#valentin viljoen

[kagecreep]

little V sketches <3

[xptobie]

Sketched these two while in magma with a buncha pals

THE GAME IS STUCK IN MY HEAD WHIOEFHIOWEFOIEW

Please play Killer Chat on itch yo it's sooo good

[kagecreep]

Midnight Burns (VxMC)

(KillerChat)

Description: You have trouble sleeping. V calls you at midnight, and a few little secrets slip out from both your lips.

Two requests mixed together: V who's weak for compliments & a MC who loves V's voice.

Notes: this takes place b4 you meet irl (: i gave you a lil username just for funsies and to make it a little easier to read WC: 3.2k

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Despite all your best efforts, the dawn had forgotten your name. Your sleep began early in the morning, before sunrise, and slept a scant 4 hours. Fortunately, being in an online server with people around the world, there was always someone to keep you company. Unfortunately that server happened to be filled with murderers; for better or worse, they were more welcoming than anyone else you knew, and you were assured that turning to them would bring nothing but comfort.

Tonight, however, no one was online. You scrolled up and down the different chats mindlessly, your head leaning heavily into your palm. You could write, but opening the blank page was more of a taunt than a call to productivity. Nothing was on your mind. You needed more inspiration from your latest muse before continuing with your next part of the story. To your disappointment, V was not online.

With a sigh, you left your computer on your desk, and left downstairs to fetch something to eat. You returned to your room quickly with an old bowl of pasta in hand, crawling back into your chair. 

You squinted at the bright screen, scrolling through the server channels and members one last time before vowing to work on your book. Upon seeing a notification, however, your vow was promptly tossed out the window, and you clicked into your chat with K9.

<K9> [23:00] Good evening. I know it is late, however I was hoping you could spare some time to answer a few of my questions.

You blinked several times, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you typed in your response.

<scaredevil> [23:12] yeah, i'm not doing anything. whats up? you want to call? <K9> [23:12] That would be preferrable.  Thank you for indulging me. 

Not a second later and he was calling you. You quickly brushed your hair with your fingers and accepted, sitting up a little straighter in your chair.

"Midnight calls, hm?" You said before he could speak. "Some of the other server members might think we're up to something."

"None of the other server members are able to see our private calls," he said flatly.

"Goreboy is,"  you said.

He grunted––obviously dissatisfied with that truth.

"You raise a good point. Perhaps I shall set up our own private server––remove goreboy from the equation altogether," he said, knitting his fingers together beneath his chin.

"A server just for us? Sounds intimate," you said, grinning as you leaned in.

A soft, dark blush crept onto his face.

"Nonsense. It's simply a matter of privacy. Do you not resent the idea of being monitored, as I do?"

"I do... but not really enough to do anything about it. I don't know much about coding, anyway," you said, leaning on your palm. "Besides, we live in a surveillance state."

"All the more reason to protect yourself," he said, his eyes narrowing. "You must be skilled at disposing of bodies to be so careless in hiding your identity."

You shrugged. You had tried many times to tell him, both in humorous and serious tones, that you were not a serial killer. He never listened, insistent that his gut instinct was never wrong. Some part of you found it amusing, but at least his vehement search for you allowed you to spend some time with him, even if it was filled with both vague and direct threats on your life.

"Before we start with questions... how are you feeling tonight?" He asked.

"Tired," you said, tapping your fingers against your cheek.

"Have you not been sleeping well?"

"Not really."

He nodded softly.

"I understand. I, too, have many a night where sleep evades my grasp. Can you do anything about it? Do you have medicines?" He asked in a softer tone, leaning in.

"Yeah, but they don't tend to work." You glanced up at him. "Why do you care?"

He stuttered for a moment, hands falling out of sight of the camera.

"It is... important to lead a balanced life. That way I will be the one to take you down––not some useless meandering cop or your own poorly-managed lifestyle," he said.

"Sounds... intimate," you said with a lazy smile.

He hesitated, lips parted and eyes darting to the side and back to you as he contemplated your words and his own response. 

"I... hesitate to admit this, but my vendetta is... personal, when it comes to you. I cannot figure you out. I suppose nothing is more alluring than a mystery," he said, once more folding his fingers together beneath his chin and leaning in.

"I've told you before," you chuckled, "I'm no mystery. I'm a writer."

"Yes, so you've said, and with all due respect, I do not believe it. Now if you don't mind, I would like you to answer my questions," he said.

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

"My first question. What is your favourite time of day?"

A grip creeped across your lips, devolving into giggles.

"Your questions have such a sweet facade," you said, shaking your head. "How is knowing my favourite time of day going to help you catch me?"

"Answer the question, please," he said, sighing roughly.

"Fine." You paused, biting back your smile. "I love the dawn."

"The dawn?" He repeated, eyes widening. "Interesting. You are not often online during those hours."

"I'm usually asleep then."

"Then... how is it your favourite time of day?"

"Oh, you know," you said, grunting as you stretched back in your chair, "it's a beautiful time. Renewal, quiet, and peace. My body just... doesn't... well, to be honest, I usually end up falling asleep just before dawn. Dawn hath abandoned me, and visits me no longer."

"I see."

You weren't sure if he believed you or not. You supposed it didn't matter. Before he could ask his next question, you spoke first.

"What's your favourite time of day?" You asked.

Again his eyes widened imperceptibly, taken aback by the reciprocation.

"I do not see how that is important," he said.

