#this is so well written??? i really enjoyed it!!/pos | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theoxenfree · 1 month ago

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vampire x crime scene cleaner!reader | 16.1k

you're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; explicit non-con, extreme dubon, sadomasochism, blood play, overstimulation, choking, cigarette burns, smoking, hypnotism, theological themes, exploration of morality, gunshot wounds, extreme & graphic depictions of body horror + gore + grotesque details, graphic depictions of crime scene cleanup, possibly inaccurate depictions of crime scene cleanup (not looking for feedback on it), obsessive & possessive behaviors, heavy prose & details, the entire work is allegorical, murder, vampire is written as a monster bc that's what they are lmao, dividers are used between scenes

reposted from 2kmps; previously proofread by @ceruleansol

I shouldn't have to say it, but I will: nothing in this oneshot is indicative of my personal viewpoints. it is entirely fictitious.

this was a project that took me quite a bit of time to do, so I would be immensely appreciated if you'd please reblog + interact with it!! I'd love to hear your feedback!!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there.

Tonight was a Chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands.

You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you?

He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What–" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose.

You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light.

The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow. No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ༻

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway.

The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight. Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her? Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job by tying off the bag. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood. An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home!" Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach. A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles as Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you. It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body. The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom. These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke. You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself. Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air. The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do. He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself. A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering. "Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon. Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him. "A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes. Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway. You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you. The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't loud enough. He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips. All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that. "Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe. You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing. His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded. Just once. A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that." Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in. The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light. A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead. The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—just like Montague said you would be. And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back. He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

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spitdrunken · 10 months ago

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i am absolutely insane about your headcanons with the vee's, my mind is so full now... this is exactly what i was hoping to find when searching through the hazbin x reader tag after watching the episodes 👁️🙏🏻 please i'm so!! the being a writer for the vee's imagine is such a good idea, val and his.. comment especially got to me..

also, for your consideration:

Val — or all of the Vee's, really —, but, in the beginning, he's really not convinced about the quality of your dialogues, despite all the lines he's read (or, well, has had Vox read to him), so naturally you have to read your previous stories out loud to him, cheeks flushing and squirming when it gets to particularly graphic scenes and his gaze on you is so very heavy, smoke caressing your jaw while you stumble over your words.. It's worse if you've written about them and a character who resembles you, and Val's smile widens when you skip from story to story, mentioning the character — definitely not you — sucking Vox off, bending over willingly for Val and begging for Velvette to touch her, or even take all three of them at once, greedy...

Also the. love potions Velvette makes have me feeling things.. Her or Vox but they might end up putting a drop or four into your glass — purely accidentally, of course! —, and...

this is terrible.. my mind is too full now... i might have to post writing for hazbin now and it is your fault alone.. (affectionate; truly, I've enjoyed your thoughts so very much!! thank you for sharing!)

I'm glad you enjoyed it so much :D!! I had an absolute blast writing it myself, and I've been thinking about it lots!! Your ask made it even Worse (/pos) and I simply had to write more!! Please please please let me know if you write something for Hazbin, I can tell from your ask already that it'll be wonderful! And if you ever wanna chat about these guys, feel free to message me again, haha.

Notes: power imbalance, sexual harassment, heavily dubious/noncon due to love potion usage.

The fact Vox even bothers at all to take the time to sit Valentino down and read to him is already a show of your quality— He really wouldn’t go through wrangling him like that for just anyone, especially not with Val getting a bit pissy when being reminded your works were being compared to his. He needs to be told that, obviously, Val, some mere written words are never going to compare, especially not in earnings, to his creations. This placates Valentino. But all Vox gets for his efforts are a lazy flick of one of Valentino’s four wrists, his eyes not even looking at him. “Look, I still think it fucking sucks. But if you wanna hire them so badly, whatever. I’ve got better shit to do than listen to daddy’s horny story-time.” Suffice it to say, he becomes a lot more… Amiable (poor you) once you’re actually working there, and he has a face to attach to the stories. He can tell upon first glance that you’re one of those pathetic little hermits, too scared to leave your own shitty apartment, barely scraping by— He’s recruited plenty of those types as whores, after all. So easily pushed around that it shouldn’t give him nearly as much satisfaction as it does.

When Valentino practically demands you join him in his room and read your previous work to him, you sputter out protests, heart skipping a beat. Every employee in the company has something bad to say about this man, and so he’s about the last person you want to be caught alone in a room with. Especially not his bedroom.

“Ah, sir, I’m not really sure—“ But he’s already wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side as he drags you through the halls. The first thing that strikes you is how different the texture of coat is than you were expecting. It doesn’t even feel like anything at all. “Oh, sweetheart, call me Valentino. No need to be so unfamiliar with each other.” He practically purrs, a single finger tracing up the contours of your chest. “I feel like we’re going to get quite familiar.” If all the alarms weren’t ringing in your head before, they most definitely are now. But there’s nothing you can do. His grip on you is tight and, underneath his red coat, you can feel the hard metal of a pistol pressing against you.

He takes you to his room, walls covered with posters featuring himself, and you hardly have the time to look around before he sits you down on one of his red couches, still caught underneath one of his arms. It’s hard to think, much less speak, as Valentino starts to prod you to pull out your phone and start reading. “No need to be shy. You’re such an artista, aren’t you? Don’t keep me waiting.” It’s easy, at first. When the scene hasn’t grown explicit yet, and you can pretend you’re only reading the text out loud to yourself like you always do, making sure the sentences sound right. But Valentino makes it hard for you to distract yourself entirely. He rubs circles on the skin of your thigh, and the smoke from his pipe has long since been the only thing you can smell. The red smoke makes your head a little hazier, tongue a little looser— Though that all just might be because you’re not getting enough oxygen. Your every muscle is tense and, you think, this is what being a prey animal must feel like. The first time you stutter out the word ‘cock’, Valentino barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, entirely contrasting with the sultry demeanour he’s been putting on the whole time. You jump, gaze flickering from the screen to his face, before continuing. It gets worse when you realise exactly what story you’re reading out loud to him, one of the ones you’d never even posted anywhere, so utterly self-indulgent and poorly thought out that you regret it with every ounce of your being. (Unbeknownst to you, Vox has already read every draft you’ve ever typed up, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Sorry, can I maybe, um, read a different one?” You practically squeak out. “I realised I have some better drafts, and…” “No,” Valentino shuts you down, tone temporarily harsh. “Don’t get too fucking cocky now, you’re already taking up enough time as it is. Shit’s about to get interesting, finally.” He’s saying all of this as if he wasn’t the one to drag you there in the first place.

So you trudge onward, reading as fast as you possible can, just trying to tough it out. As you read about a scared, unaccomplished demonic main character catching the eye of a trio of some of the most famous demons in town—through entirely unrealistic circumstances—you can see his grin grow wider from the corner of your eye. His nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, the smoke surrounding your face turning to caress your cheeks.

“So, let me gets this straight… You wrote about a trio of powerful demons with matching names, taking turns fucking an absolute nobody silly. One of them’s a pimp, the other a fashion designer, and the other a business man.” Valentino doesn’t give you the chance to respond. “Greedy little slut. You even chose this one specifically to read out to me, huh? Seems I got you all wrong,” he hisses out. “This must be a dream come true for you, isn’t it?”

Let’s just say that you got enough ‘material’ to write another four or so stories, just from that line alone.

----- A drop of love potion, and models always behave the absolute best, or so Velvette thinks! (As long as you don’t put in too much. It’s very hard to take good pictures when the girls keep trying to kiss you.) No bitching, no whining, only an easy to pose, cute demon to work with. And if she dresses you up in clothes that reveal more than they obscure, purely for her own enjoyment and usage, who’s going to blame her?

Certainly not you. You won’t remember a single damn thing. Not even the parts where you babble on about how pretty and gorgeous and cool she is, and how you’ve admired her for so long— All things she’s heard a million times before. Normally, she wouldn’t care less about it, but such words coming from someone with only a drop of her potion in her system means they’re all the absolute truth. She thinks it’s almost cute when it’s coming from you, really. ------------ Vox, on the other hand, would be more likely to use his hypnosis on you than a love potion. Just to have a few minutes in the middle of a meeting where you’re practically putty in his hands, all of your usual anxiety and shame having slid right off of your shoulders. He doesn’t feel any guilt about it whatsoever. Having read all of your works, he finds it safe to say that this is the exact kind of scenario you would enjoy…

And even if you didn’t, he still would. He gets a bit of a thrill out of the loopy, relaxed smile on your face as you nuzzles your cheeks against his arm, professing all of the thoughts you had about him before working at VoxTech, and the ones you still have today. It’s during one of these exact moments, that he’d likely find out that Valentino had fucked you already, something he hadn’t found necessary to mention. They’ll have a bit of a discussion about that later!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #valentino x reader #vox x reader #velvette x reader #cw.drugging #cw.noncon #cw.dubcon

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petermorwood · 2 months ago

Text

More food and cooking of the Middle Kingdoms, though in this instance with photos only since the recipe hasn't yet been written up.

