheezed with renewed laughter into your shirt. “But wait, would you actually have to go to cosmetology school, though?” You poked his shoulder as this thought occurred to you. “You already do all of that stuff, like, all the time. Would that really be enough of a change?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you it’s different if they’re dead, pretty,” he said, seeming deeply amused by this. “They’re supposed to be layin’ down flat forever. Or at least, while they’re still in one piece, if it’s a cremation,” he added idly. “Not to mention the makeup is all made for cold skin, so it doesn’t settle and fade like it does on warm. Plus, I’m generally tryin’ to make them look like they did before, which hardly ever means I’m tryin’ anything current. And let’s not even get into havin’ to pack their—“

“Oh god, okay, fair enough,” you said quickly, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

He smirked at you, his point proven.

“…But then does that mean you don’t actually know how to cut hair to be seen from the back?” You couldn’t remember the last time your face had almost ached from smiling, talking to someone about dead people. But this was a regular occurrence with him, in this life the two of you were building, and one you wouldn’t trade for anything. “Have you just been doing things to make people look nice from the front this whole time, and leaving the back for God to judge?” You stared at him in a parody of an interrogating glare as he again fell to pieces laughing. “Do you regularly send people to meet their maker with non-gay mullets, Mr. Morvant?”

“Now you hush with your slanderous tongue, I will have you know I can make anybody look damn good!” Maxi protested, sitting up slightly with a firm finger pointed at you. “…From slightly above and at a three-quarter angle,” he grinned.

You pulled him back down against your chest, playfully pretending to smother him even as you kissed his forehead. “I love you so much, you big nerd.”

Maxi made a sound against your skin that was half-laugh and half sigh, his breath warm through your clothes in a way that melted straight through to your spine. “I love you.” It took him a minute for him to look up again, his eyes like embers with a low gleam of red as his crooked smile returned.

“There’s my baby.” The relief in your voice was palpable as you brushed his hair away from his eyes, feeling his gaze like you really were next to the beginnings of a fire.

Maxi reached for his glasses on your nightstand, fingers fumbling for a moment before he at last found them and could put them back on. As his eyes re-adjusted, seeming to drink you in, the red grew a little brighter.

“…I don’t know how I did this, before,” he said at last, the words on an exhale.

You blinked at him. “What, found your glasses?” You smiled, knowing full well you were deflecting a little bit.

Maxi rolled his eyes at you — then, for your impertinence, mimicked a gator’s death roll to pull you on top of him as he slid between you and your mattress.

Your laughter rang off the walls of your room as for a second, you were lost in a whirl of his pulse and his skin and the smell of his shampoo.

Maxi kept you pinned against his bare chest as you squirmed on top of him, obnoxiously kissing the top of your head. “You know what I mean.” He waited until he was sure you wouldn’t escape his grasp to lean back against your pillows, gazing up at you. His smile was soft again, and again a little sad. “I’d get done with days like today and just be… stuck,” he said, shaking his head. “Anywhere I went, I’d just have to go back to the House eventually. I couldn’t get away from the ugliest parts of what I do; it felt like they’d never be over.”

His eyes shifted to your ceiling, distant again. “It was like I went out lookin’ for an excuse to feel anythin’ else. And when I was still… a monster,” he swallowed thickly. “I just made everythin’ worse. Like I was pickin’ someone else for the darkness in me to eat instead. Even when I’d finished my Chain,” he added quietly. “It wasn’t enough. For a long time.”

You took your turn to kiss the scar over his heart, lingering there as you tried to figure out what to say. You knew he wasn’t looking for you to excuse his actions. Denying who — what he had once been only ever seemed to make it harder for him to talk about.

“You don’t have to be him anymore,” you said, your lips still against his skin.

You sat up slightly when his eyes flicked briefly to you and back to your ceiling, uncertain. “You don’t,” you repeated. “You were, once. I know that doesn’t change.” You tilted your head, waiting for his eyes to meet yours. “But you want to be better. You’re trying to be better,” you said emphatically. “And I’ll do everything I can to help you be that person. Just like you do for me.”