"You know my favourite, why can't I know yours? I already told you I'm no good at hacking, or finding people. I'm just curious," you said, shrugging.

"For all I know, that could have been a lie. But... I suppose it is only fair. I prefer the night. The vermin come out of the filth and reveal their nature, and I await them in the dark," he said, his eyes narrowing. 

He glanced up from the intensity of his thoughts and found you beaming across the screen. He raised a single brow.

"What are you smiling about?" He asked roughly.

"Nothing, I just..."

What were you smiling about? You thought for a moment. It could be any number of things, really––his voice, his manner of speaking, the intensity of his conviction. Each of these things melted you a little bit, and the fluffy covers of your bed suddenly didn't seem so unfriendly.

"... I like the way you talk. Your words. Your voice. It's very... pretty," you murmured.

He froze, his face quickly turning a deep shade of red.

"Y -" he choked on his own breath. "R... really?"

"Yeah," you sighed. "It's a shame you use it to threaten me."

He blinked several times, glancing to the side.

"W - well... I suppose... I could hold off on my search, for tonight," he said, his eyes returning to you. "If that would please you."

You smiled. The juxtaposition of him attempting to please you and promising to kill you at the same time––it tingled inside you. A wonderfully chaotic rush.

"I don't think you'd lose much by taking a break for now," you chuckled softly.

He wouldn't lose anything because he had nothing to gain. You hid nothing. Except your name, of course.

"Then... what would you like to talk about?" He asked hesitantly.

"Mmm... I don't know," you hummed, staring in a somewhat dreamy trance at your screen. "I just like spending time with you."

You weren't sure how much more of this V could take. You could practically feel the heat of his blush through the computer, and you drank in each micro-expression––the widening eyes, twitching lips, fidgeting fingers––with absurd delight.

"You... are incredibly odd," he finally stuttered out, unable to meet your eye, even through the camera.

"Is it odd to find you endearing and beautiful?"

Now you had gone too far. He hadn't even replied and you were melting with embarrassment just watching him react to your words, as though it flowed off him in such excess that it somehow reached you.

"I - it is, um, quite odd," he eventually said, staring at his keyboard.

Despite going too far, you couldn't help yourself, and dug your trench even deeper.

"Sorry," you said. "I can't help it. Even if you are planning to kill me, I can't deny... nor should I, really, that you're very handsome. And I enjoy your company. I might even tell you my address so you can be the last thing I see before I die."

He slammed his fingers against the keyboard, and with a panicked expression, hung up.

You stared at your chat for a whole minute, eyes wide from his sudden reaction. Slowly you leaned forward and began to type.

<scaredevil> [23:21] did i do something wrong?

It took him several more minutes to reply, and he took a long while to type out his message.

<K9> [23:27] No.  I apologize for ending our call so abruptly. I was... suddenly busy. <scaredevil> [23:27] you're not a very good liar, you know <K9> [23:27] ... I suppose there's no avoiding it then.  As much as I am disinclined to admit it, I was very flattered by your comments. A little too flattered.

You stared at the screen. What did he mean?

<scaredevil> [23:28] were you like..... taking a cold shower....? <K9> [23:29] I was not. I spent my time away tending to one of my rabbits. As a bonus, the activity aided in calming me. I have no affinity for cold showers anyway.

You debated your next message for a moment, heart racing as you sent it.

<scaredevil> [23:29] can we call again? <K9> [23:29] I do not believe that is a good idea.

Your heart deflated in your chest.

<scaredevil> [23:30] why not? :( <K9> [23:30] I am worried you will return to your previous barrage of compliments. ... It is not a good idea. <scaredevil> [23:30] please v? i love hearing your voice

Nothing. The marker to show his typing didn't even appear.

<scaredevil> [23:31] im sorry for pushing you i really am i didn't mean to offend you i just wanted to express a little how i felt fuck i'll stop

You curled up in your desk chair, legs to your chest, and hid your face in your knees. How embarrassing. A deep, cold, and breaking sensation crackled through your ribs.

The computer dinged, and your head shot up.

<K9> [23:38] You did not offend me. I am simply... unaccustomed to people thinking of me in such a way. It has not ever occurred before.

You quickly began to type a response.

<scaredevil> [23:38] never? thats hard to believe <K9> [23:38] Is it? I am not the most sociable of creatures. Nor am I approachable. Most would consider me imposing, or even menacing. I am not sure I have ever been called handsome, much less... beautiful. <scaredevil> [23:38] is it weird that i feel kinda accomplished to be your first? i have a little award no one else will ever have <K9> [23:38] Not the most fantastic of accomplishments, but I will not deny you your feelings on the matter. <scaredevil> [23:38] thanks :) not to freak you out again but you're sweet <K9> [23:39] Another compliment. ... Thank you.

You drummed the edge of your keyboard with your fingertips, biting at your lip. Exhaustion freely visited you but rarely came with the comfort of sleep; V's voice, the deep, dulcet tones, was a ready substitute. When he kept his words soft and yielding, you could even hear sleep knocking at your distant door. It was a lot to ask, especially after freaking him out so much, but the desperation within you was clawing. Regret would make you bleed if you didn't at least ask.

<scaredevil> [23:41] i know this is a little odd you don't have to say yes, but well to be honest, your voice has a calming effect on me. i was hoping maybe you could help me fall asleep... please. <K9> [23:42] ... Your request is strange, but... acceptable. I will aid you. <scaredevil> [23:42] that's very kind of you <K9> [23:42] Kindness is a trait I strive to exemplify in my life. But thank you. You are the first person in the server to take note of it.