It's Lamb in Sour Blackberry Sauce, from "The Door Into Sunset", and this form involves lamb chops, both marinated and not, a sauce made from the marinade, and (since the Middle Kingdoms have no PO-TAY-TOES) a simple accompaniment of Arlene Roasted Root Vegetables, in this case parsnips.

The marinade is made from blackberries macerated in balsamic vinegar (red wine vinegar is another possibility, but we - and to our surprise the shop - were both out of it) and, for a bit more fruity complexity, some Kriek, a Belgian lambic beer brewed with sour cherries.

This was the drinking accompaniment as well. It's a very attractive colour, and its dry finish contrasted well with the lamb.

*****

Step one, take a bowl, add some of the beer and the macerating vinegar, then the chops.

Step two, add a layer of the macerated berries.

Step three, top off with the rest of the beer...

...then cover with clingfilm and put into the fridge.

We left ours for 72 hours, and here's the contrast between unmarinated chops and marinated ones.

That berry is to mark which was which, but it's really not needed. :->

*****

Sauce was made by reducing the marinade by about 50%, with some of the berries mashed into it and others left whole, then thickened with arrowroot.

Why not cornflour?

Fiction-wise, DD has decided that the Middle Kingdoms lack maize as well as potatoes, so there'll be no cornflour, sweetcorn or polenta;

Food-wise, arrowroot thickening keeps a sauce smooth and fluid rather than turning semi-solid or even solid when cold, because we were already thinking about other ways to eat this than over whole chops on a plate.

For example I got a couple of fondue forks and tried toasting some of the fatter bits of chop, then dipping them in the sauce.

It worked very well - understatement! - even with that little Instant BBQ tray. Barbecuing works wonderfully. We've also tried flash-frying, whose result different but just as good, for the last couple of chops we'll try grilling (US broiling) to see how that turns out.

*****

As for "does the sauce look and mouthfeel good when cold?", yes it does. We used it as a dip when finishing the leftovers later that night. The last couple of cooked chops were cut into pieces matching the parsnips, like the ones toasted on the BBQ, then everything was seared / re-crisped under the grill for a few minutes and eaten as finger-food.

There are no photos, because by the time either of us thought of a camera, there wasn't enough left to bother with - which by itself says how good this was!

*****

Also, instead of fingers, we used eating-picks.

If a diplomatic envoy is having a working snack while busy with documents, saucy-greasy fingerprint reminders of that snack on the documents will impress nobody.

And if diplomacy is a bit on edge, then no matter how much they really eat, the envoy can always tell superiors back home how they expressed silent disapproval by merely picking at their food.

It'll fool nobody, of course, especially if that diplomat is known to enjoy the pleasures of the table, but token gestures are what this sort of diplomacy is all about.

:->

#food and drink #food in fiction #food in fantasy #food and cooking of the Middle Kingdoms #lamb in sour blackberry sauce

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jarofstyles · 6 months ago

Text

Sugar, Sugar 13

Hey… sorry it’s been so long angels 😭 here you go!! I hope you missed them as much as I did.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 160+ exclusive writings

Sugar Sugar masterlist

WC- 3.1k

warnings- mentions of disordered eating and bad relationship with food, body issues, fad diet mention, bad relationship with a parent, body shaming, etc

--------

“So, spill. How was it?” Delilah asked as she eyed Y/N.

“How was what?” Playing coy behind the counter, she did the initial cash wrap check as she avoided her best friend’s eyes. She knew exactly what she was talking about.

“Getting railed half to death.” She deadpanned, making Y/N choke on her laughter. “Don’t play games with me, girl. I can see your literal glow.” She paused, her eyes moving south. “And your man has a nasty habit of biting you.” He did. Y/N knew exactly where the hickey was on her collarbone, but her wrap she had on over her lacy tank top usually hid it. She was just careless this morning and didn’t think about it being on display.

“He is quite bad with that, isn’t he?” She snorted, turning to her friend with giddy light in her eyes. “Great. Better than I expected. Made me really comfortable and I spent the whole night and day.. Y’know.” Her face felt hot as she placed the cash into the register before starting up the POS and making sure everything would be right for when the day ended. “I was worried for nothing. The man is kinda unreal, if I’m being honest. I was taken care of in every way. I shouldn’t be surprised considering he’s been really good to me so far.” Brushing her hair over her shoulder, the drawer was closed and she took note of her green tea, picking it up for a sip now that it wouldn’t burn her tongue.

“It’s what you deserve.” Her friend smiled softly. “You deserve a great love like you read about in your books. Besides, I know you’re going to get it. It’s written in the stars.” She was joking, but also… not really. Delilah knew things without knowing how she knew them, and it was almost always true. “Where is he today? Are we expecting a drop in from him?”

“Actually, I don’t know.” Y/N hummed. He hadn’t replied after his initial good morning message but she wasn’t too worried about it. “He said something about stopping by the bakery. He had today off to go run errands so he’ll be dropping things off but I know I’m seeing him tomorrow. We’re going to that new pizza place.” She was excited about that. There was a flatbread she was looking forward to trying, and Harry had suggested getting two different things and splitting it. It was nice to feel comfortable eating with someone. That was one of the anxiety triggers she had to unlearn as she got older.

“I think we’re going to get a drop in.” Taking one of the baskets they used for restocks, she went towards the tumble table and began to deposit the little baggies of colorful stones and minerals into the correct cubbies. “Have you brought up that Claire woman yet?”

Y/N hadn’t, very well for a reason. She didn’t like the feeling it gave her stomach. Somehow, she was well aware she and Harry had been involved. Somehow, someway. It didn’t seem strong, as she obviously couldn’t be that close to him anymore if she’s unable to contact him but… It still wasn’t a good feeling. The woman wasn’t nice, her energy was rancid and muddy, and she obviously looked down on them for believing in their own thing. That was the exact person she tried to avoid. Y/N knew it was perhaps rude to judge solely off of one interaction, but something told her Harry wouldn’t be happy to hear about her coming in.

“Not yet.” She said sheepishly, spooning a bit of yogurt into her mouth. “I know, you don’t have to give me the eyebrow. I’m just… You know how it is. When you know it’s going to cause an issue.” Y/N didn’t think it would be with her but the idea of upsetting Harry at all wasn’t something she enjoyed. Being so new in the relationship, she wanted that honeymoon stage. It had been so lovely this far, she selfishly wanted to avoid the past and the real world from inserting themselves in her rose colored daydream with her dreamy new boyfriend.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t how life worked.

“Putting it off isn’t doing either of you any favors, Cher.” She gave her another look, hanging up a necklace back on the display. “I trust you to handle it on your own time, but do it soon. I have a feeling she isn’t done sniffing around yet.”

—--

“Hey.” A wide smile greeted her as she heard the chime of the bells on the door, seeing the man that had been on her mind. High waisted black pants with a flare at the bottom and a yellow tee shirt, he walked in with his boots clicking on the hardwood floor. Lifting his sunglasses off his face into his fluffy hair, he extended his arms to motion for her to walk into them. She did so without a question. How could she not?

Falling into his warm scent, she nuzzled her face into his neck and allowed herself to be engulfed in him. Something about them felt closer now. More intimate. Maybe she was making it up but a layer had been shed and he felt even more close to her soul. Lips pecked a few times into her hair, swaying her back and forth as her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, a relieved sigh leaving the man. “Y’alright, Sugar?”

“Mhm.” She nodded against him. “Tired. Spilled my coffee a quarter through but it’s been a bit busy today so we haven’t had the chance to get away. You win some, you lose some.” She’d rather be a little tired and making money, giving readings, all of that.

“Should have texted me.” His tongue clicked, finally getting a good look at her as she pulled out of his neck. Didn’t she realize he’d do almost anything for her? “Would have brought you some over, sweets. What good is having a boyfriend if you’re not gonna use me?” He was joking, but not really. He knew that he’d bend over backwards for the girl in his arms.

“In all honesty, I didn’t even think about it. I knew you were busy today running errands and we had a lot of walk in readings, I’ve been a little busy.” Her fingers ran through his hair again, liking how it felt between them. He always melted like a pup getting pets when she did it too, so it was a win win. “Did you get everything done that you needed?”

“I did.” He moved on swiftly. “Are you sayin’ you didn’t eat?” His brow raised, making her wince. Sometimes she forgot, but it wasn’t on purpose. It was genuine distraction. “Baby…”

“I had a yogurt and granola bar. I was planning on making some food when I got home, but I was busy. Promise.” She tried her luck at a pout which luckily seemed to break down the glare.

“Too bad.” He sighed. “M’gonna run and get you both food. I don’t like this, Sugar.” Large hands cupped her face, making her feel more delicate than she ever had been. Sometimes it felt hard to lean into that femininity of delicacy when she’d been treated as the opposite most of her life, but Harry had her falling into it so easily. “I know you’re a big girl and you can handle yourself, but it’s okay to ask me for help. I want to help you, I want to be a good boyfriend and grab your things when you’re busy. I know you’d do the same for me.” She already had. The girl had given him a whole welcome basket when he opened his own business, for fucks sake.

“I know. It’s…” Feeling slightly guilty now, she rested her hands on his wrists. “It’s a hard habit to break. I’ve been independent for years now and I don’t like to rely on people.” It was always thrown back in her face. “I’ll try harder, H. Promise.” Turning her head, she caught his palm with her lips and pressed kisses to it. That move melted him completely, leaning down to kiss her lips a few times before peeling himself away.

