concept excerpt: hector valentino airnesto condicionado human/slasher au x morvant mortuary crossover
aka what happens when I take my adorable newest hyperfixation and put him in the southern gothic world of my OCs. you can see their date everything au here and read more about them in my pinned ✨
warnings for discussions of parent terminal illness and death, voyeurism, stalking, implied masturbation with stolen underwear, brief scene of embalming.
thanks to @grappel-writes for humoring me and talking through motives for our mutual blorbo 🖤
Hector Valentino Ernesto Carasquillo is not a monster, per se. Not really. Not compared to the guys he installs the cameras for, good god. He's just... someone with a certain penchant for staying unnoticed, with a day job as a repair guy. An ability to work in claustrophobic spaces without breaking a sweat since he specializes in HVACs. A knack for certain types of surveillance technology that he picked up all on his own. All very valuable skills, in certain lines of work. All highly sought after, if someone is motivated enough. And the people who contact him tend to be very motivated indeed.
He's not proud of it -- it's not at all what he'd pictured for himself, in a more optimistic time -- but it pays the rent and more besides. His mom's medical bills, god bless her, weren't cheap. He was able to keep her comfortable in her last days, and for that, he’s always been reasonably able to sleep at night… so long as he kept his nose in his notebooks, and out of the business of the people who use his particular tor server instance to place their orders.
It's not like he’s naive. He knows full well what kinds of awful shit the cameras he places could potentially be used for. For this, he has his stipulations, the last shreds of his soul he’s not willing to sell: nothing to do with kids or families; anything to with sorority or fraternity houses costs an extra five grand, no negotiating; and he doesn’t do public locker rooms — that’s amateur hour. It’s an insult to the abilities he’s honed. He’s gotten enough of a reputation now that if you contact Valentine for something, it better be worth his time, and you better have the money.
Hospitals, offices, podiatrist clinics? Those are his bread and butter. Retirement communities? Not his taste, but he can do that.
Once or twice he’s gotten requests for the offices of public officials, and those were a challenge. But it was worth it for the self-satisfaction alone — and the added bonus of keeping him ahead of his rent for nearly a year.
His rules at least keep the garden variety pervs to a minimum. They might have helped cover chemotherapy treatments, but now that his mom’s in a better place, he doesn’t need to rely on them quite as heavily. But the money’s too good to give up entirely, especially nowadays. Especially if he ever wants to go back to art school, like he promised his mom when he did what an only son does and dropped out to take care of the woman who’d raised him alone.
He keeps meaning to re-enroll. Really. He can’t count how many times he’s logged back in to sign up for classes.
He’s just waiting for… something. More distance from his mom’s death, so all his work isn’t just about her and his own grief. More money in his savings account before he stops working full time.
He’s maybe waiting to feel alive again, but it would take him admitting that to himself to also admit that he’s not sure if it’s ever going to happen.
So when he gets an odd request from a Mr. Sunday (via an unexpected phone call, as if he’s trying to prove a point, rather than ordering through the dark web like a normal person), he goes through the motions of fulfilling it as usual. One series of cameras for a private home, single resident — okay, so probably just someone’s stalker, or an ex-spouse looking for more dirt for the divorce. A pain to set up, but he could do it in his sleep, and once it’s on he can charge for data storage/system upkeep. easy money.
The other is a series of cameras for… a family-run mortuary, in some little town he’s never heard of.
Not the first time he’s gotten a request for one of these, but they still unsettle him more than most.
Still, money’s money, and inflation is inflation. he preps his gear and sets the date.
The job, however, goes south faster than ice melts in this Louisiana summer.
He recognizes your car when he pulls his van up outside the address — your address. He knows you. You’re that person from his monthly book club who actually knows what they’re fucking talking about. The one who gives him that winning smile when he quietly backs up your points, or chats with him sometimes over the bad library coffee. The one he keeps meaning to work up the nerve to ask out, someday, eventually, when he feels like he actually has a life worth talking to someone about again. A life worth sharing.
The fuck does some sleazeball guy like Sunday want with you?
He finds out fast when the prick has the audacity to come over and flirt with you, while he’s snuck into your attic without you knowing. He can hear the guy making you laugh through the fucking vents, all charm and smarmy lines — he recognizes the voice that placed the order.
What’s worse, the smug son of a bitch even makes eye contact with him through the vent slats in your bedroom while he’s setting up a camera. as if he’s checking to make sure it got done. The insult to his professional pride would be enough to piss him off, but having him set up in your home is salt in the wound.
He doesn’t know who you know or what you’ve done to end up somehow involved with this guy, but fuck a contract. He has to find some way to warn you. Until then, he’ll keep an eye on you himself, to make sure whatever con Sunday’s trying to pull can be mitigated quickly.
You don’t deserve that. He can have enough of a spine to put it between you and this guy’s designs on you, at least.
The mortuary install doesn’t improve matters. Not only is the building fucking ancient and sprawling, making it a backbreaking effort to infiltrate and traverse, but the entire time he’s in there something feels… off. Like he’s being watched, despite being in parts of the house no other living thing should be. He hears sounds in the crawlspaces that almost felt in his ears like fragments of words, whimpers, whispers.
In the chilly space above one of the rooms, he thinks he smells his mother’s perfume — before the radiation turned it rancid on her skin.
Something - dust, or asbestos, or even a spider - falls just right between his shoulder blades to make him remember her fingertips. The way she had to gently tap him on the back when he got taller than her all too soon.