A moment later and he was requesting to call you. You hurried over to bed, carrying your laptop over, and jumped beneath the covers before answering. There was barely enough time to settle your head into your pillow before the call loaded.

He let out some quiet grunting noise upon seeing you, raising his brow.

"You are... already in bed," he said slowly.

Oh, that deep, amber voice, you thought to yourself dreamily. You decided not to inform him of your delight in hearing him.

"Of course I am," you said, hiding half your face behind your blankets. "I'm not going to sleep at my desk.

"I would think not. I was... just not expecting you to already be... in bed."

You giggled, shying further into your covers.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked softly.

You nodded.

"Good," he said in a somewhat stiff tone, giving a curt nod. "If it's... not too much to ask, I would like to see your face. Consider it a favour in return for helping you to fall asleep."

It was a fair request, though you felt some embarrassment at the idea of him being able to fully see you as you drifted off to sleep. Still, with a creeping blush you lowered your blanket, revealing your face squished into your pillow. A subtle but surely there smile warmed V's expression.

"Ah, there you are," he said, leaning in, his hands lax beneath his chin. "If we are being honest tonight, I will admit you are quite beautiful, as well. A light in the dim wake of reality."

You chuckled, attempting poorly to hide your blushing face in your pillow. But your eyes remained on your screen, entranced with him.

"Charming words," you said.

"And yet speaking nothing but the truth. Now please, tell me––how can I be of service to you?"

It was your turn now to flush, to be filled with a warmth that urged you to run far away just to compose yourself. A hundred different things whirled through your head; would he really do anything for you if you simply asked with a sweet 'please' at the end? Surely not. Logically there was some limit. But your imagination knew no such word.

"You can talk about anything," you said, wishing you could hide your face again. "You can even read me a story if you fancy it."

"Anything?" He asked, raising his brow. "Are you sure?"

"Of course."

He thought for a moment, then suddenly stood, disappearing out of the camera's sight for a couple minutes. You thought to call out but decided against it, and patiently waited for him to return. 

He reappeared with a book in hand, opening it on the desk in front of him. It was a small book––barely the size of his hand––and coloured in pale earthy tones, though the title remained obscured from your vision.

"This is a collection of Persian poetry," he said, smoothing out the pages. "I... sometimes read it when I am in need of relaxation. Though at times the prose can be... quite stimulating to the intellect. I hope that, as I do, you will find it calming."

Poetry at midnight. Poetry with V, at midnight, in your bed, as he would slowly watch you sleep. 

There were worse ways to die.

With your heart pounding as intensely as it was, sleep was the furthest thing from your mind and desires––but you had asked for his help, and he had so kindly acquiesced, so you did your best to settle into the covers and slow your racing heart.

He turned a few pages, and you watched with fluttering eyes.

"Ah. Here is a poet I much admire. A mystic Sufi from the 8th century... a woman. Rabia al Basri. Let us begin."

He spoke slowly, with emphasis, with quiet adoration for the artwork of words––the intertwining taste of writer and experience, combined into a painting of poetry.

I have loved Thee with two loves - a selfish love and a love that is worthy of Thee. As for the love which is selfish, Therein I occupy myself with Thee, to the exclusion of all others. But in the love which is worthy of Thee, Thou dost raise the veil that I may see Thee. Yet is the praise not mine in this or that, But the praise is to Thee in both that and this.

"Here is another one, by Rumi. Another mystic from the 13th century," he said.

The Friend comes into my body looking for the center, unable to find it, draws a blade, strikes anywhere.

There is a light seed grain inside. You fill it with yourself, or it dies.

I am caught in this curling energy, your hair! Whoever is calm and sensible is insane.

Do you think I know what I am doing? That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself? As much as a pen knows what it is writing, or the ball can guess where it is going next.

We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups. That is fine with us. Every morning, we glow and in the evening we glow again.

They say there is no future for us. They are right. Which is fine with us.

Slowly you drifted away, eyes drifting shut, mind drifting off, as sleep melted into your skin like a warm rose oil. The depth of his voice, the luxuriant taste, imbued itself into your dreams. He spoke only a few more poems before you were gone, your eyes firmly closed and lips softly parted.

He closed the book quietly and set it aside. For a few minutes unbeknownst to your consciousness he watched you, eyes darting across your features as sparks of his own wandering mind came about. He wondered, though he didn't mean to, what your skin would feel like beneath his fingers. How warm your body would be beneath a shared blanket. The thought was inappropriate, and he quickly dismissed it.

He did, however, allow himself one last indulgence.

You were not his love. You had done nothing of the sort to indicate comfort in being referred to as such. But given your kindness––your gentle amiability––he was assured you were much beloved of someone.

"Good night, beloved," he murmured, lingering for a moment more, before ending the call.

Your computer quietly turned itself off.

[kagecreep]

Crumbling Bones (VxMC)

(KillerChat)

Description: You accidentally kill someone and, in a panic, call the only person you know who can help you.

Notes: honestly did not know how to tag this but i hope its adequate, AND i hope you enjoy! WC: 2.6k

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Your breath shattered, shaking in your chest as you stared down at the mess. With deft fingers, numb from the cold, you reached for your pocket, pulling out your phone. Your eyes remained glued to the body before you, mangled and still pouring out blood, and you blindly rang for V.

It was the only sound in the snow-covered alley. The only light in the cloudy night. Your cry for help, ringing from your phone.