“S’different,” Maxi repeated half-heartedly, his voice small again as he still continued to avert his eyes. “That’s… so different. It’s not equal. It’s not fair to you, to make you deal with all that.”

“Well sure, babe, not everyone’s family made a literal generational deal with demons,” you said with a matter-of-fact shrug. “That’s just where we have to start, though. You’re the one who still made the choice to break the chain. And that’s all you could do, okay?” Your arms burrowed between your bed and his ribs, hugging him tighter. “That’s all either of us can do, every day, is just keep choosing together to keep it broken.” You traced his scar with the tip of your nose, and you felt him flinch just slightly at the contact. “You chose to use what you can still do to make up for it. You wanted to take care of people. And you decide how that works and what that means.”

You leaned up, kissing the end of his nose. “If that means you do this until one day you can’t stand it anymore, and I support you through cosmetology school, and then we open the only openly Queer barbershop-slash-hair salon in the Parish,” you gave an exaggerated shrug as, at last, his laugh broke through like sunlight through a cloudburst. “Then so be it.”

“Oh, so that’s what we’ve landed on for sure, then?” Maxi’s crooked smile returned. “Okay, why not. And what’re you doin’ at this Queer barbershop-slash-hair salon, may I ask?”

“Well, you’re better organized than me, so I’m obviously not in charge of scheduling,” you said, which only made him laugh again. “So maybe I’ll just be your handy-person. Y’know. Sweeping up the floors, sharpening your scissors and your razors, answering the phone while you’re still up to your elbows in little old ladies who want your attention.”

“You think they’ll still come see me?” Maxi relaxed against your pillow again, amused. “Rainbow flags in the windows and everything? I get my ears re-pierced, start wearing eyeliner all the time?”

“Oh, I think they’ll like you even more.” You smiled at the feeling of his laughter moving his stomach against yours, giggling yourself contagiously. “They’ll think themselves very cosmopolitan. Probably start calling you their Gay Friend who’s dating that nice What-Do-You-Call-It.”

“Oh, but you’re my favorite What-Do-You-Call-It,” Maxi purred. He pulled you further up his chest so he could kiss your forehead, then tucked you safely under his chin. “We’ll have to have a day where the little old ladies can get a special discount. We’ll play Liberace and Abba and Cher the whole time, really make ‘em feel young again.”

“Oh man, so I see we’re going for hard camp here.” You settled yourself against him, stretching like a cat as you felt yourself relax. “Are we going to lose all our Spooky cred, do you think?”

“Not if we convert the House,” Maxi said, which tickled you more. “We could make the client parlor our waitin’ room - that wouldn’t take much, honestly. Then we move all the kitchen stuff to where the prep room is now, and install a couple more sinks in the counters for washin’ hair. Could probably fit some barbers’ chairs where the oven and the fridge are.”

“Yeah, because Hex and Rora will love doing meal prep right above the demons in the basement.” You couldn’t help but smile, already picturing their comic levels of outrage.

“Hey, they don’t like it, they can finally move out. Get their own places, the freeloaders,” Maxi faux-grumbled. You knew, as much as the Morvants argued and bickered and bugged each other over everything and nothing, that deep down Maxi would never dream of telling either of his relatives they had to leave. His home was their home, until they felt like finding another, and that just meant everyone’s idea of where home was got a little more spread out.

“…And what’ll the Basement-dwellers think, when there’s no more dead bodies conveniently right above them?” you asked, your tone still light even as the idea prickled at you ominously.

Maxi shrugged, still determinedly laissez-faire. “They better be grateful when I feed ‘em all the hair from the floor, because that’s all they’re gonna get.”

The two of you melted into each other in a last fit of cathartic, helpless laughter, and you could swear your room somehow seemed… lighter.

That even as the storm continued to roll outside, cocooning the two of you in one of many tombs you would likely share over the span of your life together, it was brighter than when it had just been yours alone.