“Good girl. I’ll be back in a bit. Be good for me.”

Y/N hated to see him go, but she loved to watch him leave. Still buzzing from the affection, she jumped as Delilah came out of the back room fanning herself.

“That man is completely gone for you. Lord…” She shook her head. “What a guy. I’m glad he wants to take care of you, Cher. You deserve it.” Her hand squeezed her shoulder as she slipped past her.

“It has nothing to do with the fact he’s getting you lunch too?” She snickered, watching her friend shrug.

“That definitely helps.”

—--

Y/N’s good mood was squashed just 10 minutes later when a familiar face walked through the shop doors, nose wrinkling at the scent of the incense.

God, why now?

“Y/N, I’ve told you that these smoky scents are going to drive away customers.”

Yeah, that was the point. Drive away customers with impure intentions.

“Hi, Mother.” Y/N sighed, feeling her shoulders tighten as she watched the woman come closer into the shop. Her tumultuous relationship with her mother had a lot to do with the fact that Y/N reminded her of her own. They’d been extremely close, sharing their love of the spiritual world, of magic, all the things while her mom had rejected it. Y/N had been easier to bond with for her grandmother and she knew she held resentment over it for years.

She wasn’t an awful person, was the thing. She liked to support her at school, took her shopping for makeup, taught her how to do her hair and tie her shoes. She held her when she was sick, stuck up for her when she got bullied- but she didn’t realize she herself was her daughter’s first and biggest bully.

“Hello. It’s been weeks since you’ve visited me or your father.” She sent her a look. “Are you well? Do you need money? I know the shop is a bit of a hard venture to keep up…”

There it was. Her mother had always hated this shop. Hated what it stood for, what it represented. Y/N never faulted or judged someone for not believing or being connected in the things she was. It was a calling, she truly believed, whether natural or brought on by a life event. But her mother thought it to be a bit of a waste of time. Always expecting her downfall, though she didn’t think she was cruel enough to hope for it.

“No, we’re actually doing incredibly well.” It was the truth. They were making bigger profits than the years before and she was more than glad about that. They’d paid off the loan they took out and now they were working towards a possible expansion. But her mom didn’t want to hear about that. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’ve been a bit busy.”

Her mom gave her a scrutinizing eye, unsure if she believed her. Y/N wasn’t usually a busy person, despite the shop. She liked a slower lifestyle and she knew that, which is why she understood the look on her face. “Have you gone back to the gym like I asked? I haven’t seen you there. I can go with you, you know. I think you’d love my trainer. He’s very dedicated.”

There it was again. Y/N felt her stomach drop, though she should have expected it. Her mother was obsessed with her weight. She’d been the one to try and get her on diets at an early age, effectively ruining her relationship with food. While she knew her mother was someone who cared about her, sometimes she cared about the wrong things a bit too much. Once Y/N had made peace with the fact that she’d always be a bigger girl, her mother had pushed back at it causing more of a rift. She wasn’t going along with her plans and fad diets anymore, and it felt like a personal insult.

“No, no. I’ve been busy with something else, actually.” With Harry. The pretty, driven, thoughtful man that had her tummy in knots and her head in the clouds.

“Well, what? I’ve sent you dozens of recipes. I doubt you’ve tried them though. It looks like you’ve put on a bit of weight in the last few weeks. I thought you were making progress.” Her frown made Y/N’s stomach hurt. She’d resigned herself into knowing she would probably never get her mother’s approval on her body, but the reminders didn’t do much to make her feel good. Accepting it didn’t mean liking it.

“I may have. I’ve been fine, though.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’ll come by for dinner next week, I promise. I just-”

The door chimed again, interrupting them both. Her stomach dropped as she saw Harry’s smiling face, something that usually would make her erupt into butterflies- but this wasn’t the introduction she wanted to make. Not quite yet.

“I’m back, sorry. There was a line.” He murmured, going behind the desk and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her body flushed as she looked towards her mother, her eyes wide as Harry adjusted her hair for her before setting the food bag and coffee tray on the counter. “Sorry, I’ll step out of the way if you’re helping someone.”

“Who’s this?” Her mother’s interest was immediately evident.

“I’m Harry, Y/N’s boyfriend. Nice t’meet you. What’s your name?” He asked, placing a hand on his girlfriend’s back.

“H, this is my mother.” Y/N swallowed, looking between the two of them. She could see his eyes widen, reaching a hand out for her to shake. He was always so polite, so charming, but she couldn’t help but see the look on her mom’s face.

“You’re her boyfriend?” She asked, brows raised. Her voice sounded in disbelief, looking between the two of them as if something didn’t add up. “I didn’t know she even had a boyfriend.”

Thankfully she’d let him know she hadn’t exactly told her yet so he didn’t seem shocked about that, but the meeting was a little unorthodox.

His brows did furrow at her tone and she could tell he didn’t like it. But for her sake he kept a smile on his face, shaking the woman’s hand lightly. “Yes, I am. M’quite gone for her. You raised an incredible woman, Ma’am.” He spoke earnestly.

“Excuse my shock, I just didn’t realize….” She trailed off, still seeming confused. “Y/N does like her secrets, it seems. You’re very handsome. What do you do?” It was likeher mother to be nosy, sniffing out why exactly the man was around her daughter. Y/N could see that she was suspicious and it hurt her because she knew exactly why she was.

She was making sure he wasn’t using her for another reason. For money or something else, because it was hard for her to believe a man as attractive as him would be with her for pure attraction and chemistry.

“I actually own the bakery across the street.” He said easily. “Thank you for the compliment. She’s an incredible woman, so welcoming and kind. Beautiful to boot.” He meant every word, tapping the tip of her nose. “I don’t want to interrupt, though… I brought the girls lunch.”

“Oh, it’s not trouble. I was coming because my daughter forgets she has a phone.” She shot her a look. “Why don’t you come to dinner next week with her? You’re more than welcome. Her father would be more than happy to meet you.”

“If it’s alright with Y/N, I will.” He nodded, showing his loyalty immediately. Harry wouldn’t do anything that made his girl uncomfortable and he was dedicated to the cause. He was already unsure about the woman, but the next words solidified it for him.

“Alright, whatever you decide. Just make sure she doesn’t have too many sweets from your bakery, hm? It’s starting to show again.” She was joking as if it was funny, patting her daughter’s hand before stepping back. “I hope to see you next week, Harry. Call me, Y/N, we have much to discuss.”

Her mother was swift, walking out the door as quickly as she had come in. As soon as she was gone, the energy calmed and her shoulders fell, groaning low in her throat as she moved to hide her face in Harry’s chest again. He knew better than to talk, instead stroking over her hair as he let her recover from that interaction.

Internally though, his view on her mother was soured. How dare she make a comment to not only her daughter about that, but to him? A man she was dating and obviously really liked her? Did she not realize how awful it was to comment on something like that? Y/N had told him that her relationship with her mother had been a weird one but he hadn’t expected her to say something cruel like that. It didn’t even seem to register that she was being mean, she genuinely seemed to think it was funny.

“I’m sorry about that.” She sighed, pulling back from his chest. “She’s… she’s a lot. I promise she isn’t all bad, but she’s got quirks.” Her face pulled in a slight grimace, making him smile sadly at her as he caressed her warm cheek.

“That wasn’t nice to say, but I have a feeling it isn’t something you want t’unpack in the middle of a work day.” It wasn’t something he felt could be properly discussed out here anyways. “We can talk about it tomorrow, if you want…but I just have to say this one thing.” His head dipped to get closer to hers. “I don’t mind if you gain or lose weight. I don’t care about that at all so long as you’re healthy and comfortable. I’ll never restrict you from eating, never make you feel as though you’re too much. I know you struggle with it, but I’m never going to contribute to that. I’m here to support you.”

His words were genuine, eyes shining as he told her his truth. She could feel it radiating off of him and it made her want to tear up, but he didn’t give her a chance to reply to that before he smacked a kiss to her nose and pulled back to open the paper bag that had been stapled shut. “But now I want you to tell me if I did a good job choosing your meal, please. I did the caramel coffee with oat milk, iced. I remembered that bit.”

Y/N wasn’t sure where the hell Harry had come from, but she was thankful for whoever had sent him. It seemed like she needed him now more than ever.

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signanothername · 24 days ago

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I have a really stupid hc: nightmare takes better care of his minions than dream/ dreams actually really toxic. Like, yes he's the bad guy, but he takes really good care of his lackeys when they need help mentally and stuff, when dream is so focused on spreading positivity that he doesn't even realize he's hurting the others not caring for them and not letting them do basic things like eat and sleep properly

I’ve seen that headcanon around actually and I think it’s funny /pos

Like I love the idea of Dream being way too focused to realize the damage he causes while Nightmare has a better grasp on things

But also kinda gets into the shaky grounds of “asshole Dream” if not written well

I’m not really a fan of “bad guy” Dream, or the interpretation of Dream being that he’s an asshole who doesn’t care at all

The thing is, I’d love to see that headcanon actually be connected to the twins’ traumas, as I often see people portray them that way and only go for how Nightmare’s is kind and his trauma made him a better leader but Dream is just an asshole, and i’m here like.. WHY????