It took four rings before he answered in a firm, low voice.

"Hello?" He asked. 

You could picture his narrowed eyes; that image flashed over the corpse. But the corpse returned, still warm enough to melt the snowflakes falling atop it. Atop him.

"V," you said. Your voice shook and barely came out, stumbling over your lips like a drooling child. "I need your help."

He paused, then asked, "what is it?"

"I..." You squeezed your eyes shut. I'm not here, I'm not here. "I hurt someone," you said, trailing off into a quiet wail. 

"You what?"

The screech of a chair sounded in the background of his call. 

"Are you alright?" He asked, followed by the sound of clothes ruffling. "Tell me where you are."

"I'm fine," you slurred. "I'm fine, he didn't – he didn't hurt me. I - I'm in the alley, b - behind the library."

"The one on 12th street?" He asked. More clothing.

"Yeah."

"I told you not to go there." Clattering, and a loud, long zipper. Open and shut. "Wait there for me. Stay hidden."

He hung up. His words had done nothing to quell your trembling heart. Your phone slipped out of your hands and fell into the snow. You took your body, distant from your mind, and crawled into the junction between the alley wall and the dumpster, hiding in your thick jacket, hoping anyone passing by might mistake you for a trashbag and treat you accordingly. 

Two cars passed by as you waited, interspersed by a ten minute interval, their tires crunching over the thin layer of snow. They rolled slowly but never stopped. Engines like a low fire. It made sense––it was past midnight, and the library was closed by 8PM. You were only here due to working late. If you hadn't accepted the extra work your manager gave you––if you had only left when you were meant to––maybe you wouldn't have encountered this man. Maybe he wouldn't have grabbed you and held a gun to your head. Maybe it wouldn't have turned out this way.

But this was not a time for 'maybe's. The body was laid out in front of you now, irreversibly its' lifeforce stolen, leaking into the snow with a vibrant crimson. You stared, your vision half-obscured by the large dumpster and your jacket, until footsteps crunched through the snow, approaching and growing louder. You tightened, eyes flinching shut till that honeyed voice called out.

"(Y/N)? Are you here?"

You perked up, lifting your head to find V's shadow from the warm streetlights, stretched along the alley floor. You scrambled to your feet, emerging from your hiding place.

"V," you breathed out, tears budding in your eyes.

You could barely see his face against the light. In his hand he carried a large duffle bag, and at his hip, revealed by the blowing of his coat in the wind, hung a butcher's knife.

He dropped the bag. The two of you ran forward and collided, embracing through layers of wool and fear. He grasped and held tight, tucking your head against his chest.

"Thank God you're alright." He pulled you away, holding your face in his hands. "What happened, my love?"

The memory flashed, already blurred by the panic of the moment. You stuttered it out in flailing words.

You left for home. He pulled you into the alley. The cold ring of metal against your temple, and a demand to fall on your knees. A demand to –

You choked on your breath, shaking your head.

"I – I – I took the gun, I don't think h - he was expecting it, but I just – turned it around, and I..."

"It's alright," he said, taking your hands. "Calm down, it's alright. I'm here now. You do not need to worry. I am quite adept at discarding bodies; you know that. Calm down, my love."

"I - I'm calm," you whispered, your breath hitching. "V, I didn't mean to do it. I just -"

"I don't care if you meant to do it or not. It is clear to me that this was no man of honour. And if you had not killed him, I would have killed him myself for hurting you," he said.

"But he didn't actually hurt me," you moaned, choked sobs brimming in your voice.

"He was going to. And even the intention to do so to you, my love... it fills me with an indescribable rage." He tucked your hair behind your ear. "If it is my approval you are worried about––or my lack thereof––you need not concern yourself with it. I came, did I not?"

"Yes, but... I thought..."

"Rid the thought from your mind. Come now, this is not a time to linger. Close your eyes... and let me work," he said, dark auburn eyes staring intently into yours.

You nodded, shakily, and let him cover your eyes with your hands, ever beckoned by his command.

He unzipped the duffle bag, dragging it through the snow to set it down nearby. The rip of a knife echoed, dulled by the falling snow, and then crunching––then slicing, and rippling as blood dribbled steadily out, a rippling brook, steaming in the frigid air. Crunching and slicing, squelching meat and snapping bone. The slam of a blade coursing through flesh and onto concrete. 

He was chopping up the body.

You understood, as your body shook at each sound, why he had asked you to close your eyes.

Your legs were aching fiercely by the time he was finished. When he asked you to open your eyes again, the duffle bag was full, and all that remained in the alley was a thick pool of blood.

"It'll continue snowing for some time. That should hide most of the blood till spring, and by then... nothing else will remain of this scum," he growled, narrow eyes lingering on the stain.

He grunted as he lifted up the bag, and walked forward, looking up to scan you.

"Stay with me tonight," he said softly. "I... would be comforted, knowing I can keep you safe."

You sniffled, wiping your dripping nose with the back of your gloved hand. A quiet nod was all you gave and all you earned in return. You picked your phone off the alley floor, already half-obscured by falling snow, and followed V out into the street.

Orange streetlights illuminated the sidewalk and the footprints V had made to get to you. His car was parked just across the street, and the two of you padded silently through the snow to get there. V opened the back first, loading the bag of limbs into the car before climbing into the driver's seat, where you already sat across from him, your eyes in your lap.