He’s trying to wipe the grit out of his eyes (that’s what it had to be, making them water like that) when in a tiny burst from his tablet, through the speakers, he hears it: a recording of her voice he couldn’t remember making. One he can’t find in the tablet’s memory or in the cloud storage connected to it afterwards that night, no matter what he searches.
‘Go home, mijo,’ she whispers. ‘Get away from these people.’
He about jumps out of his skin at that, nearly dropping his own very expensive equipment to the boards he’s treading.
When he checks the vent nearest him, trying to determine if he’s been detected, all he sees is a man in multiple layers of plastic PPE standing stock-still over a cadaver, an enormous needle-like object attached to a machine poised above the abdomen.
For oceans of time crammed in mere minutes, neither of them moves, as though one were waiting to see if the other would acknowledge them first.
When the man in the plastic mask drives the object into the body’s stomach, Hector makes his break for his exit.
He doesn’t breathe again until he makes it back to his van parked near the empty side of the property and locks the doors.
When the tablet shows him all cameras inside are active and broadcasting, he wonders briefly what he would’ve done if they hadn’t been. If he’d be brave enough to go back inside. To sit in those shadows again, his back to something he couldn’t name as he fiddled with some switches.
Driving away, he’s grateful he would never have to know.
Or so he thinks.
—
It’s only three weeks before Sunday was beginning to suspect interference. The cameras always seem to glitch when you’re changing, or whenever you look truly vulnerable. (If Hector has noticed that you’ve been crying more often since you started seeing this Sunday guy, there’s nothing he could do about it. not really. Not outside the odd bunch of local wildflowers that turn up on your doorstep, or your spotify shuffling to quiet, yearning melodies that you know aren’t on your playlist. Nothing that truly makes a difference.
Maybe he’s gotten in the bad habit of sitting parked across the street from your house whenever he knows Sunday should be leaving, but that’s just to check on you. To make sure that rat bastard, whatever he was doing, hasn’t gotten away with it.
If he’s started getting out of his car to sit by your bedroom window, hidden behind your crepe myrtle bushes outside, then that’s purely to make sure you’re really, truly okay. Not at all because he loves hearing your laugh when you watch tv, or your excitement when you talk on video chat with your friends, or when you sing along to your music, or your pensive expression when you’re reading that month’s book late at night on your bed—)
But if it takes that long for Sunday to catch on, then it only takes a couple days more for a manila envelope to show up in his always-empty mailbox. From there, it only takes another forty five minutes to have the contents of that envelope spread across his own kitchen table:
Photos. Real, physical printed photos. Of him.
Of him across the street from your house. Of him outside your window. of him at home, with one or two things that he may have maybe possibly slipped out of your laundry hamper when you’re out with Sunday.
Of what he does with them after, thinking he’s alone in the dark with the guilt of it.
Alongside these, a note in a precise, flowing handwriting:
"Tomorrow, 8 sharp, or they get these and more.”
Followed by an address that, one websearch later, turns out to belong to a tiny twenty-four hour diner not far from the mortuary Sunday asked him to bug.
So, of course, he goes. he goes early, even, trying to see if he can pick out his blackmailer from the camouflage of his mom’s old car, something other than his van. He half-suspects it's Sunday himself — he’s the only one who knows about Hector’s moonlighting, after all, he’s the one who placed the order. He’s the quickest connection between Hector and you.
But the person who sets off alarm bells in his brain isn’t his erstwhile employer. It's the pale guy in the glasses and suit who parks a hearse outside the diner and walks in, accompanied by an even paler woman in a wide-brimmed sun hat that hides most of her face, and a white dress that hides most of her body, and finally a dark-haired guy in a hoodie and sneakers —
With a professional-grade film camera, hanging prominently on a strap around his neck. like he wants it to be seen.
The three of them are sitting on one side of a table at the very back of the place, and when Hector sits down across from them, his hands itch for charcoal and good quality paper. The three of them have such distinct faces, all cheekbones and sunken eyes, clearly related despite how differently they each wear that same haunted look. Like they all grew up starved for sunlight.
The men are seated on either side of the woman, but she looks the least interested in being here, stirring her iced tea with barely a glance in Hector’s direction. “This him?” she says to her glass, and at first Hector can’t be sure who she’s talking to.
The man in glasses takes one look at Hector and sighs, pulling out a pack of nicotine gum from a pocket inside his suit jacket. “Yeah, that’s the guy from our vents.”
The man in the hoodie jerks his chin at the gum. “I thought you quit.”
“So did I,” Glasses guy says, but there’s more resignation than anything else. He gives Hector a grim smile as he pops a piece in his mouth. “You know, dependin’ how long you were up there, you could’ve been exposed to a good deal of formaldehyde.”
Hector shrugs at this. “Not the worst hazard I’ve run into.”
“You do that a lot?” Hoodie guy says. “Put cameras over embalming rooms for creeps?”
Hector feels a shudder run down his spine at the memory of the trocar plunging into the cadaver’s stomach. “No,” he says simply. “Not often.”
“Yeah?” Hoodie guy pulls a photo out of his pockets, holding it up like it’s a playing card and this is a trick. “What about in their house?”
It’s a photo of you at the book club meeting just last weekend, shot through the library window. The angle is such that it catches you while you’re looking at the ceiling, clearly choosing your words...
And Hector is seated next to you, his expression doing nothing to conceal just how you make him feel.