Like why make Nightmare a better written character just cause you sympathize with him? Why not sympathize with Dream too? Why is Dream’s trauma and the abuse he went through immediately ignored for the sake of making Nightmare kind? Making Nightmare the “better twin”?

Why not make both twins have both good and bad behaviors? Why simply reduce them to black and white?

Like I genuinely would enjoy the idea of Dream being toxic while showing that it’s not his intent, showing that he genuinely doesn’t mean to be toxic, it’s that his toxic behaviors are born out of how his trauma blinded him and how his actions are just the effect of a pre-existing cause, rather than just reducing Dream’s character to a bad guy or an asshole and that’s it y’know?

Like honestly toxic Dream for the win if it shows his vulnerability and how his trauma takes part of it

For me, when it comes to my own interpretation of Nightmare and Dream, I love to think of the opposite but only to an extent?

I like to think Nightmare would be abusive/toxic to his minions, but not to the point they collapse, (unless he was in a really bad mood and he had some sort of emotional outburst) but generally, he doesn’t care about what they do but he makes sure to make it clear that he expects them to eat and sleep and do whatever basics they need to do, as well as give them leisure/ down time for them to do whatever they want as long as they keep up, as he’s extremely practical and would not want to have them unfit for missions or plans he wants to carry (not out of the kindness of his heart but rather cause it would inconvenient him)

All while trying to show that Nightmare has a genuine sense of humanity (for a lack of better word) to him, show that he’s the way he is cause of the trauma he went through, show that he’s not all abusive and show that he has a kind side to him while showing how he squashes that kindness inside him due to trauma

While Dream is actually quite genuinely kind and loves helping people, and is genuinely trying his best to better himself every day, but is quite destructive to himself, he would not accept help from others, and feels the need to save others without saving himself, completely sacrificing his physical and mental health, and assuming he’s the only one who can fix things, a savior complex if you will, he’d work himself down to the bone without relying on his friends or anyone else, (this is a part of how he has his fallout with Ink in my interpretation) he’s too blinded to the fact others can share the weight with him

It’s completely unhealthy to his own self and by extension, he can appear overbearing and someone who gets his nonexistent nose into the business of others without considering their feelings or thoughts about it, and also appear as tho he thinks others are too incompetent to deal with either what he himself deals with, or what others deal with in their own lives, that he’s better than them in a way (it’s not his intent as he genuinely tries his best to be mindful of other’s feelings) but his self destructive behavior is something that Blue is trying to get through his thick skull, but Dream is too stubborn (a characteristic he ironically shares with Nightmare)

So I guess my interpretation of the two is the opposite to what is usually portrayed in the fandom, but I mean, there isn’t many interpretations I agree with in the fandom to begin with Hdhdhxhhd

#anothers ask #dream sans #nightmare sans

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schizoidcel · 7 months ago

Text

## BOOTHILL x READER ★

🤍 ﹒ HEADCANONS ! ! . .

－ notes ̽ ۪⠀written before his release + gn reader huhu. yall i swear ill get to the lcb requests but im brainrotting too fucking much right now boothill is colonizing my mind so enjoy these thoughts i had and will throw into the tags

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

He's a little spoon and NOBODY can convince me otherwise period.

We know damn well hes touch starved. So ofcourse he'd wanna be nuzzled up inbetween your chest and chin

Will teach you how to ride a horse. He definitely has a favourite (his name is Sebastian 🌚🌚)

Very protective over him though. You will not ride on that horse until you are months into the relationship

He gave you another horse to practice riding on and an extra horse incase the other "knocks your socks off" ... Whatever that means

You named them Yee and Haw and he was so conflicted with his emotions that he considered getting a routine check up on his body

Will tease you if you completely fuck up immediately.

He grabs your hands to gesture on things you should be wary about while being on the back of a horse, knowing it'll mess your brain up and lead you to not pay attention to a single thing coming out of his mouth

On the other hand if you're able to handle it in a short amount of time, he'll start flirting with you

"I'm doing it, Boo!" "Nice work, honeybunch. Think ya can manage ridin' somethin' else?" "Dude"

It's one or the other. You will not escape the Boothill down bad programm

Boothill also acts like a himbo to mess around with you.

On another note, you called him Bootyhill once and he's still shook up. Whether /pos or /neg is up to interpretation

While we're on the topic of nick/pet names, he calls you things you've never heard of before .

Or even if you did, they're things you expected never to be called 😭

What the fuck is a doodlebug Boothill

Type of man to get flustered when you flirt back. He just starts bugging out

Will play it cool though, but the faint blue on his cheeks says otherwise

Also a fan of headpats. No, he's not ashamed. No, he will not tell you.

Expanding on the no shame, Boothill takes it to the extreme

No filter, no mask, no nothing. Touchy EVERYWHERE you go

Even if he can't really feel it, he just feels more at ease when you both are near eachother or touch one another. Man wants to protect his partner, after all

It dosen't matter if you're able to protect yourself, the gesture just makes him feel more comfortable and calm

Also has a hair pulling kink woah. Let's keep it sfw everybody

Forehead kisses ❤️ or just kisses anywhere on his head in general. Kiss behind his ears and he will overheat

He let's you play with his hair<3 It's one of his favourite passtimes with you

Braid it, tie it in a ponytail, give him buns, pigtails, curl them, decorate them with hairpins, clip bows in his strands it don't matter PLAY WITH HIS HAIR ⁉️

He relaxes SO MUCH it's insane. Genuinely just one finger goes into that hair of his and he melts

This plays into the little spoon factor

You'd tease him about it but he takes pride in it 😭

Has a weird obsession with biting. If you complain that it hurts he goes "What, want me to smooch the pain away?" and he does this fuckass face :3 while you're just staring at him dead in the eye (you say yes btw)

If you're ticklish, he's hell for you

Tickles you in the most random times possible.

And you know it's even WORSE with those cold ass metalic hands

You're cuddling? The sides of your torso are not safe. You're currently occupied with an activity involving your hands? Your armpits are not safe either. He's laying on your bare stomache face down? He starts blowing raspberries.

You know damn well he uses the feathers of his hat 😭

Sticks it up your nose to make you sneeze too. Usually to wake you up or some shit

You could have the most volcano eruption alert level 5 sneeze and he'd still say "Aww, ya sneeze like a kitten!"

One last note this man is a whiney loser bottom not sorry

the word ill is in boothill for a reason the way im laying in bed all sweaty ANYway 🌚😵😵😵😵

ૢ་༘࿐ thank you for reading ! Ⳋ᧙

#boothill x reader #bruh #i feel so insane #and normal #normaling #ok wer e done. im out. goodbye hsr community thisll be my only contribution #proof reading and looking at the eidolon i used for the header why nobody draw him with those glasses yet🧐🧐

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year ago

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PART 2 - Genshin Impact SAGAU / Isekai: Gifts to Give Your Allogene!

ELEMENTS HERE: Dendro, Hydro, Cryo, Geo

Part 1 / Part 2 (you're here!)

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only)

Planet: General SAGAU / Isekai Stuff, Platonic Cuteness

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, a couple sentences for each

Stars: a little bit of everybody as of Baizhu/Kaveh update! including rare beloveds like Aloy! (I hope I got them all… at least the playable ones… ) Please understand that some characters are more “foreground” characters and have more screen time so I may have written some more for them because I knew them better!

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: weapons for gifts?? 16+ Older Teen Audiences Advised, light cussing

☆

& Trigger Warnings: None Known.

☆

Edit 1/1/24: Hey I expanded on this in my Eldritch Fanfic Post Part 2, but I just wanted to vet the old posts and say I did do a form of exoticism by including the word "Huangdi" throughout this.

I've since replaced it for better readability with "Emperor" but I didn't want to erase my mistake like it never happened. I'm genuinely sorry about this, I never had ill intentions by including it, but regadless of intentions that's the impact of my actions. I'm absolutely going to be looking out for kind of thing in the future/get a sensitivity reader/a beta read from that culture to check me.

I hope you still enjoy my writing and can understand.