When the last of your nervous giggles died away, the two of you just lay there a while, enjoying being warm and close. Eventually, you resumed what had become one of your favorite ways to kill time when you didn’t feel well: laying against Maxi’s chest as he opened a book on his phone and read aloud.

You would do this until eventually your growling stomachs would compel you both out of your bed, which would in turn lead to yet another spirited mini-debate about who felt like they should cook for whom because they’d had a worse day, before you eventually decided you both felt ‘average bleh’ enough to just order a pizza and be done with it. Which would, in turn, lead to just eating it out of the box to save dishes while the two of you lay on your couch, watching whatever weird B-movie you’d found on streaming, until…

Until, for at least for tonight, another evening in the little life both of you had never thought you’d get to have came to a close.

(I know this was kind of random, but I appreciate anyone who read this far 🥰)

#maxi morvant #maximilian vincent morvant #southern slasher oc #slasher oc #necromancer oc #mortician oc #slasher oc x reader #slasher oc x you #maxi morvant x you #maxi and his reader #final them #morvant mortuary #monsterkisser fics #genderqueer reader #non-binary reader #plus size reader #curvy reader #fat reader #no use of y/n #daniel brühl fc

[fawningoveradream]

still haven't recovered from reading an article on this four layered dress on a child from Tiwanaku for my Inka Arch class.

#its very sad but bittersweet #cause I did my final paper on mortuary practices and funerary rites in Pre-Hispanic Andean cultures #and most that is brought it involves Kin Veneration #but in this article's subject it involves social identity and the context of mourning #and the extravagance of this dress #and that for some reason who ever made the tomb and gave out the dress #just offered from baskets and spoons #but also did not mark the outer tomb's structure to indicate kin veneration or celebration festivities #so it was more likely that unlike the other marked tombs this child's tomb would have been overlooked or forgotten over time #but like that got me thinking!!! Was that purposeful?? Was that an accident??? #I still have the file downloaded thank god #the time/energy/patience/the eye for detail on the dress #someone or a group of someone's took a lot of time out of their day(s) to make these dresses and then place them on the child #child death

[darkbluekies]

God i want a dark!dr.kry fic soo bad. I read your most recent silas fic and I thought it was so good i ATE IT UP

Things you shouldn't see

Doctor!yandere x reader Summary: you've finally realized what type of man Dr Kry is, and what he is capable of doing. Warnings: murder, bruises, yandere, poison etc. Word count: 2.3k

Your crying hurts him, it really does, but he can’t be soft. Not now. You had tried to escape again. If he hadn’t come back in time to catch you in the door, God knows what could have happened to you. 

“Please, please don’t”, you sob as he cuffs your wrists to the bed’s railing with belt-looking leather. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Spare your voice, Y/N”, he tells you sharply. “Begging and pleading won’t work — you're not a child. You put yourself in this situation, didn’t you? How about we take some adult consequences?” He fixes the last buckle. “Too tight?”

You don't answer, you only cry. Dr Kry grabs your chin softly to direct your attention back to him. 

“Y/N, listen to me”, he says sternly. “Are the restraints too tight? Yes or no? Don’t lie.”

“No”, you sob. 

“Good. You know why I’m doing this, right? I don’t think it’s funny.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop with the bullshit, Y/N. I caught you in the damn door, Y/N.” He sighs frustratedly and runs a hand through his blonde hair. “I can’t let this slip. You almost escaped from me once, remember? I’m not letting that happen again. I’m going to go get you dinner and you are going to get yourself together until I’m back, okay?”

You nod slightly. When he's exited the room, you break out into sobs again. Have to get them out of your system before he returns. You hate him. Hate him so much.

He's back ten minutes later with two cardboard boxes filled with food. He looks somewhat pleased that you're not crying anymore. He stands by his desk.

“You don't understand that I want what's best for you”, Dr Kry says while opening the plastic lids. “If you did, you wouldn't try to do stupid stuff like this.”