He goes to reach for it without thinking, his face threatening to overheat, and the whole table shifts.
tTe woman in the middle looks up to watch him, green eyes cat-like and curious now. This close to her, Hector can see the strange scar tissue running all along her jawline that the hat brim was hiding before.
Glasses guy sits forward in his chair, looking between Hector and the photo. When Hector looks his way, sheepish, he winces like he knows exactly what Hector’s feeling.
Hoodie guy leans back, the photo still between his fingers and a smug grin on his face. “That’s what I thought.”
“You don’t understand,” Hector says quickly. he takes a breath, trying to keep his voice from shifting too high with concern. “The guy that hired me - Sunday - he’s doing something to them. I don’t know what.” He feels as crazy as he’s sure he looks when he says this. “But it’s making them… sick. Depressed. Something.”
At the name, all three of them exchange a dark look. Like Hector’s let something vicious into the room even by speaking it.
“I’m just trying to help them,” Hector pleads. “You have to believe me.”
A long pause. more exchanged glances. A silent conversation.
The woman, at last, looks back to Hector. “What are you willing to do to protect them?” she asks, her voice low.
“Anything.” Hector speaks without hesitation, for once in his life.
“Anything?” Glasses guy repeats, peering owlishly at Hector over said frames.
Hector leans towards them across the table. “Whatever it takes. Whatever I have to do. I don’t care.” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing that scares me anymore, not after what I’ve seen. What I know people do to each other.” A bitter taste fills his mouth. “It just can’t happen to them. I won’t let it. I refuse.”
Another pause.
One by one, each of his blackmailers rests the index finger of their left hand on the tabletop.
He doesn’t realize they’ve voted on something until Glasses guy reads the back of the box of nicotine gum again before shrugging and popping a second piece in his mouth.
“Maxi Morvant,” he says with a crooked half-smile. he tucks the gum back into his suit jacket once again, then nods to the woman next to him. “Rora.” He adds in a mumble, like it’s a secret: “My sister.”
Rora nods to hoodie guy on her other side. “And this is our Hector. Our cousin.”
Hector stares at his counterpart, with his long glossy hair and hunger-pang good looks, and hates him immediately.
The other Hector smirks. “Hex is fine.” He gives Hector a lingering once-over, and his body isn’t sure whether to blush or clench his fists. “Saves us any… confusion.”
Hector decides he really hates Hex.
“Alright, Valentine,” Hex says the name like a taunt, and Hector’s blood runs cold.
Hex slides the library photo across the table so it’s right in front of him, like it’s nothing, like he’s got a hundred of them printed out somewhere.
“Tell us about your friend, there.”
Hector stares at you like a man asked to explain what beauty is to a martian.
They stay until it’s dark outside, planning your rescue from the creature in a man's skin that's stealing your life from you breath by breath.
(I don't know that this individual story with my OCs is going to much further than this snippet, but I might make a post of just Hector and his reader in this AU later on
if you've read this far, I hope your next ominous meeting in a diner goes well 🖤)
I wanted to share art other people have made of my characters, be they commissions or spontaneous, bc it’s such a wonderful and delightful thing for me as a writer who has not practiced enough to be comfortable drawing yet
most recent is my commission by @roachcult here on tumblr of my necromancer family, the Morvants, from my mortuary wip. roach does some of the gnarliest most metal gore art I’ve ever seen, you should definitely go look at their stuff if you’re a fan of horror in any sense ♥️♥️♥️
(mild gore and some blood to follow here, btw)
my main male character for vol. I, Maxi Morvant -
my partial antagonist for vol. I and my mmc for vol. II, Hector Morvant-Casares -
and my partial antagonist for both vol. I and II, and my main female character for vol. III, Aurore “Rora” Morvant -
seriously, if you’re a horror writer or just a horror fan, please go check out @roachcult. I’m saving up already for the next time comms open. their art absolutely fantastic and so so worth it 🖤
you can learn more about my three necromancers here over on their tumblr, @morvantmortuary, but I’ll be posting snippets over here as well as I settle in.
The Fool in its Upright position represents youthfulness and new beginnings. Andrea not only experiences the start of a new life but also reinvigorate the town with his youthful energy.
Laszlo Kreizler: The Hermit (Reversed)
Defined by his cold shell, Laszlo experiences extreme loneliness despite being around so many people. Though he focuses more on the issues on his patients and fear, he refuses to look at himself, and until he can do so he is a stagnant, lonely individual
Baron Helmut Zemo: The King of Pentacles (Upright)
Zemo has a level of control in situations that is eerily impressive. Even when it seems like he has no control of something, he finds a way to gain the upper hand. He knows what he has to do to be successful and does it, ensuring his overall triumph.
Alex Kerner: Six of Cups (Reversed)
The Six of Cups upright represents a healthy nostalgia trip, whereas its reverse represents living in the past. Although he has the best intentions, Alex traps himself in the past trying to drag the people closest to him back with him instead of living in the present.
Maxi Morvant: The Devil
WOO This is the one that inspired me to do this. Maxi embodies both the Upright and Reversed of this card. Even though he wasn’t keen on it, he is bound to his work and his duties as a Morvant, unable to break away from either. But on the reverse side, he morbidly welcomes that side of himself, allowing himself to explore it in his way. @raraenoctes (don’t mind me obsessing over him again BASBBZ)
I have been so OBSESSED with @morvantmortuary that I NEEDED to draw Maxi. And because I am extra, I just had to add his “Reaper” version. He’s my little meow meow, and must be protected and cherished at all cost.