The radio buzzed to life as the car slowly started, but V was quick to turn it off, flicking the dial with a single motion of his wrist. The engine rattled for a moment before humming, muffled by the snow. Then it reared, tire tracks embedding in the snow, and the car lumbered off down the small, empty road. 

Beside you, V's hands tightened around the steering wheel, his gloves squeaking against the leather. You curled in on yourself a little further, pressing your cheek to the freezing inner wall of the car.

Suddenly, he broke the silence, his deep voice growling in the still air.

"I cannot believe the audacity one must have to threaten and attack you," he hissed, eyes steeling as he stared at the road ahead.

You looked up, cradling your body.

"What do you mean?" You murmured.

"You know very well what I mean," he said, but did not elaborate.

"... I'm not sure I do," you said quietly.

"I mean –" He pursed his lips, his eyes flickering between you and the windshield. "... you're very... innocent looking."

"You thought I was a serial killer for the first, like, five months of our friendship."

"If you'll recall, I did mention, upon first seeing your face and hearing your voice, that you did not remind me of a serial killer. That is because..."

His face screwed up again, a soft blush indifferent to the cold coating his cheeks. You waited.

"... you are very sweet-looking."

You chuckled softly, your smile crooked and weak.

"I'm sure I don't look so sweet now," you mumbled.

"Nonsense. A little blood is not enough to besmirch nor obscure your beauty. Besides... the way you look is not altogether important at the moment. I am just happy you are safe." He paused. "I want you to promise me you won't take any more late hours, or go anywhere near that alley again. It is a dangerous place. You've heard me talk about it before in great detail... the robberies. The murders."

"It's not like I went inside the alley on purpose, I told you, he –"

"I know you didn't, my love. I believe you." His voice softened. "Please. Promise me."

"... I promise," you murmured.

Refusing to take extra hours after your shift was through would certainly damage your reputation at work, but you supposed when choosing between your life or your popularity with your boss, you would choose your life––especially since you had V to take care of. 

"I wouldn't know what to do if I lost you," he said suddenly, his voice strung tightly and his grip on the wheel tightening further. "Actually, I know exactly what I would do. I'd hunt down whatever odious vermin dared to kill you and torture them to death myself."

"And after that?" You asked softly.

His hands loosened, and he relaxed partially back into his seat. He sighed––a gentle motion that hardly moved his chest.

"I'd walk to the end of the earth... and jump off."

"I don't like the sound of that," you mumbled.

"You would be dead. It wouldn't matter if you liked the sound of it or not," he said.

"Maybe not," you said. "But I am alive, so hold off on it for now, yeah?"

He glanced at you.

"Of course," he said stiffly.

It was another twenty minutes before you arrived at V's home; a place hidden far away from the prying eyes of society. He hauled the bag out of the back end of his car and pulled it inside, using it to prop the door open so he could take your hand and graciously help you over the entrance. You accepted his aid, and stepped to the side to allow him to close the door.

"You know the routine," he said, grunting as he locked the door shut. "Do you want to help me?"

"... not this time," you said quietly.

"I understand," he said. He came to stand before you, once more cradling your face in his hands. "But I must do this fairly soon after death has occurred. I hope you will excuse me."

"Yeah, I understand," you mumbled.

"Good." He kissed your forehead. "Go wait for me in the bathroom. You will be away from the noise there."

You nodded and shuffled away. Behind you, the duffle bag zipped open once more, and V set to work.

You shed yourself of your shoes and outer jacket, but remained in your clothes as you shut the bathroom door behind you, slumping to the floor. V's bunker had become a lot more hospitable ever since you began visiting more often, but you had yet to do anything to his bathroom, and so it remained the same with its cold lights and unforgiving angles. Fortunately V was an impeccably clean person, and each corner of the bathroom was suitable for you to collapse on. You remained in the corner next to the door. 

Most of the noise was cancelled out. But the occasional ripping made its' way through––the grinding and chopping. The slamming of the freezer door as he stored body parts. The electric whirring as he mixed meat and vegetables into feed.

If there was something you were supposed to be feeling, you knew you weren't feeling it. An emptiness opened up in your chest--a hollowed thought wondering if it was right or wrong to feel happy and secure with someone who ground up human meat. You supposed it didn't matter either way. There was no satisfaction in knowing your assailant was gone and would fester in the stomachs of snakes and spiders. The fear, however, did dissipate, and left you alone, isolated from thought.

You stared at the floor, and tried not to listen to the meat grinder.

A little while later, the door handle moved, and the swinging door pushed against your back. You shifted to the side, allowing V to slide into the bathroom.

"I've finished," he said softly, squatting down in front of you. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," you mumbled, then scoffed. "You know, you'd think... being surrounded by serial killer friends, that I'd be more accustomed to... this."

"Being surrounded by death is much different than enacting it yourself. Your reaction is understandable. I... would have thought you would clean yourself up, though," he said slowly.

"Why?" You asked, sniffling.

"... your face has blood on it."

"... oh."

Wordlessly, he helped you to your feet, and with firm, gentle hands stripped you of the rest of your clothing. You shivered as your feet met the cold floor, and he quickly reached to turn on his shower. The water began to steam immediately, and the rising vapour only reminded you of hot blood in the winter air.

You stepped inside, and as the hot water pounded over your shoulders, the tension slowly seeped down the drain with it.

"I will go wash your clothing. There should be enough hot water for a pleasant shower. Please, take your time," he said, gathering up your bloodied clothes, and leaving.