“Turn it off”, you say through gritted teeth.

He glances at the air purifier, already knowing what you’re talking about.

“No, I will not”, he says simply. 

“You're killing me!”

Dr Kry scoffs and dumps your foodbox on your legs.

“If I wanted you dead, Y/N, you'd already be in the mortuary”, he says and rolls over to you on his stool. “But as you can tell by your current status in your room, I don't.”

He picks up the fork and holds a bite of potato to your lips. You refuse to open your mouth. 

“Are we doing this?” he asks with raised eyebrows. “Do I need to be mean?”

“Please don’t”, you whisper, scared. 

“You don’t want me to be mean?”

You shake your head quickly. 

“Good, me neither”, Dr Kry says. “Glad that we can agree on something. Open your mouth now.”

You open your mouth enough for him to put in the fork in your mouth. Dr Kry notices how you fight back the tears and sighs in defeat. 

“If you really want to cry, then do it”, he says quietly. 

It’s a trick. He actually doesn’t want you to cry, and you know that. But the tear that runs down your cheek can’t be brought back. You flinch when his hand brushes against your cheek to wipe it softly. He holds another fork of potato and meat to your mouth. You grimace slightly. 

“Just eat and you’ll get to sleep”, Dr Kry promises you.

“Turn it off”, you whisper. “Please.”

Dr Kry sighs and walks over to the air purifier, turning it off. The soft buzzing finally, finally stopped. Dr Kry can tell that you relax in your restraints. 

“Thank you”, you whisper without looking at him. 

“I’ll have to turn it on again”, he says. 

“Why?” 

“Because it keeps you where I want you. It’s much easier than keeping you cuffed to the bed like this.”

You tug at the restraints, as if you suddenly remember that you’re wearing them. Dr Kry’s hand shoots out over your right wrist. 

“Stop”, he says. “Don’t do that. I don’t like to see bruises on you. Just let it be. Give in, alright?”

You glance down at his large hand and grow cold. Could he break your wrist? Could he actually hurt you if he really wanted to? Without tools, without medicine and drugs?

“Open your mouth”, Dr Kry and removes his hand to give you the fork full of food. 

This time, you open your mouth without fuss. He smiles, pleased.

“Have I fucked up for myself now?” you mumble without looking at him.

“Just a tad bit”, Dr Kry smiles and wipes some sauce of your lips with his thumb. “But it's nothing that we can't restore.”

She had seen it, and although she tried to convince herself that she was overthinking, she couldn't bring herself to admit that everything was okay with Dr Kry’s patient — or Dr Kry for that matter. There has always been something with him that has rubbed her the wrong way. He's always been polite and helpful, but she thinks that it's a facade. There is something he's hiding, she can tell that there's a certain darkness in his eyes. And the fact that they never see, hear or get any reports about his patient — despite being here for so long — worries her.

One day, she decides to sneak inside. You’re lying in the hospital bed, sleeping soundly. But other than that, the room is empty. The woman notices how your wrists are … cuffed to the side of the bed. She sneaks over to you and carefully shakes your shoulder. You open your eyes slowly, and then dart them open. In pure fear, you start to tug at the restraints. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the woman shrieks. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“Who are you?!” you gasp. “Where’s Dr Kry?!”

“I don’t know, please be quiet, I’m not going to hurt you.”

You eventually start to calm down. 

“Why are you cuffed to the bed?” the woman asks carefully, feeling a shiver run down her spine. “What has he done to you?”

“Please help me”, you beg. 

“I saw that you tried to leave the room before … and that he snatched you back.”

“I-I will.”

“Please help me, I’m begging you, he’s killing me!” you nod at the air purifier. “He’s poisoned it! You have to help me!”

She is just about to unbuckle the leather strands keeping you to the bed when the door opens. You meet eyes with Dr Kry and feel how your entire body goes numb. 

Shit.

His eyes glare at the woman as he slowly closes the door behind him, locking it shut. 