Dendro Allogenes:

Tighnari = with some help again to put magic into it, you give Tighnari some head coverings you sewed together that have the power of Cryo in them! So now he can actually see what plants are out in the desert, visit Cyno, or just enter the desert to his heart’s content, which, yes, his tail started unconsciously wagging after you explained what it was. “Oh! For me? Well I’ve taken to avoiding the desert if I can because of… wait a minute, you say it has cryo in it? What? How does that work?? You think it’ll genuinely help me in the desert?? You made it???” Tighnari’s ears are all twitching with excitement, and he’s holding the covering (that matches his clothes/dark green) like it’s a new plant for study, omg he pulled out his magnifying glass and everything-

Collei = so she’s actually a really good seamstress, and makes plushies a lot, esp for kids! but one day you found one of her first attempts, a ragged looking sort of pale pink bunny… her first attempt at a plushie Baron Bunny!! so you decided to mimic her design (still baron bunny but with a sort of Sumeru-like clothing on it), and sew her one! You made a whole day of it, eating together, going to the best spots to sightsee (for as long as Collei was up for it/not too tired) and then gifted her the plushie Baron Bunny! She accidentally let out a small scream that startled both of you tbh, and then snatched that shit so quick lmao, kicking her feet on the picnic blanket and everything! With your permission of course, Collei then tackled you for a hug lol, she ranted about all the little details and made you tell her several times over how you made it so she could make some more in the future too! She may or may not have talked about missing Amber and teared up… but then you redirected her attention to the bunny saying, it’s like a gift from Amber and you really! (you also added a function where, if you squeeze the Baron, it’ll dish out some healing power and some heat! …Collei tackle hugged you twice for that one)

Alhaitham = what a hard person to get gifts for, he’d probably be like “thanks” no matter what you got him 😭, he means it tho, it would just be underwhelming… but on the bright side, he definitely seems like he’d show a deeper appreciation for handmade gifts! Since you learned how to make one for Yoimiya, you decide this calls for another handmade hammock (also bc Teyvat doesnt have hammocks)! You painted symbols like green crystals and geometric patterns, but also lions and a golden Palace of Alcazarzaray for Kaveh, and your symbol, the eight point star (like the four point but with flare/not like the jewish symbol with equal points lol)!! So that way he can keep lazing away, and avoid people more comfortably lmao, and also if he is going to do that, he doesnt have to sit on rocks or hard structures for hours reading, and you hope it’s encouragement for him to spend time outside/take a break and nap! (Haitham knows that’s part of why you gave him this, even if you didn’t say it, and so he makes a point to do that more often to make you happy, take the advice for his health) oh look, after thoroughly looking at your craftsmanship for 10 minutes, you got a smile in addition to a “thanks”, damn, that’s actually how you know he likes it a lot <3 :)

Nahida = you remember vaguely from Nahida’s storylines/friendship levels that she loves games, and so you collect her a nice deck for Genius Invokation TCG! You also made her a cute bag and container for it, her bag is a rose maple moth crocheted bc really this was an excuse to just make the cutest character in Sumeru look even cuter, (like this, i tried very hard ok, bc this doesnt exist yet, im shocked) The first image is most correct, (imagine the face and stuff is cuter/simpler) as that’s also the backpack part! Her eyes were so big when you handed it to her, (you honestly were shocked they even could get any bigger lol). She jumped up and down excitedly with the backpack on (ur fucking heart, just like you intended, the wings flapped around and everything <333) you are also currently working on a luna moth (the pale green moth) in case she wants it to match her outfit more! even tho Nahida insists something handmade once is enough, you can see the childish yearning in her eyes, like a kid trying to say no to a toy that’s being offered right in front of them lmao

Kaveh = pretty girls deserve pretty things, and you were definitely feeling the pressure to make something high quality enough for Kaveh, tho u know he’s sweet enough that he’d appreciate anything you’d take the time to handmake (and tbh.. it sounds a little arrogant, but ur hoping something so cared for by what he, or at least most people see as some kind of all-powerful god above the archons, will boost his self-esteem/confidence in his own worth more, or at least let him know one more person cares about him…) so you didnt make it super detailed, and you put a note on it too to let him know your not as great at that as he would be, but you made a model of the part of the teapot house you’re going to design for him! Like a sort of sneakpeak, you made a small lookalike of Alhaitham and his house, but filled it with decor like if Howl didnt hoard all the cool shit in his room in Howl’s Moving Castle, but instead spread it out, and sort of used your modern taste for layout, (not the ugly ass corporate aesthetic) and a small garden. You also made nearly all the decor and stuff something interesting (like some primogem strings, they can be pretty small, for string lights, lampgrass from Mondstadt that he’s never seen etc.) and while you very shyly handed him the model at first, he was practically vibrating with excitement!! “You made this?! Oh of course I don’t expect perfection, it looks wonderful so far, especially if this was your first attempt!!” Kaveh has like sat down, and is delicately holding it and looking around, and when you tell him it’s an actual space, meant for him, he gently sets down the model and grabs you by the shoulders, “Show. Me. Now. …please?” looking at you with very determined puppy dog eyes lol

Yaoyao = …idk what you expected. It was so obvious. A crocheted bunny backpack. brown, so it matches her, since her basket was brown, or you could leave off the feet, whichever u prefer, and anyway, Yaoyao is always doing things for others, so the little girl was so cute and pink when you actually gave her something instead! (once again, using ur old trick of making the person think u need something then shocking them with a handmade gift instead hehe) She IMMEDIATELY switched it out for her basket and has pretty much converted to using it full time! (tho when she needs the more solid one she’ll still wear it, she just alternates, esp if there’s some occasion she’ll deffo wear the bunny backpack, it’s her “fancy god-made bunny backpack!”)

Baizhu = the doctor isn’t one to talk about himself a lot, so you weren’t sure what he would like other than some new tea… but you wanted to make it yourself so while you were a little disappointed it was just a basic pet gift, you wanted to maybe put a little extra into it so maybe Changsheng will use it and Baizhu will think it’s cute! You crocheted a little pet pod/cave for her to hang out in (imagine this but a Jueyun Chili hehe) and it also has a little crocheted vine rope so the little Jueyun Chili cave can be hung from things, or even tied onto Baizhu’s apron/hold it like a purse! That way Changsheng doesn’t always have to drape across his shoulders/has somewhere to retreat! When you shyly showed Baizhu and Changsheng, he literally clapped, so did Qiqi lol (he usually does those tiny smiles… but this one was the brightest most genuine you’ve ever seen, even in game…!!) You find that Baizhu’s eyes look like that type of person’s eyes were they just look like “happy”, like there’s a little fond sparkle in his eye. Changsheng was all like “about time I got something instead of him! I’m basically an assistant too y’know! …thank you very much, my Emperor.” (if you’re NOT squimish of snake pics, pls look at this cute smile Changsheng would give)

Hydro Allogenes:

Barbara = …so even Barbara was a little hesitant at first, but came around to the idea after some convincing, and some encouragement (and showing her she was capable of it) but you basically ….may ….or may not have… found a loop hole for her being a catalyst? So, thru a lot of persuading Barbara to train with you and Childe (who also thought it was amusing to see such a young girl who’s literally a nun and a singer do this) you got Barbara to make water bombs! Like her circle of notes that float around her when healing, she sings and gestures and similar to her ult, (but like Childe’s E-skill it just switches between the two), the notes fly out and explode in the direction she sings/aims! You wanted to remind her of her old dream of being recognized, and wanting to help in battle in a more combat way, and besides, you’re sick of women getting regulated to the healing magical role in games/anime fantasy, so yeah. You and Childe are literally evilly giggling to each other in the background as Barbara sends quater notes and lines of music that explode (like how water can sharpen and cut things like Childe’s blades? Yeah he taught her that) so intensely that it cuts into the Pyro Lawlachurl, bringing it to its knees- Barbara accidentally cuts its head off as the finishing blow. While she gasps in a little fear, but mostly shock, Childe jumps up and down and starts cheering.

Mona = got sparkly eyes, nearly snatched the gift out of your hand, you made her some awesome earrings from the character banner wishes! All pretty ombre pink and blue they swirl and look so pretty framing Mona’s face, she only wears them on special occasions despite your claim of everyday use, they also help her figure out where the clearest view of the night sky each night but glowing brighter and brighter when she gets closer to seeing clearly, Mona is almost? weirdly envious?? for her past self that had to suffer thru all the inconvenient cloudy nights lmao

Childe = like anon said, a new pair of knit gloves, using the fur from the snow king boar! he’s amazed they never wear out now, and he totally uses them as an excuse to hold your hands all like “I just can’t get over how soft they are, feel them, you did amazing comrade! even better than some Snezhnayan shops!!”, exactly what you expect he’s leaning into your face and everything- 🙄

Xingqiu = an ao3 account you had a hard time with Xingqiu’s, afterall, he’s from a wealthier family, so he can get mostly what he wants, and you don’t wanna just get him another book… so you kidnapped him to Inazuma! (idk if this is canon, or happened in an event or smth I missed idfc) So, you also kidnapped Albedo for this trip, so that Xingqiu could actually see the impact his writing made overseas! While you intended for this trip to make Xingqiu feel better abt his writing, (and to help Albedo feel appreciated too, despite him not expressing much low self-esteem in his art, compliments heaped upon him def cant hurt, plus u can see him go pink too hehe) you also wanted to surprise him with a author book signing! If he was up for it, of course, which he “I absolutely, definitely, certainly am, my liege!” Kid’s practically hopping in place, as you get him all ready for his book signing (and not rlly Albedo bc he’s always fucking perfect, u dont have to do shit, even his messy hair looks nice 💀) …you also may or may not have given him some hair decorations (to help his asymmetrical cutting, not that it looks super bad, but for a change at least)