You sighed, heart sinking comfortably in your chest. You washed your hair, skin, and scrubbed your face, rubbing it raw with soap and rags. Eventually the water grew cooler, and with that you turned the faucet off, stepping out to dry yourself. 

V returned soon after hearing the pipes quiet. He came with pajamas–-a set he had ordered hand-made for you when you started visiting more often––and allowed you privacy to dress. When you emerged from the bathroom he was waiting beside the door. He took your hand, and quietly walked with you to bed.

He pulled the sheets back––you crawled in, and he pulled them back over you, gently settling the blanket over your shoulders. Afterwards, he climbed in next to you, and with a leasing sigh pulled you against his body, tucking your head beneath his chin.

"Sleep now and forever hold your peace," he mumbled.

You opened your eyes, pulling away slightly.

"V... was that a pun?"

"... I suppose it was," he grumbled.

"Almost sounded like a marriage proposal," you joked in return.

"While I am not at all averse to the idea... I think it is a discussion better left to the morning. Sleep well, my love. If you have any troubles, do not hesitate to wake me, yes?" He said, petting your hair.

A heated blush covered your cheeks, and your palms began to sweat.

"Y.. yes, of course," you said.

He smiled softly, and tucked you back in underneath his chin.

"Good night, my love."

"... good night, Valentin."

Your sigh rattled in your empty body, and you settled your crumbling bones into sleep.

[kagecreep]

An Aftermath (VxMC)

(KillerChat)

Description: The aftermath of your first in-person meeting with V... you take care of him.

(Some small spoilers for V's route!)

Notes: this is my first KC fic! i wanted to take off where V left us after the first meeting, with the police and all. So the first little bit of this is basically taken directly from the game. youll see what is and isnt (: WC: 3.1k

━─━────༺༻────━─━

It feels like forever until the police leave. You peek out of your curtain and wait until the last sirens fade. V laughs breathily. He looks at you with so much adoration. 

You take V into your arms, cradle him. Tilt his chin down, kiss him. He laughs into your kiss; disbelieving and heartened, like the noise of victory.

"I'm beginning to believe that you are being truthful, my love," he said.

"Truthful?" You ask, pulling away.

"That alibi could not have been constructed by any run-of-the-mill serial killer. No... there was skill involved. Whether that arrives from formal instruction or training I do not know, but after all... that you fooled me you were a serial killer at all proves your talent."

You could practically cry with relief; the fact that his realization came with a smile, a tinge of pride in his voice.

"Finally!" You laughed, squeezing his arms.

"I apologise for how long it's taken me, my love. But in a way, I'm glad that you are not a serial killer––at least, not yet."

"Not... yet?"

"For our first real date, I plan on feeding many a corrupt official to my animals. I hope you will find it... enlightening."

His voice deepened in the delightful way it often did when he spoke of more serious topics, and despite the gravitas of the situation and his admission for his plans, you couldn't help but feel your heart melt.

For the next several hours after your encounter with the police, you continued peering through the blinds of your windows, watching to see if any of the cars come back. It happened quickly, and the moment of truth, long awaited and long agonized, passed with ease. Somehow, convincing policemen of V's innocence was much easier than you had imagined it would be. You supposed they didn't want much trouble considering their evidence was almost non-existent, anyway.

You checked one last time––an assurance of your fears––and let out a sigh of relief.

You turned back and found V standing in your living room, resting his weight by a hand on your couch's armrest. His breathing, audibly ragged, gave soft movement to his chest. Despite the blood and difficulty standing and breathing, his posture was stiff, and his mouth closed out of some sense of decorum when he realized you were staring at him.

"Valentin," you said, the name spilling out before you realized it. "That's your name, yes?"

He nodded somewhat hesitantly. The adrenaline of the moment seemed to have worn off now.

"Yes, it is," he said, his voice firm as ever.

"It's very beautiful," you said quietly.

He stuttered for a moment, his eyes widening imperceptibly.

"Um – thank you," he said with a gracious nod and smile. 

A soft blush filled his cheeks. Both of you stared at each other for a moment, neither daring to move before the other.

"Oh, um," you suddenly broke the silence, shaking your head, "your wounds. You're bleeding."

"As I said, the wounds are not severe," he said.

You strode forward, placing a hand on his own curled around his stomach. He winced, pulling back.

"Well let's get your 'not severe' wounds patched up, alright?" You said softly, looking up at him. 

"You're very kind. Did I say that already?"

"Maybe," you said. "But it's not really kindness. It's more... basic human decency."

You grunted a little as you set his other arm over your shoulder, helping balance him as you led him to the bathroom. Fortunately the distance was short, and you fumbled your way inside, opening the door with one hand and stumbling in.

"You might be surprised at how few people enact your 'basic human decency'. Perhaps it is not as basic as you think," he said, groaning as you sat him down on the edge of the toilet. "Perhaps you are more extraordinary than you realize."

"No time for your sweet words, my dear," you said. 

Your voice shook slightly as you began to rifle through the cabinets and underneath the sink, looking for antiseptic and a first aid kit.

A soft chuckle came from above, and you nearly hit your head on the counter as you lifted to meet his gaze. He was smiling at you, never moving from you, his heart still in your eyes.

"What?" You asked.

It was rare to find a gaze so intense.

"I... find myself very happy, to hear you say that. To hear you call me that," he said, earnesty bleeding in his tone.

"My dear?" You asked, and he nodded gently. You reached up to cup his cheek. "You are my dear."