“Can I help you?” he asks coldly. “What are you doing with my patient?”

The woman spins around and stutters in fear. 

“Who allowed you to come in here?” Dr Kry asks, sounding suspicious — and extremely angry, although he tries to hide it. “Speak up!”

“I-I …”, the woman stutters. 

Dr Kry walks closer. You’ve never seen his body language this … territorial before. It’s almost animalistic. 

“What have they told you?” he asks the woman. 

“Nothing!” the woman shrieks. 

With one quick glance at you, he scoffs with a small, cold smile on his face. 

“I wouldn’t believe anything they say, ma’am”, he says amusedly, although you’re sure that he’s angry like a bee. “They’re sick, they’re not thinking clearly. Seems like we have to talk after this.”

“Don’t be angry at them”, the woman says, finally collecting herself. “You are the one abusing your position. You should be the one who’s getting yelled at!”

“Oh, I’m not mad at my patient. How could I? If they don’t know what’s good for themselves, how could I ever expect them to know when to speak …” He gave you a warning look, “... and when to shut up?” He looked back at the woman. “They’re sick, after all.”

“Why are you keeping them prisoner?”

Dr Kry puts his hands into his pockets, shrugging. “I’m not keeping anyone prisoner. Did they tell you that?”

“You’ve poisoned the air purifier.”

“Why would I ever do that?” he laughs. “That’s absurd! You don’t think I have other things to do? A real job?” He takes a step closer. He’s almost reaching her by now. “Listen, my patient has been reading a lot of fantasy stories while being emitted here, and they must have spun their head out of control. Being in a hospital for as long as they have, all alone, must mess with ones head a bit. Don’t worry about it.”

He has slammed it over the nurse’s head, striking her to the floor. You fight against the restraints, but they’re as stuck as stone. Dr Kry continues to hit the poor nurse with the metal pipe, causing blood to splatter over the walls — and you. You can’t breathe when the red liquid lands on your face, too horrified to even move. The screams from the woman turns into moans of pain, then sobs, then silence. Dr Kry huffs and gets up from the ground, letting go of the metal pipe that clinks against the floor. His white coat and blue overalls are drenched in blood, and his face is covered in red. You’re shivering in your bed and meet his eyes with wide open eyes. 

Dr Kry walks over to his desk. You can tell how he picks up a metal pipe used for the IV-stand you use every now and then.

“No!” you scream, but it’s too late. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t want you to see that”, he pants lowly. 

Sobs start to exit your body. Dr Kry hurries over to you, sinking down on his knees by the bed, almost lying his upper body into yours. 

“I’m sorry, little one”, he whispers and cups your cheeks. 

“Don’t touch me!” you try to scream while doing your best to turn your head away, but his strong grip is forcing you to stay still, forces you to look at him. 

“I didn’t want you to see that”, he repeats. “Why did she have to come and but into our business, hm? Oh, please don’t blame yourself for her death. It’s not your fault.”

He notices how you’re trying to rip your head away from him. 

“I know that you’re afraid”, he says. “It was not your fault, okay? I don’t blame you, I could never blame you, you know that.” He wipes your tears. “Please, don’t cry. I’m not going to do it again.”

You’re unsure if you’ve ever sobbed this harshly before in your life. The cries ripple through your body, forcing your chest to lift with every sob. It hurts, like an unwelcomed workout. Dr Kry holds your face against his chest, hushing as he hugs your head close to him. You can feel how fast his heart is beating, and it makes you nauseous. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up”, Dr Kry says and unbuckles you. 

You hesitate getting out of bed, glancing careful down at the dead body bleeding out on the floor. Dr Kry hurries to pick you up in his arms and walk into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and places you down in the tub. Carefully, he removes your hospital gown and turns on the shower. You refuse to look his way. 

“Listen, Y/N”, he says and sinks down outside the tub. “There are things you shouldn’t see … and this was one of them. I don’t want you to think of me as a monster. I’m a realist, okay?”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me if I try to leave again?” you cry. 