Yelan = …it’s official. You are intimidated. It’s only pretty hydro women and Ayato from here on, on your “Gift List”. Needless to say, like a few other allogenes, you wouldn’t know shit about this woman if you didn’t read her lore… it’s not a fine replacement, you don’t think, but with (lots of almond tofu, and osmanthus wine too) dev access to help you, you created another bracelet for Yelan. Inscribed (just like the heirlooms) inside simply says “You Are Not Alone”, with your eight star symbol following after (like a four star but with some flare, and also not the Jewish star lol), it glows an otherwordly gold, a contrast to the bright blues of the other bracelet. Its function is a geo shield, to protect Yelan and any teammates nearby when it’s activated, she can also leave the shielded area in one spot, so she can do her e-skill and still protect people. You’d just casually asked her to meet up with you one day in that teahouse you know she runs for intel, and when you presented her the bracelet, she held it delicately, saying nothing as she examined it, reading the inside. A small smile tugged her lips up, and she slips it on as she sips her tea, “…Well, I’ll have to show this to present this one to the family shrine, I think this more than makes up for the heirloom I failed to keep. A replacement from the Guide of Teyvat themselves… Thank you, my Emperor, for this handwrought gift you bestow upon a mortal such as me. …and thank you, for not leaving me alone.” Yelan bows a little in her seat, sharp blue eyes more softened than you’ve ever seen her, trained on yours. Her hands are together in that same praying motion that gives you the weirdest sense of deja vu…

Kokomi = so you don’t know much about her, as the it seems the character lore for Kokomi you can remember was… lacking, to say the least. Hoyo definitely plays favorites, BUT YOU DON’T!! At least when it comes to gift givining so everyone feels appreciated, you got a pretty book (handmade or bought) and got it/made it kinda small, like the size of the book in her idle animation, bc turns out that’s her diary of sorts. You know the priestess feels if she expresses any opinions that her people will just take her side, or her word as… well, a divine priestess, the weight of her title you suppose. She also keeps track of how many spoons she has! Like what things drain her, and what things make her feel better (big social interactions vs. reading a war treaty book by herself for example) So you made her a bullet journal! (here’s one of my favorite bullet journal youtubers, here’s a flipthru of her completed journal) you didn’t fill out the whole thing, just some example pages, to show her the possibilites! …you were kinda worried bc she turned away at first after delicately accepting it, and since it was just you two, she allowed herself turn back around and start excitedly chatting your ear off as she leaned in- and wow. Kokomi’s eyes really are, dreamy, like cotton candy… and they’re so much prettier when she smiles…

Ayato = …you know exactly what to do. Interrupting his busy schedule (and only actually taking one day out of it actually bother him so he can have the others as a secret vacation hehe) to come over to the Kamisato household and homemake some boba drinks for him, Ayaka, and Thoma to try! Mostly Ayato tho, you got all the syrups, the milks teas, the boba, and luckily, were able to get some help from Xiangling in experimenting in making… popping pearls! (they’re edible boba pearls that are actually filled with juice/syrup flavors and burst on your tounge when you barely bite them! they’ve very sweet, and Inazuma definitely didn’t have any different pearls other than tapioca, those squishy black pearls you see in his regular boba tea) …Ayato is literally holding your hand like he’s about to drop to one knee, this man is down bad for boba (and you) and… are those tears?! Is he tearing up?! “I can’t believe… THE Akitsu Mikami… blessed me, personally, with boba?? With NEW boba teas and pearls I’ve never even seen?! …Thank you, my beloved emperor!” Mans has quite literally gotten on his knees, but bc he’s so tall, he can still comfortably hold both your hands in his bigger gloved ones …Thoma is desperately trying to get Ayato up, Ayaka is getting onto her brother in the background.

Candace = it’s not exactly a traditional gift… but the reason Candace doesn’t wear a lot of her jewelry or finery is because of the hard job she has as a Guardian/in the desert, so you figured giving her more things she can’t even really wear wasn’t the way to go.. So instead! You gather a journal or advice from Ningguang, Keqing, Yelan, Zhongli, and all the others in the Qixing who were willing to help you, and kidnapped Ganyu for a sight seeing trip! (since u and Ganyu has that whole “in between two very different worlds” bond) You brought Ganyu because you know if anybody would be good at managing something/getting it started (like the music fest back for Lantern Rite… that I missed bc I dont understand how lantern rite works 😭😭😭 VIOLENTLY SOBS ITS BEEN 2 YEARS AND I HAVENT GOTTEN A SINGLE LANTERN RITE U GUYS-) it would be Ganyu herself! …and to also give her a break. See Aaru Village suffered from little to no economy before Candace finally negoiated with the elders to let Sumeru merchants travel into town/buy from them/sell to them, but she’s had a rough time keeping the old coots from being dicks about it since, …and it’s also hard to convince the younger generations to come back after many wanted to see the outside world because of this… So what better what to solve two birds with one stone?? GANYU!! And all the economy and business advice you could gather form Liyue! You hope that the village flourishing (and helping Candace cut down on shady merchants) would impress the older generation, yet also get more money in the town so they can dress it up a bit more (like fixing unsteady bridges, also u kidnapped Kaveh to help revitalize their cultural architecture buildings back into life/or help make the simple buildings just prettier) Now Ganyu and her are besties (Candace rlly needed another friend besides just Dehya alone to come out and see her in the desert) and the adepti was very willing to come visit her and Aaru Village to help the economy maintain its footing/run smoothly, and Kaveh also comes and works on it/checks on her/the village! …When you initially showed all the plans to Candace, saying it’ll impress the old by bringing back old designs/architecture plus interest/satisfy the younger generations to know their hometown is advancing and make it more appealing to come back to… The Guardian puts her shield and spear off to the side, she lowers her head, and greets you, bc u kinda just started rambling without saying hello- whoops- , “Salaam aleikum Qore, **I have already become the first Guardian to have been blessed by the gods, to receive this Vision was the only aid I could turn to in trying to help my village, my community… but to be blessed once more? I would never have dared to dream, let alone the Ogdoad Qore… I am grateful on behalf of myself, my village, and all of King Deshret’s people. …truly, I did not expect a gods eyes to turn favorably upon us since my ancestors’ time. Thank you, my Qore.” You just give her a smile back, she taught you the return phrase, so you hope it’s appropiate, “Waaleikum us salam.” :)

Nilou = This woman is consumed by dancing, other than keeping the peace (well, within reason apparently bc she’s okay with a coup-) but you’ve heard how hard it can be on dancers, how plenty of them have to have strong muscles to perform consistently. So, using adepti magic, you’ve enchanted this minakari you’ve painted (a type of metalwork that’s then painted by artists, on Earth countries like Iran, India, Afghanistan, Pakistan make them) like the teapot! It’s a small island that has a dance studio, and more importantly, a spa with hot springs, a sauna, and a room full of medical supplies dancers would need like salves, heating/cooling pads (using pyro/cryo), and space for stretches! Overall, just a place for her to get away from all the people and to heal her body up for the next performance, and after getting it all prepped/packed up with supplies, and showing it to Nilou… she literally had her hands over her mouth the whole walk around the rooms and showing her everything. Nilou had already been shocked you’d painted her a minakari piece, let alone all this! Like some others, she was quick to drop the formalities, and before you could even say “I hope you like it!” she was wrapping her arms around you and squeezing as tight as she could, tearing up and saying how happy she was that someone understood how hard dance can be on the body and how hard it can also be to take care of yourself, and how she can’t possibly show her gratitude- wait a minute. She’s pulled back and gripping you by the shoulders, not even bothering to wipe her eyes, before she swears to give you a dance every year with all the culmination of her work as she learns and makes newer and better dances!! <3

Cryo Allogenes:

Kaeya = horses so he’s actually a calvary captain- you actually wanted something that’d emphasize the handmade part of the gift, to really let Kaeya know somebody out there really cares about him, cares about him in the way that they’ll sit down and think of an idea and think of him, and then work for hours, sewing, drawing, crafting something just for him, to happy about. You make him a small, pocket sized photobook, and have a picture of every person who cares about him in all the slots, and near the end, from his last birthday where you gathered everybody together to celebrate, is a photo of Jean, Klee, Albedo, Sucrose, Venti, Rosaria, Noelle, Amber, even Eula, Diona, Mika, Barbara, and Mona came! But most importantly, you got Diluc to host it at Angel’s Share, and after some convincing, got him to get in the picture, you’re slightly off center, sandwiched by Kaeya and Diluc, where Kaeya is mid-laugh at the center, having just seen Diluc’s embarrassed face. It’s the last one in the mini album, and each photo has an even small message at the bottom, giving Kaeya a message from everybody, just for him. At the very end, with the group photo just before, is one of yourself and him posing together, you having taken him out roaming Mondstadt for the perfect picnic spot, just to give an excuse why you wanted a picture with him. And at the time, he found it a little suspicious, but was just flustered enough he let it slide. But now, opening and unfolding this tiny album, full of smiling friends and caring words, Kaeya gives a small, watery chuckle, you’ve left him a message too. “Take care of yourself Kaeya, because someone out there really cares about you. :) “

Rosaria = After seeing her “nun” outfit, there’s no doubt in your mind that Rosaria is yearning for clothes closer to her preferred aesthetic. So, using your knowledge of punk clothes and modern goth religious aesthetics, you’ve made some pieces for her to try! Some black pumps with metal crosses for heels, yes they’re sharp and this nice shawl with beads, and finally, a nice lacy skirt (no you did not make fucking lace, jesus christ, you’re not a miracle worker, despite the belief of some teyvatians-). All of which, wow, got Rosaria to give you an honest to god… smile. A full, genuine smile from Rosaria… yeah that made all your hard work worth it.