There was little melody in your tone, but the softness remained. Assiduous and sincere.

You watched his throat as he swallowed thickly, how the skin shifted and revealed his delighted nerves without speaking a word. Just as gently as your hand arrived it receded, and your attention turned back to the task at hand; you grabbed a cleaner and bandages, and placed them on the counter. Shifting over, you settled between his legs which hung open in his slack state. He stiffened above you––a poor attempt to fix his posture.

"Do you need help taking off your shirt?" You asked, doing your best to quell your shaking heart. When his eyes widened, mouth parting to stammer out questions, you quickly followed with, "I need to see what I'm tending."

"You know, I can do this myself. There have been many a time I have returned from a hunt injured," he said with a soft chuckle.

A smile broke across your lips. You lifted yourself up onto your knees and began curling your fingers round the edge of his shirt, pulling up to reveal the soft, torn skin beneath.

"There's something to be said for servitude," you murmured as you gently stripped him. Over chest, over shoulders, through sleeves. "Sometimes, when in service to someone worthy, pleasure can be derived in helping them. So let me help you. It will bring me great pleasure."

Words choked in his throat again. He remained silent, his smile twitching, and nodded.

His sweater, splattered in curling and splashing patterns of red, gave way to dark skin shadowed in his own blood. Holy ichor, pulsing and dried, flaking off the curves of his abdomen and breast. The wound was still damp. You washed everything away and the stickiness dissipated, gone from everywhere but your fingers, where it lingered beneath your nails, tainted by the scent of antiseptic. With slow, careful hands, you wrapped his stomach in white bandages, sealing the wound from the prying eyes of light.

For a moment, envy flooded you; or perhaps hunger, a lusting desire. Greed. Envious that you could no longer peer into his flesh. The meat of his being. You let the feeling go and tried not to linger on the implications.

There is no greater intimacy. I could've dug my fingers in, torn and revealed, but you trusted me to seal you back together.

You set everything away, tucking the remaining bandages and cleaner back underneath the sink.

A hand on your cheek. Cold and sweaty. You looked up and met his eye.

"Thank you, again," he said. "I seem to be thanking you many times today."

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. Evidently, however, the sentiment was not fully returned. His gaze flickered away, lips parting as he debated his words.

"I... do not wish to impose myself upon you, my love. As I said earlier, I did not come looking for hospitality. Only a refuge," he said, at last returning to search your expression. Quietly, he added, "only for a little while. I can return home, if that is what you desire."

"V, you can stay as long as you want to. And to let you know I mean it, I'll tell you that I was thinking of what we'll have for dinner, and where you'll sleep tonight," you said. "Um, if you want to stay here, that is."

A soft breath left his chest, and he smiled.

"If it's not too much trouble," he murmured, "I am entranced, being in your presence."

You laughed, your face warming with blush.

"I have noticed you're a little less... talkative?"

"Just captivated by your beauty, my love."

By now, you were sure your face was fully inundated with a thick blush.

Pulling V's arm over your shoulders, you carefully led both of you out of the bathroom and back to the living room, where you set him down on the couch. You bent down and lifted his legs as well, settling them on a pillow on the couch. He made some weak attempt at protesting, but upon seeing your smile, his words fell silent and he graciously accepted your kindness.

You sat down on the floor next to him, your legs curled up beside you as you leaned on the couch seat where he lay.

"I don't really eat meals, so to speak," you explained. "Sorry. I eat a lot of small meals. So I'll... try my best to find something for you to eat. Are you hungry? Is Lebanese food okay?"

"Anything you make will do just fine. Food is sustenance, but by your hands, it will become ambrosial."

A grin crept across your face, growing into laughter.

"What?" He asked flatly.

"Nothing, you're just so... cute," you said, unable to stop smiling.

He grunted, furrowing his brow.

"I'm glad I can be of amusement to you," he grumbled, crossing his arms, before hissing at the weight on his wounded stomach.

You reached up and, taking his arms, placed them at his side.

"You be careful and don't hurt yourself. If you need anything, just tell me. I'll be right over here," you said, pointing to the kitchen across the room. 

"You do not have to 'baby' me."

"I know. I want to," you said, shrugging with a smile.

He chuckled breathily, and eased his body against the cushions.

"Then I will allow you to fulfill your desire, as... fatuous as I may find it," he said.

Your heart, already pacing rapidly in your chest, beat faster and harder as you reached up, brushing his thick braids off and over his shoulders. There were many details made clear without the buzz of an electric screen and faulty camera between you––his long lashes, the clarity of his coloured eyes, the curvature of his nose, the softness of his lips. You allowed yourself to stare, to try and encapsulate his beauty in a moment. It was a losing battle, that you knew when you started, and you finished it with another soft smile and a kiss to his forehead. You stood, and with a last stroke of his face, left for the kitchen.

Each time you closed your eyes, his smile gazing down at you was imprinted; an impression of glowing light, lingering like radiation burns in your mind.

You brought him water before anything, and once again he thanked you for your kindness, holding your hand and staring up at you with those eyes that seemed to melt the sunset. You kissed his hand and wordlessly returned to the kitchen.

Your fridge was almost shamefully barren, but you scrapped together what you had; hummus, baba ghanoush, thomeya, pitta, olives, cucumber, and feta. Each piece you set carefully down on a platter, cutting the cucumber into clean slices, placing clean scoops of the three dips. You stared for a moment, debating if it was adequate enough for V. Part of you imagined he could be elaborate in his meals; another part thought that food was simple nutrients to him. You hadn't ever thought to ask.