“No! Don’t even say such nonsense. That’s absurd. How could you ever think that?”

You find it ironic that he grows offended. He starts to wash off the blood from your face with the gentle stream of the shower. 

He takes one of your wrists in hand and lets his thumb run over the deep mark from the leather. 

“I told you not to fight against it”, he whispers with a sigh. “We’ll have to put bandage on that.”

Dr Kry continues to wash the blood off of you and his own hands. You follow the red water down the drain. 

He puts the shower head back on the hanger and tells you to wait there until he comes back. You hug your knees close to your chest and watch how he disappears out of the bathroom. You can hear how he starts to clean up the body outside the closed door. This is what happens to the people who believe you. Those that trust Dr Kry’s words about you being too sick to function, and start to hallucinate, are no help … but those that are never get far enough. 

You shiver from cold air hitting your wet, naked body and bring your knees even closer to you. There’s a new form of silence in the room, a silence that eats you up from the inside … and yet, silence had never been this loud before. You would be able to hear a needle drop to the floor on the other side of the hospital.

It had taken wells to gather the courage to try to run away again, and it had been shattered in the moment of two seconds. Your hope had been sparked again when you saw the nurse, and knew that she was one of the few that actually believed you. 

You turn your face down into your knees and cry in realization that you’ll never get to leave the hospital as long as Dr Kry is around. In time, the poisoned air purifier will have killed you … but you’re unsure that you’ll get to leave the hospital even then.

I’m going to die.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere fics #yandere oc x reader #yandere stories #yandere female #female yandere

[inviciousx]

Hey! Check out Bethania Mortuary 🧐 Somehow it’s Ghost related now. Google it :) Also if you follow fan pages on Twitter many have received a message from someone called Phil who works there, which is pretty interesting 🤔

Thank you hun! Who knew one day I’d regret not being active on Twitter ;)

#finally my love of mortuaries is about to pay off

[teaboot]

I used to dream of finding Home.

Somewhere between my tweens and my teens, the house my family lived in stopped feeling like a comfortable pocket where I belonged and started feeling more like a roomshare with strangers.

I'd read a lot of books. A lot of stories about outsiders and misfits who fell into grand adventures that led them into perfect little keyhole they were destined to slide into. I thought that someday, in a much less exciting or eventful way, the same would happen to me. If I worked very hard to be good and kind and forgiving then I'd stumble into Home.

It never happened.

I moved from town to city to country, and didn't find it. Every building felt the same, no matter how long I stayed. None of them felt natural, or easy, or safe.

I was living in a dilapidated loft above a busted-out mortuary when I figured it out.

No running water. No heat. No AC. No furniture or mattress or internet, and a dusty bathroom with a broken toilet and a sink inexplicably pre-filled with cigarette butts, and it finally clicked.

I ripped out the old carpet. Swept the floors. Taped the sun out of the windows with foil and foam and big black garbage bags. Cleaned off an old shelf, stole a cot, piled all my blankets on top of it, painted pictures and taped them to the walls and spray-painted a mural and leaned a tarnished old mirror up against the wall.

I found a room divider in an old office room and took a lamp left out with the trash and set up an empty coffee pot with cheap silk flowers. Hung a shower curtain in the morgue and turned a storage bin into a bath and hooked my towel on a loose nail stuck into the wall.

And when I left, and left everything behind, I found another little empty hole in the world and did it all over again.

That's something I don't think I could have learned from all my stories. It's not something very interesting to read about, some lonely stranger puttering about by themselves in a hot, dark room. But it's important to share it, I think, so I've done my best.

I think that a Place is a beast, and to make it a Home, you have to dig in your claws and fight for it, tooth and nail.

Then, once you've tired it out, string up lights below it's ribcage and pet it nice between the ears until it purrs.

#My home was depressing when the last owner hated living here #But I refuse to feel like a person in a house #So I love it as best I can #And now when I have company they tell me that it's beautiful #And it is #It really is