Eula = a book on common manners so Eula is actually great at cooking! So what better chaos to gift to her other than introducing her to Xiangling! Especially since you’ve given the young Liyuean cook recipes from your own world for her to try out, she’s been on a rampage of new things, and so what better new experience than a cook from an entirely different country? You also made a small book of recipes (look up how to make a zine book on youtube it’s actually kinda easy) from your world, different from Xiangling’s because you thought Eula would like different recipes than her. …So needless to say you were then being berated by two chefs for not sharing all the recipes lmao, tho that really just gave them reason to share recipes! Also any new spinoffs Xiangling’s already made from the initial ones you gave her, and now Eula not only graciously thanks you for the recipes, but also her new pen pal! :)

Diona = So, to prep for this gift, you forced converted the Cat’s Tail to a non-alcoholic cat cafe during the daytime, and only in the evenings do they start serving alcohol/cats put up. You also got onto Margaret for hiring a child to make alcohol, so instead have Diona work better hours, and only during the cafe time, so she’s not making alcoholic drinks either. (you also checked in on child labor laws in Mondstadt, and ran some paperwork by Jean just in case) But most importantly, you teach Diona all kinds of new drink recipes to make, like Shirley Temples, smoothies, etc. You even (once again, by getting help from Xiangling and Diluc) made a drink for hangovers, but more importantly, helped her make one called “Sober Up” which magically flushes out the alcohol out of someone’s body, so Diona can finally sneak people a drink that (while still cursed to be well-made since Diona made it) is a trip to drink lol, it’s like a blast of carbonation/electricity to the system and will typically make most people very nauseous (but since magic’s doing it, they dont need to throw up, they’re just sick feeling for an hour depending on how much they drank). Diona nearly cried after she saw the effect on hungover customers, and immediately started sneaking them into her father’s drinks, so now he’s leaning more toward sobriety most days, and after finding out what Diona did, started to talk to his daughter more. The next time you see her, and ask after her father, she just wraps her little arms around your waist, the highest she can reach, you hug her back.

Chongyun = for prep for this gift, you painstakingly, slowly convince Chongyun to accept more and more moments of warmth, like trying some spicy food that’s gone cold, but just away from people so he can be silly out in the Liyuean mountains instead, and to try and use exposure therapy to try and get him used to yin energy/warm/excitable things, rather than the inefficient method of just avoiding it all (as it doesn’t always work/deprives him of so many nice things!! >:[ ). So that way! You can finally! Take him to have fun!!! You haul him (and Xingqiu bc the more the merrier) to go swimming in Luhua Pools, go jumping off all the peaks from one to another paragliding, using cryo to surf down waterfalls, and most importantly, go to a hot springs at the end of the day! Chongyun was worried about them being too hot and activating his yang energy, but you all agreed he had been training to get used to it, so now he when he goes to try it, he just relaxes into the heat. He could feel the tug to get out and run in circles and get excited, but finally, Chongyun could just choose to sit and relax into the warmth with friends instead :)

Ganyu = if I had a nickel for every woman In teyvat who just needs a break I’d be fucking rich …Obviously, a day off. But an ACTUAL day off, with work regulated to others, and unless there’s an Osial level incident 2.0 (fuck his wife, you put Shenhe on duty to protect Liyue just in case) NO ONE. IS. TO. DISTURB. GANYU’S. FIRST. VACATION. IN. DECADES. You get her to show you the prettiest viewing spots in Liyue, and as you go, tell stories from your life on Earth, showing her pictures on your phone (from both the internet and ur photos), to show her how mortal you are on one hand, but then how different you are here, upgrading her weapons and artifacts, and most importantly, her gift, a Teyvat modified cellphone! Albedo and you had been working together for months to try and make something close enough to connect ur two worlds, while introducing him to adeptal magic and other powerful objects like primogems and wishes that you have to help power it, that way the only other person who might understand immediately how it feels to be (literally lol) caught between two worlds can always rely on each other! …Ganyu cried. Yep, tears down her cheeks and everything, “…I- I- don’t even- even know what to say? All this, telling me about your mortal world, helping me get stronger, and now- now this? I may not have much to give in return, other than my company and my bow… but should you ever need me, or even wish for me, I will hold you as steady as I hold together Liyue itself, my Emperor." Ganyu’s smile is so, so, so pretty, and all the prettier now that her soft blue hair and sweet eyes are framed by the sunset, like it’s her own gift back to you.

Qiqi = A backpack for herbs! You’ve made sure to stitch her name into it so in case she forgets it’s hers, she’ll just see her name again, and lots of little pockets so she can carry all the herbs/make deliveries, it looks a little like this but with a goat instead of cow, and some cocouts lmao, literally a “coco-goat” milk backpack! She is now the cutest person in Liyue, everyone agrees, nearly every single person who comes into Bubu Pharmacy gives Qiqi a compliment now, and Baizhu will periodically take a break just so he and Changsheng can coo at her lmao (Qiqi made sure she wrote down in her notebook in big letters next to your name “This person made my cocogoat backpack, remember to thank them during prayer times, and collect lots of fresh herbs for them”)

Shenhe = It’s kind of a lot, but really, at this point, you’ve done more for some of the others so this probably isn’t even scratching the surface of how big of a gift you can give, so why not. Going full steam ahead, you furnish her a house at the edge of town, so that she’s not overwhelmed by all the human traffic/people, but still close enough to make the friends she wants! When you first show her the dining/living room so plenty of guests can come over, and begin to tour her through it, the strongest woman you’ve probably ever known gently holds your shoulders and stops you from speaking, and turns you to face her, Shenhe’s eyes are sharp with observation as they roam your face, and then settle on your own wide eyes. Her eyes soften, and a small smile warms her usual stern face, (idc how tall you are, she’s taller, I fucking promise) as she leans down a little to look at you closely in the eyes, “Thank you for being a kind god. You did not have to be so generous to me, and yet here you are. If you ever feel like you’re an outsider in Teyvat, in any country or company you find yourself in, please, promise me you’ll come here. Come home to me?” ✨💘✨

Ayaka = You manage to get her away from her duties to take her out to Sumeru! Mostly so you can introduce her to Nilou, see her performance, and the flourishing arts that now fill Sumeru City’s streets, and more importantly, a dress you made so she could dance with Nilou + dance on stage, she wasn’t confident enough/didn’t want to dance for a crowd, so it’s just you three or just you two after awhile. Ayaka looks the happiest she’s been in awhile, more so than you ever saw in game, and it’s… almost like a breath of fresh air to see her away from what you felt was such an isolating environment, even after the Vision Hunt Decree was over. For her last dance, Ayaka does so alone, a little after the sun has set, so it’s all blue, and the stars are coming out, finally, you get to see an even better version of the dance she gave the traveler that night. She only opens her eyes at the end, to give you the giddiest smile you’ve ever seen on her, cheeks cute and plumped up bc she’s smiling so hard, and bows to you (Ayaka’s thanked you a million times, but she doesn’t need to, you can feel how happy she is just from this)

Mika = THE BOY!! One of the most boys to ever boy in all of Teyvat!! Your boy!!! :D What a boy, he nearly fainted when you handed over his gift one day, and you had to reach out and steady him, then hand him it again 😭 It’s similar to the Marauder’s Map, since you enchanted it (once again, what’s the point of dev access if I can’t make gifts for my skrunklies?) and since you don’t want it to end up in bad hands/get spyed on, it only shows itself with a phrase as well “I wish upon a golden star, to know this land as well as its player.” and it’ll show him everyone in public spaces in Mondstadt, not private homes, but like the plaza, the church, the Knights of Favonius, etc. He thanks you every single time he sees you for the map, as it’s both fascinating to him to have a proper well-drawn map of the city of Mondstadt (you copied it from the Teyvat in game map, but there were some buildings missing bc they’re more real here/more fleshed out as a irl city) but that just made Mika even happier bc he can go and map them out!! Literally can’t talk to you bc all he’s saying is “T-TH-TH-THANK-THANK YOU ALL FURST-!!!” before running away most of the time lol

Layla = An embroidered tiny pillow for her to easily clip onto her bag/fit in it, and take on the go with her! (this but the text just says “Sweet Dreams Layla ♡” ) that you’ve also added scent to, including some sleep inducing magics, so she’s guarenteed to sleep well and efficiently when she uses it! She blushed so hard you thought she was sick at first when you gave it to her, and she also used the pillow as a shield to hide her face as she thanked you lmao, and she made you a pillow in return! …even if she thinks it’s not as good as yours, both craft wise and function, Layla worked for weeks on it! …lol now ur the one hiding ur face behind a pillow (this but they’re all plants of sumeru)

Aloy = …if you had a nickel for every person you’ve provided with a house, you’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird it happened twice… Poor damn heroine just got dragged from one world to the next, just as the last one finally was at peace, now she’s here in Teyvat, where nothing’s familiar, the entire world is set up different, people are nicer and more open here, and there’s still threats looming on its horizon. Needless to say, she is tired, and misses her own homeworld. You really wish on her behalf that Hoyo hadn’t done a crossover, but since she’s here, you figure you might as well make it easier on her. You’ve made another teapot-like adeptal magic container, so she can have a place all to herself, and given her a ticket to your own, afterall, if anybody knows what’s its like to get yanked to another world, specifically Teyvat, it’d be the travelers and yourself, and sure enough as time goes one, Aloy becomes closer with you all, and begins to finally feel a sense of familiarity, she wraps an arm around your shoulders the first time she saw you tried to make her own personal teapot place emulate her homeworld. The widest grin you’ve seen on her face, she gives you a squeeze, “It’s just been one adventure after the next, and when we started out, you were just another stranger in a world I didn't understand. But after everything we've been through, I can say this for certain: My bow is yours, now and always. Thank you for the second home, my king.” Aloy says teasingly, laughing at the face you make.