(Or: you've decided to ignore the red flags underneath the kudzu.)
(...though I guess they're just kind of canon, since he's... my OC. huh. 🤔 welp.
anyway!! people were kind enough to ask for these when I first posted him way back in 2021, oh my god, so I thought I'd update these too! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ some discussion of nsft below~)
“And I said ‘I feel so lonely,’ and he said, ‘Lie down and tell me about it.’“ - Anne Carson
Maxi is, as you’ve likely already guessed, a gentleman, no matter what gender the person is he’s dating.
He will not let you touch a doorknob or car door handle. ever. It’s like he thinks it’s bad luck if you have to open your own door.
That’s probably the first way to tell he likes you, is if he starts opening your doors whenever you’re around.
Or being especially interested in how your day went, like even the boring stuff, he will listen interestedly and nod and smile and it will all be Genuine
Or if you have family that you like, he will ask after them. constantly.
Or pets, even!! he loves animals, especially cats, but he won’t adopt any because he doesn’t want them to feel uncomfortable in a House where people are always coming and going (in more ways than one.)
Plus, people have certain superstitions about cats and the dead depending on their faith tradition and he would rather keep the parlor a neutral space for all.
(He’s also not over what happened to his favorite cat, Magnolia, when he was younger. But that’s a story for another time.)
The minute he knows someone’s favorite flower, he never forgets. it’s an acquired skill in his line of business, of course, but that’s probably how he’ll ask you out is by bringing a bouquet by your place and asking how you feel about dinner some night
Because he will do that shit in person!! And it will be an event!! He will wait until he knows you’re home and comfortable how does he know? let’s not get into that right now and then he’ll swing by and it will be very much on purpose.
It might take him a minute to get the words out, because when he’s not in Funeral Director mode he tends to overthink the social aspect of things a bit more. But gosh darnit he came over there for a reason and he will ask you out if it kills him!!
If you take the initiative and ask him out, it might actually kill him.
Well, no, but he will be deeply flustered at first - not in a negative way, just in a way where he’s v used to having Strong Feelings for people but not so much where he thinks they would be reciprocated
He’s much more used to other people in his family being the ones who get all the attention, but that’s a story for another time
Point is!! it will bowl him over but he will be delighted to accept your invitation once his tongue starts working again
This man is always on time and, like, almost always in a suit
Mostly it’s for work, of course, but it’s also just the shell he feels most comfortable putting on in public
So the nice thing is you can almost always expect him to look fantastic when you go out together, and he will be more than happy to drive
…There is a chance he’ll be picking you up in the hearse, though. Or “the coach” as people refer to it more often these days.
“There’s no one back there, I promise,” he says, with a slightly sheepish smile. “I just didn’t have time to switch, I didn’t want to risk being late.”
…The nice thing about the hearse, though, is that it’s... rather spacious back there. if you know what I mean.
But that’s going to take a hot second, bc our dude very much has trust issues. We’ll get there.
For Reasons, he does not let himself be vulnerable often with other people.
Part of it is professional instinct: he’s in a business where it’s other people’s job to cry, and he will handle the nitty-gritty details so they don’t have to think about it on the worst day of their life.
(Part of it is because being visibly weak just caused more yelling when he was little, or didn’t do him any good otherwise, so he trained himself to tamp that down pretty quick)
part of it is he’s got too many secrets buried in his backyard to just open up to anyone
The first date will likely be something simple: a picnic and a bottle of wine at sunset in one of his favorite cemeteries. he knows all the best ones, with the more... secluded spots. so you feel a little less like anyone could just overhear your conversation while they’re visiting their dearly departed.
This man is going to ask you about your hopes and dreams, y’all. he legit wants to know.
He’ll also ask you about your favorite things - books, movies, music, artists, hobbies - so he can figure out date two.
Maxi is always two steps ahead for everything, including courting someone
(Yes he will use that term even though it’s 2025. It’s a deliberate process and he takes it very seriously!!)
If you want to wander through the tombstones with him later and look around, he’ll definitely quietly check if you’re cool holding hands.
He has surprisingly soft hands for what he does. They’re a bit disconcertingly cool, but it’s not bad, given the weather
Plus his nails are always perfectly kept. There’s no room for bitten nails in his line of work.
Good strong grip but we’re not gonna think about that too much rn
He will absolutely try to kiss you when he takes you home, and bless him, it will be a little awkward
(If you wanna make out he’s not about to say no, but he won’t let it go any further than that on date one. That’s more a Him thing than a You thing, obvi.)
The second date will be either a concert or a museum exhibit, if there’s one he feels like would appeal to your interests.
Or he’d be happy to take you to his favorite bookstore, if he thinks you’d appreciate the experience
If he shows up with no jacket, just a button-down with the sleeves rolled up and a couple top buttons open, that is a good-ass sign. it means he really likes you.
(He’ll still bring you flowers, though <3)
You’re In (hacker voice) when he asks if you just want to watch a movie at his place
(He will actually want to watch the movie with you more likely than not, so it’s not quite like it sounds. He will do his best to explain this, blushing madly the whole time when he asks you.)
That man has a homemade queso recipe he’s very proud of and he’ll be happy to make it for you, along with popcorn and all the other necessary snacks of course
If he opens the door and he’s wearing a black or grey henley, little bit of chest hair showing, and his hair isn’t perfectly in place? oh shit. it’s for real.