Regardless, you had already made your apologies, and so with a constricted chest you took your little plater of food into the living room and placed it down on the table in front of the couch. You sat down where you had been before, kneeling on the ground beside V.

He groaned as he slowly lifted himself into an upright position, his face contorted with discomfort. You quickly helped him, gripping his arm and settling him to rest against the back of the couch.

"I hope it's enough," you said quietly, staring up at him.

"This?" He asked. "It's more than enough, my love. I am happy to be with you. And, maybe some day... I can cook for you."

You giggled, resisting the urge to rub your face against his knee.

"I'd love that," you said.

"What are you doing on the floor, anyway? Is it not uncomfortable?" He asked, furrowing his brow.

"I just – thought maybe you wanted some space," you said with a shrug.

"That's ridiculous. Why would I want space?" He asked flatly.

That familiar blush, that warmth, creeped up your neck. You made a noncommittal sound and shrugged again.

"Please," he said, "sit next to me."

You did as asked without a single word.

For the most part you ate quietly, but your small meal was interspersed with V's questions, and you dutifully answered. What you really did for a living, how you came by the server, what you truly thought of all the serial killers you came to know as friends. V ate slowly and little, a behaviour you attributed to his wounds. Likely, he needed sleep more than food, but it was good for him to eat something small anyways.

By the end, he had little strength to eat, much less converse with you. You finished the last of your meal and asked your first question for him.

"Where do you want to sleep?"

"Wherever is best for you... I will be comfortable," he said quietly.

You stared at him, wondering if it was yet appropriate to sleep in the same bed together. But you already knew your answer; whether or not you were together, he would be sleeping in your bed, as it was the most comfortable place in the house. You didn't tell him any of this, of course––you just took him to the bathroom, offered him a new and clean toothbrush (which he took and used), and then brought him to your bedroom. He had seen some of it before in your calls, but there was still a certain nervousness that lingered in your thoughts as you opened the door and placed him on your bed.

He stared at you, and you felt his eyes burning you as you walked around your room, pulling curtains shut and sorting out clothes. Most of your clothes would be too big for him, but you managed to find something large to fit him for the night. You turned, sleep-clothes in hand, to see him still watching you, his hands in his lap and his expression full of starlight.

"I, um... have some clothes for you to sleep in, so you're not sleeping in your slacks," you said quietly, holding out the sweatpants.

"Thank you, my love," he murmured.

Your nerves slipped away from you as you handed the clothes to him, and held your clothes tight to your chest.

"I guess I'll... sleep out on the couch tonight," you said.

His head tilted to the side curiously.

"Why would you do that? This is your bed, is it not?" He said.

"Well, yes, but..." Your throat tightened. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable. We did just meet today, after all."

"(Y/N)," he set the pants aside, taking your hands instead, "while we may have only physically met this day, we have known each other... our lives, our souls, for much longer. I do not want you to be caught in the idea that we are strangers just meeting. You are my beloved. Unless... unless you do not wish to be so close, so soon. In that case, I understand your apprehension, and accept your decision."

"No, it's not that at all," you said quickly. "Really. I just want you to be comfortable."

"Ah," he hummed, smiling. "In that case, I will be most comfortable in your arms."

You couldn't help it––you giggled, blushing down to your shoulders.

"You're incredibly sweet, you know? It bleeds out. I can't believe I didn't see it before, but, I really wasn't expecting it when we were first talking," you said, staring, enamoured within him.

"Yes, well..." He cleared his throat, glancing to the side. A seriousness overtook his tone, and his eyes steeled. "It's best to keep an even demeanor, especially when dealing with personalities such as those found on goreboy's server. I hope you understand."

"Of course I do," you said, holding his face in your hands and feeling it warm with blush. "And I appreciate your... romanticisms, too. A lot. I love them. I love you."

Warmer. Visibly darker, eyes flickering like jasmine petals falling to the ground from tall branches.

He cleared his throat again.

"I am... happy you feel that way." He looked you in the eye, and managed a smile through his awkwardness. "I love you, as well."

Gently, slowly, you leaned forward, the two of you drifting closer, pulled in by one another's gravity. Like swirling planets, a moon devoted to its earth, an earth devoted to its sun, the sunlight kissing and burning––your lips touched like raindrops, warm on the heated summer cement. You kissed and asked for more, and gave more when asked. Lips like silk against yours.

When you pulled away, you slotted your nose beside his, breathing in and dwelling in his scent and warmth. He did the same, and your heartbeats slowed to intertwine.

"Thank you for trusting me," you whispered, "enough to come to me in your time of need."

"Thank you for trusting me," he whispered in return, "and for loving me. I know it... must not be easy. I am not a common man."

"That's what makes you interesting," you said with a sly smile.

You helped him take off his trousers––not without some struggle, both in physically getting them off and mentally getting over your handicap when it came to being near your dearest Valentin––and settled him in softer clothing. You dressed yourself, and finally tucked him into bed alongside you. He reached for you, still too weak to fully pull you against him, but grasping and longing. You obliged, tucking your body against his.

"Rest well, my dear. You're safe here. I hope you feel better in the morning. I'll redress your wounds, find something for breakfast. But until then, dream sweetly," you said, running your hand over his braids.

He was quiet for a little while––bright eyes staring through the dim light of midnight, unable to meet your gaze, then staring directly into you.

"You are... divine," he murmured.

"And all yours."