Geo Allogenes:

Noelle = goddamn when will the busy women trend END these poor souls Motherfucker, you’re gift to Noelle was to knight the damn girl yourself. No, but you nearly talked Jean’s ear off for an hour, after gathering evidence (both from eyewitnesses, and Noelle herself, including other knights and Jean herself) about why the literal fuck Noelle wasn’t a Knight of Favonius yet, and why she should be. After genuinely shaking Jean’s nerves a little, she agreed, and finally, Noelle was going to knighted along with any other potential recruits during the testing season, (as people with high reputations, which, once again, using your god status for all its worth, could recommend new recruits) but most importantly… You gave her a 5-star claymore, which, you do have to somewhat work on yourself physically in teyvat now, but your dev access lets you cheat a little (like the cooking meter on cooking dishes, you’re the goddamn cooking god when hosting guests hehe) so you also are allowed to edit it, like adding a Geo-bonus to the weapon itself! When the ceremony for knighthood was going, and pretty much all of Mondstadt came to finally see Noelle get knighted, you made a fun show of walking out where you were hiding and replacing Jean, to knight Noelle yourself. She’s gone completely red in the face, and is starting to sway a little in her down on one knee position, as you gently place the blade on both shoulders, and grin at her as you turn and pull out the claymore for her. She actually does end up falling over, pale as a ghost, whoops-

Albedo = internet access so he can become a fucking god basically the alchemist is a hard guy to make a gift for, another person you’re a little afraid high-quality handmade gifts would impress him more… so you worked hard, and eventually you managed to make three big notebooks for Albedo, one with lined paper, one bulleted, and one blank for sketches (you did the title page a decent sketch of his pretty face smiling and “For Albedo” underneath, and while that one had a picture, the other two had just the words) and you also loaned him your cellphone for awhile, and suggested the idea of a laptop to make for himself, as he already managed to get you connected to Earth’s internet again, that’s part of the reason you customized/made him notebooks, so he could research from the internet and write down any notes he wanted! …wow. you really did it. after explained all this, and leaving him notes about the laptop idea as loose paper stuck inside one of them, you managed… to get Albedo to… smile. At you. Like a FULL smile, pretty lips, wide smile, and flushed cheeks-!! Albedo caught the notebooks you almost dropped.

Ningguang = what do you get the woman that has everything? so you started to think of things that’d make an experience, and after remembering her lore about her making a chess game, you decided a board game would be good! And if you make the little pieces, it’d be one of a kind too! (she’s the type that really loves handmade gifts/as long as you put effort in it doesnt matter how “bad” it looks to her, she’ll believe it’s still good <3) …So you made a Teyvat version of Monopoly. You figured the business part would be in her realm of expertise, and maybe she could use it to play with business associates or friends, and of course, she’s a competitive woman, so she thinks it’s great, and even asked permission that a marketable version be made (one that’s not nearly as nice quality as hers from you obviously)! Ningguang also treated you very well as a thank you for making it for her, a nice dinner at Liuli Pavilion, with a useful gift of places you haven’t seen in Teyvat yet bc it’s more expansive now that you’re physically here!! You may have gotten over-excited about it… and she may have chuckled at you… and you may have gotten flustered after she rested her pretty hand on yours for nearly half the dinner as you stuttered thru and explanation of the game…

Zhongli = …what do you get the man that has everything (ningguang problem 2.0)?? Well, since you thought of something for her that was an experience a little bit, yet also one of a kind, you figured the same path for the previous God of Wealth/literally invented money/etc. would do, plus he’d the type to deeply appreciate handmade gifts too! Using a few chunks of Light Realm Core, 3 Masterless Starglitter, 1 Intertwined Fate, and 1 Condensed Resin, to make a nigh indestructible Ginko leaf hair pin, which also to replace his last pin, which while not broken, was getting old and beat up (he’s immortal he doesn’ notice these things unless they’re like magically long lasting items lol). But in a few spots are these peach beads like this instead of all white beads, like on the ring both have symbols of longevity, and are usally associated with immortals, you wanted to make something that’d also hold memories (hence the resin, from leylines) so if the erosion ever took him, Zhongli could hold the pin and see some of his favorite memories played back (like misty glittering gold projections)! When you told him all this, the materials, (he obv knew the symbols) and the intentions, and then handed him the gift, his soft smile got bigger and bigger, until you could see him small fangs (❤️‍🔥) and then he turned around? You were confused, until he look over his shoulder, his eyes flashing gold in the sunlight, “Will you do me the honor, my Emperor?” OH- you unclip his old geo cor lapis one, and pull his hair up into more of a low bun, and put the hair piece in. the golden ginko leaves chime softly in the breeze. The old god turns back to you (idc how tall you are, he’s taller, and he had to crouch a little so you could reach lol) and gives you that blinding, beautiful smile again, the kind that makes his eyes look warm and happy. He takes your hand delicately, like you’re made of something fragile instead of stars and magic stronger than any he’s ever seen, “Truly, you bless me too generously, my Emperor. Thank you, for caring for a forgotten god like me, for caring about my heart.” …Zhongli presses a soft chaste kiss to your knuckles, right on the middle finger’s knuckle, his lips are warm and so, so soft, like they’re barely even there. <3

Yunjin = a bit difficult because she’s so theater focused in life, but you figure since she does solo shows a lot, she’ll still be the one to benefit the most from your gift, you made some floating plaustrite lanterns to help heft some platforms for more stage space/cool effects! (this but a little more detail, you painted some bamboo and a few simple adepti on them) Like putting props up there or lights to aim on actors, or even actors themselves since the floating rock is steady enough! Yunjin practically squealed (which immediately made every actor in the vicintity be like “YUNJIN!! UR VOICE WILL GO HOARSE STOP-”) and gather the whole troupe to thank you! But she especially told you that although she already intended for you to have front row seats every time you came to see her plays, she especially wanted to get some stories from your life, or even just your favorites from Earth for her to perform for you!! (she even suggested that one of the platforms could be your special seat, like an opera box seat lol)

Itto = you know that belt buckle he wears that’s just an Oni head? Yeah, you made him a second belt but with a onikabuto beetle as the buckle instead! (kinda like this) but a small enough it’s not inconvenient and poking his stomach, which you definitely got a Inazuman blacksmith to help out, you mostly painted it, and when you show Itto the belt, mans literally just wraps his buff arms around you like a hug but then just starts spinning you rapidly, and lets out the highest pitch “EEEEEEEEEEE-!!!” you’ve ever heard him make (and you’ve given him a few trinkets before, so this is a new record wow). No, it doesn’t matter to Itto how much you weigh, have you seen his abs?! He says as he’s still got you a little off the ground, and is now walking away with your limp body and wearing his new belt, “This, and a proper meal to thank you are the bare minimum, my wonderful emperor! Come on, the gang’s already there anyway, you gotta try my Granny Oni’s food, and I’ll make something too! My best, most special, sandwich, Way of the Strong!! Y’know, because if anybody deserves it, it’d be the strongest, and sweetest, you!!”

Gorou = since teyvat isn’t exactly the pinnacle of advanced civilization, though there are some advancements sure like the Kamera, there are still a fair amount of things that’re just left up to locals to produce and make using whatever process they’ve got, regardless of efficiency, and one of those is soap. Yep, soap. Earth is more advanced when it comes to beauty products, but also hygiene products, and Gorou has a hard time maintaining his tail he’s said when he’s stressed/overworked. So, you used some knowledge from your interdimensional smartphone (love u Albedo) to find a homemade recipe to make soap! (…for dogs, but you don’t know if he’d find it offensive… so you don’t tell him LMAO) and you even made it a cute shape (just so when you handed it over, he’d open it and of course, go all red all the way down his neck even, hehe, (he secretly liked it)

You towards all of Teyvat, except it's not even their birthdays (idk if u want it to be it can)

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PLEASE LET KNOW IF ANY LINKS/PICS ARE INACCURATE FOR A CULTURE/MISLABELED ETC.

Me after writing all this: _」(´ཀ`」 ∠)__

… so I may have hyperfixated a little too hard on this one.

Did the OG asker want this? …probably not…

Did anyone ask for this?? …no.

…did I do it anyway….…yes.

…sorry?

(I promise I only thought to do this because there are so many characters left out in favor of the more popular ones for most SAGAU posts, and bc i never want any of my babes to feel any less loved than any others if I was actually there in Teyvat… you get… this mess.)

sorry!

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Safe Travels,

💀♒

☆MY BELOVEDS☆

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche

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