Maxi is always a tidy dresser, even when he’s casual, so something like that and some black joggers means he feels really comfortable with you.
He has maybe two hoodies, because Louisiana weather doesn’t get cold very often, but he’ll be delighted to let you wear anything of his should you request it.
He likes just about any kind of movies, but his favorites are horror and romcoms.
If it’s a horror movie, you can expect him to get a little talkative during any part with gore; he’ll start talking about whether or not it’s realistic, though he might not realize he’s doing it right away
“Joints just don’t work like that, I’m sorry. Nice work on that veining, though.”
“You know, when someone gets strangled to death, it’s supposed to taste acidic as it’s happening? It’s fascinating, really...”
“Good lord, that’s some hellacious blood pressure for it to spray like that from a little old nick.”
“Honestly, if you had to saw your foot off, you’d be better off cutting on the other side of the ankle—”
He will absolutely stop at one point to see if he’s annoying you or grossing you out
If you don’t mind, he will happily continue chattering on, explaining how the actual anatomy works in vivid and excruciating detail
(If you want to hold onto him during the scary parts, that’s absolutely fine. He will be more than happy to hold right back.)
He’s actually fairly cuddly, if you can get him to that point. But if he’s in the henley-wearing stage, you can sit in that boy’s lap and he wouldn’t mind, he’d just reach for the popcorn around you and hold you there so you don’t slide off.
Truth be told, under the customer service face, he is the most cuddly, tactile, touch-starved motherfucker. Once he has permission to touch, he is almost always touching you somehow, even if it’s just his leg against yours when you’re sitting next to each other, or his fingertips brushing yours. He just wants to know you’re there.
If he gets kind of quiet every so often and glances over his shoulder, or down a dark hallway, or has a concerned look on his face as he looks out the window to his back yard, don’t worry your little head about it.
If it sounds like something is whispering from the basement stairs, don’t worry about that, either.
(How does he even have a basement in Louisiana? “Funny story, actually,” he’ll tell you, as he quickly steers you away from the embalming room door. Turns out his House is a historic oddity. No one, not even some of the physicists and geologists from LSU, even, can tell you how that basement embalming room exists. But it does, and he spends a lot of time there for his day job.)
“The A/C system is ancient in here,” he says with a shrug if you ask him about any strange sounds, smiling crookedly. “I’ve been meaning to get it replaced forever, I’m just waitin’ until the off-season so they don’t charge me an arm and a leg.”
not that he doesn’t have plenty of arms and legs to spare, eyyyy
At one point, if he gets up to refill the popcorn, you might hear him whispering to someone in the kitchen.
There’s no one else there, mind you. At least, no one you can’ see.
…But okay, say none of this is enough to scare you off, and you wanna jump his bones.
Like I said, the boy’s going to take it slow, be very careful about it. he doesn’t want you to feel rushed or pressured, and he’s going to make very certain it’s actually something you want
You might have to shove your tongue in his mouth to get him to get the picture, but when he’s on board, he’s On Board
If it’s your first time together, he’s taking you to his actual bed. He’s a romantic, he’s doing this properly, dammit, and he wants it to be special.
His room should be fairly neat, with antique furniture polished to a shine, tasteful dark curtains to block out the sunlight, soft lamplight if not outright candles. Little collection of cologne bottles on his dresser, y’know, as his main vice. A bookshelf with framed photos on top in the corner. His bed is perfectly made and smells like the sheets are fresh out of the laundry.
Just don’t look under the bed for any reason. I mean Any reason.
So... Maxi’s not a jacked dude. Most of the muscle he has is on the lean side, hidden under dress shirts and jackets. He’s also still soft in the stomach area, he knows this, and he can be a little shy about it.
He’s even more shy about the scar over his heart; thick white tissue, a perfect line going down and to the left. It’s not jagged, almost surgical, like someone was trying to open his chest. He was, but he doesn’t like to talk about it.
But when he holds your thighs apart? That man is like a gator. That grip is iron and you’re not going anywhere if your life depended on it.
His tongue will absolutely make you see your faith tradition’s version of the pearly gates, Valhalla, what have you. You got a heaven-type place? Great, you’re going there for a while, bon voyage.
One great thing about a boyfriend who knows human anatomy inside and out? He puts that knowledge to use for your enjoyment on a regular basis.
Another is that there’s literally nothing about the human body that grosses him out. He’s seen it all, and he’s seen it when it’s been sitting in a car for two weeks in a Louisiana June
Not that he’s thinking about that when he’s with you. He’s not into the dead That Way.
that’s just unprofessional and disrespectful, not to mention unsanitary, and also, do other people not hear them talking? they’re still there, you know, they have feelings and autonomy and dignity and deserve respect just like everyone else...
Well, most of them. The ones that were assholes in life can choke on their own gravedirt. But he’s still not touching them with a ten foot pole.
I mean more that he will always think you’re a work of art, and that any of the embarrassing human body things that can happen during sex aren’t going to phase him a bit, so feel free to relax and take the pressure off yourself. He wants you to be comfortable if you’re going to be so vulnerable with him. He doesn’t take that lightly.
Period sex, can’t finish with a partner, finish too early, erectile dysfunction, whatever. if you’re down, he’s down and he won’t bat an eye.
You have any particular parts of sex you just can’t do or are sensitive about? perfectly fine by him, there’s plenty left for him to work with
If you wanted to choke him or slap him around a bit, he’d likely blush and thank you for it.
If you wanted to be choked and/or slapped, he’s willing to do so, but you’re going to need to have the safeword/limits conversation beforehand when you’re both clear-headed, because he doesn’t do that without thorough expectations of what you want and what you don’t in place.
Once you have that established, though, you’re good to go. He’s always interested in trying something new.
…Did I mention he’s secretly packing? Bc he absolutely is.
One minute you’ve got this quiet polite southern boy and the next you have an incubus with an accent.
He’ll be careful with it - he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s a gentleman
...Unless you want it to hurt, in which case, prepare not to be able to walk right the next morning
He’s also damn good with knots and rope. if you indicate such an interest, he has the really nice expensive soft rope in his nightstand drawer for just such occasions!!
He knows how not to leave bruises - he’ll happily spare you any public awkwardness the next day - but if you want bruises/bite marks of any kind, then he’s happy to provide
Though sometimes, when he bites your shoulder, there might be a split two seconds where you’re not entirely sure if he’s going to let go without some blood in his mouth
What can I say, he gets excited.
But if y’all get down, he’ll make sure you come first, and then several times after
Like maybe to the point that you’re overstimulated and overwhelmed
If you cry a little (in a good way), he will absolutely check in with you, but in the moment, there’s a non-zero chance he won’t try to taste the salt on your skin from your tears.
…Just expect him to insist that you stay the night after.
The gator-strength comes in again when you find out he’s both a dead sleeper and a cuddler to boot.
Heaven help you if you have to get up to pee in the middle of the night.
Don’t stare down the hallway any longer than you need to, and definitely don’t look in the mirror when the light is off
if you come back and it seems like he’s only pretending to sleep, you’re right. Just stay still and he’ll fall back asleep again when he’s sure you’re not going walking around the house.
But in the morning, he’ll happily make you honey biscuits and cafe au lait!
If it’s a saturday he’ll try beignets, but he needs to have a clear schedule that morning so he can keep an eye on them bc they can go wrong so quickly in his kitchen
If you have to work later, there’s also not-small chance he’ll pack you a lunch.
“Y’know. I just thought, in case you didn’t feel like pickin’ one up on your way in,” he says, pretending to be very casual, like he accidentally just makes random lunches without thinking about it all the time.
…There’s absolutely a sticky note in the bag with a bad grave-related dad joke.
Had fun last night! :) Hope your day goes well, call and tell me about it later if you feel like it <3
…If you guys get to the point of being significant to each other, expect him to take this very seriously. Not like, marriage seriously, if you don’t want that. But it’s not often he finds people he feels like he can be truly comfortable around, and he’ll make it obvious that you’re important to him as long as you’re together.
the only odd things (that you know of):
Sometimes, as meticulous as he is about hygiene, he stills smells like embalming fluid. he will do his best to cover the smell with cologne without going overboard, but there’s only so much he can do.
His schedule can be pretty packed sometimes, and he tends to get kind of stressed when he has multiple services in a row, so he might not be the most attentive.
If there are nights where you can’t get ahold of him, just be patient. He’s not seeing anyone else - he wouldn’t dare, he adores you and he’s old-fashioned that way - but he just has some... business, to take care of. Just wait. He’ll come back, all apologies for missing your calls and texts. He just had to drive down to Grand Isle or over to Port Arthur to deal with this supply problem before a viewing in the morning, but he’s here now, and he’s all ears as to whatever’s bothering you.
Why does he smell like fresh dirt, or the soot from crematorium? “Well, you know how it is, sugar, I got involved in some night work.” he says quickly, waving a hand.
They bury people at night? “It’s fairly common in the industry,” he nods. “Especially for people who can’t afford a proper one. Hell, if you google Hart Isle in New York - but anyway, what’s wrong, darlin’?”
If it’s someone who’s been a problem for you multiple times, well. the next time you see them, they’ll be weirdly nice to you. like. really, really nice.
And if someone, god forbid, made you cry? You’d never see them again.
Neither would anyone else.
“Odd how that happens out of the blue sometimes. Wonder if they moved out of a flood zone, insurance has been a nightmare lately,” he says earnestly, shrugging as you tell him about this weird new development. “Did the rest of your day go okay though?”
Also, the man cannot dance. Like, cannot. But gosh if he won’t try when you ask him. It’s endearing, really.
Not really dating-related, but just for fun:
He has a signed copy of The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood and Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, which might not mean anything to anyone except for me. But he has them!!!
The man will absolutely cry watching Steel Magnolias. He just will. Sally Field’s monologue gets him every time, he is powerless against it.
If you get him drunk enough, that man will do karaoke, and he will Commit to the Bit. (Don’t tell him I posted this.)
He had the briefest career in high school theater, and was almost the lead in The Glass Menagerie his junior year, until his father Vincent found out and forbade him from having anything to do with it. (And then his twin sister died and his best friend/cousin moved out of the country and everything went to hell and he was sincerely convinced for years that he was never allowed to be happy ever in his life.)
Always bakes a fresh batch of cookies whenever he knows he has an appointment coming in that day, whether it’s a pre-need or someone who just lost someone else. He firmly believes grief goes down better with sugar, butter, and flour.
Likewise, he never leaves home without at least one travel pack of tissues. You know the ones. He just likes to be prepared for unexpected tears.
Has an absurd grudge against the “if I die young” song bc as soon as it came out, that was all he heard whenever a young lady of a certain age died for like a year, straight. If he never has to hear it again, it’ll be too soon. “Hell’s bells, it’s not even that good, it’s just maudlin!” (Part II, however… well. You’ll see.)
(Thanks to everyone reading this again with fresh eyes -- I thought it was time to give this a new coat of paint. It was fun, and it'll help establish things for part II! :3
If you read this far, I hope you get your favorite Halloween candy early 🖤)
[Part I of Morvant Mortuary Vol. 1 2025-2026 Rewrite
slasher/necromancer OC x plus size non-binary reader, 18+]
[summary: you are a recent transplant to the tiny, middle-of-nowhere town of Greymoon, Louisiana. your boyfriend is the town's lone mortician, Maxi Morvant -- a little weird, but sweet as can be, and utterly devoted to you. when one of your chronic migraines threatens to ruin your evening plans, he suggests some alternative measures to distract you.
warnings: morbid humor about embalming practices; reader has a vulva; use of a vibrator to overstimulation; oral sex; period sex; penetrative sex; implied blood kink; praise kink; brief instance of daddy kink. some implied stalker-y behavior; discussion of death of a relative. sex during a migraine probably doesn't usually help, but I'm the chronic migraine-haver here and I get to write the coping mechanism. reader uses they/them, no use of y/n, mentions of skin and hair left as neutral as possible.
this is going to be a horror story, horrific things will happen, please be advised and use your own discretion.
notes: we're doing this again, but this time better and to the left. /jk
a story I wrote years ago, now polished, edited, and rewritten with the full knowledge of who my OCs actually are (and who they're going to be). shared here because I missed having the x reader version of it up even while I work on the other version, but I wanted to shine it up and do it justice.
the whole thing is still one of my favorite things I've ever written. I love my necromancers, Greymoon, all of it. but I especially love getting to share it with my friends who have been here with us all along. 🖤 thank you to each and every one of y'all who has been kind enough to hang around these past few years; I have never been more grateful for anything in the world. I appreciate your time, your thoughts, but especially your friendship.
and if people happen to read this for the first time this year: hi! thanks for your time; you're about to get to know me and my love of the horror genre way too well lmao.
I hope you enjoy it~ 🖤]
You were holed up in your bed again with a migraine on a beautiful evening at the end of summer, and you were more than a little annoyed about it.
After waking up with it this morning, you’d spent the day inside, moving to whatever room was the darkest as the sun moved across the sky. You hadn’t been able summon the will to change out of your ensemble of a ratty band t-shirt and track shorts, and you were due to see Maxi for your usual movie night later. You’d established a bit of a routine after Maxi had a ‘late’ funeral (though in Greymoon, this translated to early evening): if he came over to your place, he chose the movie, and vice versa if you went to his. He was supposed to join you here this evening, and had already proposed a romance: The Notebook, much to your surprise. You’d both seen it, of course, but you’d never seen it with each other, and that was enough for the pair of you to count as ‘new.’ He’d suggested it when he’d brought you lunch on your break the other day, as he’d also taken to doing recently, because he apparently pulled out all the stops at being the sweetest man you’d ever met.
“Okay, I’m down,” you’d said, laughing and shaking your head when he brought it up. “But I’m going to make fun of it, I’m just warning you now.”
“That’s fine, just don’t make fun of me if I cry,” Maxi’d retorted playfully, and you’d only laughed more, unable to help yourself at his grin. Maxi was a weird one for a plethora of reasons, but his genuine affection for sappy romcoms was possibly one of your favorites.
However, despite trying all your usual remedies — caffeine, painkillers, CBD — it was all to no avail. You were pouting now with your head shoved into a pillow in your dim bedroom, where you’d been for the last few hours. It really wasn’t fair; you’d been skipping your placebo week in your pill packet since you’d first figured out that was a thing you could do and it wouldn’t kill you - but to still have the PMS symptoms that went with it seemed more than a little cruel.
As you were laying there feeling sorry for yourself, your phone buzzed cheerfully against the surface of your thrifted nightstand, causing it to rattle just the tiniest bit on its unsteady feet.
Doing some quick math — if you’d been laying here as long as you thought you’d been laying there, plus the angle of the sun through your curtains — you had a pretty good guess who it was from.
<[hi there beautiful x how’re we feeling? :)]
Yep. There he was, like clockwork. You smiled to yourself a little despite the throbbing in your temple, unlocking your screen — which was, not coincidentally, a photo of the two of you sticking your tongues out next to a giant headstone that bore the surname ‘Tongue’ - to respond.
[still shitty. xp sorry! raincheck on the notebook? <3]>
A moment later, your phone buzzed again, this time in a repeated pattern. You swiped to accept the call, putting him on speaker and setting it on the pillow next to your head. “Hey, baby. How’d the viewing go?”
“Oh, fine. Standard affair for some sweet little nana, bless her heart.” Maxi’s honeyed drawl filled your phone, and you could hear the distinctive sound of the hearse’s motor in the background. You were pretty sure Maxi was the last person in the South who used heart blessing genuinely and not to be an asshole. Not that he couldn’t be, of course; he was just usually much sneakier about it, with his Customer Service grin still perfectly in place. “Had to gently explain to the grandkids that no, she wasn’t going to open her eyes anymore. Or at least, you’d hope not, with the glue I used,” he added with his characteristic half-snort, half-giggle.
“Please tell me you didn’t actually say that,” you asked, covering your eyes with your hand. Maxi was a wonder: a polite, cheerful consummate professional — but also unfailingly honest about some of the grittier details of his work. He’d grown up around it; all the grim realities of the mortal flesh were second nature to him, and you understood that, but still. Even you had needed some air the day he’d explained just how many things needed plugged after death.
“No, darlin’, of course not,” Maxi chuckled. “Can’t have them getting ideas with glue sticks, after all.”
“Baby,” you sighed, rolling your eyes but still amused. “Do you really wonder why the school board keeps rejecting your proposal for a field trip to the mortuary?”
“I just think it would be informative and enlightening!” Maxi protested, his accent automatically shaving off his ‘g’s from the ends of things, and you laughed. “You’ve heard me say it a million times, hon, people would be a lot better off if they were exposed to death early! It’s natural!”
“Sure, babe, but I think first grade is a little young for that.”
“Aw, hell, I went down to the basement the first time when I was six, and I turned out…” Maxi trailed off, and you frowned for a moment, sitting up as if you could see him.
You couldn’t help but notice that he could get a little quiet sometimes, talking about when he was little. You’d heard around town when you’d first moved here (as small as it was) that his dad had been ‘a real piece of work,’ but you really didn’t have much else to go on other than that. He didn’t seem to like to discuss it, unless he was answering a question you asked directly, and even then, it was still pretty light on details for someone as social as him.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I’m just saying, “ he went on like nothing had happened. “Maybe if they got a glimpse of it early, they wouldn’t turn out to be thirty-somethings who took a phone call in the middle of the eulogy.”
“Shut up.” Your eyebrows rocketed up your forehead, and you fell back to your mattress again. “You have to be kidding me.” If Maxi had one pet peeve — well, okay, two along with people who stiffed waitstaff — it was people being rude at funerals.
“Nope!” Maxi chirped, but you could hear the fake smile in his voice. “Got right up and walked out when his phone went off at full volume during the son’s eulogy. Had the audacity to say that we could ‘keep going, don’t worry about it,’” he went on, in what you could only assume was supposed to be a scathing impression of something like a NorCal accent. Maxi’s own was so thick sometimes when he was annoyed that it was hard to tell when he was mocking someone specific. “I think it was a nephew or something. And then!” he added. “Didn’t even stay after! Or sign the guestbook! Walked right past the crying grandkids like it was nothing, talking about he had to go meet someone about a boat!”
“Oh my god.” You rolled over on your stomach like this was hot gossip. “What a jackass.”
“I know!” Maxi grumbled, and you had to fight a chuckle. Your baby was nothing if not a stickler for funeral etiquette. “I mean, I’m a perfect stranger! They don’t know me from a hole in the ground! If I can manage to express the proper sympathies for a woman I’ve only had in my basement for twenty four hours, it’s not that goddamn hard.” He sighed long and slow, with the sound of his fingers drumming for a moment on the steering wheel, and you could tell he was reigning himself in. “Anyway. I made a note to follow up with the family later,” he said with a note of finality.
This was part of Maxi’s whole shtick, as far as you knew. He had a thing about following up with families who’d had mourners being exceptionally rude, which you’d learned since meeting him was apparently a growing epidemic. You didn’t know what following up meant, per se, but you got the vibe he made it up to them somehow. He was sweet that way.
“But how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice all concern. “Any better?”
“Ugh, no. My body still hates me,” you sighed, rolling onto your side and pressing the offending temple into a pillow. “It’s not fair.”
“Oh, darlin’, it doesn’t hate you. It could never hate you, it loves you too much,” Maxi cooed, and you felt yourself melt a little.
It had taken some getting used to, having a partner who talked about bodies like they were separate entities. But when you literally knew them inside out like he did, it just kind of happened. Now it was soothing, when it wasn’t a little odd.
“It’s just a misunderstanding with your nerves, that’s all.” He paused, thinking. “Do you still want me to come over? I might know a trick or two to get around it, but if you just want alone time, that’s okay too.”
As miserable as you felt, you missed your boyfriend who hugged like a gator in a death roll. You could tell in his question he missed you too, clearly hoping for a yes.
“You can, but I’m gonna be really dull,” you warned him. “I’m just going to want to lay in the dark and listen to crime podcasts.”
You could hear the soft laugh on Maxi’s end; he didn’t understand why it helped your brain turn off to listen to the case details of unsolved homicides, but he humored you nonetheless. “Fine, baby. If I have to cuddle you through more stories about cops being utterly fucking incompetent, I will.”
“My hero.” You grinned. “Where are you, anyway?”
A pair of headlights ghosted their way over the wall in your darkening room opposite your window, and you heard the engine cut out on his side of the line. “…Your driveway,” Maxi admitted sheepishly, and you laughed. He’d never turned to go home from the church at all, he’d just driven straight here.
“Awful presumptuous of you, Mr. Morvant,” you teased.
“What can I say,” Maxi teased back, and you could hear the car door close outside. “I’m an optimist.”
“Key’s where it was last time. Get in here,” you ordered playfully, hanging up.
You heard your front door open and close, and Maxi carefully placing his shoes by the mat. By the time he made it back to your room, his jacket and tie were gone as well, and he was rolling the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to his elbows.
You gave him a wolf whistle just to see him turn pink around the ears. “Hey there, handsome. Come here often?”
“Hey yourself,” Maxi mumbled shyly, easing himself down onto your bed and kissing your forehead.
For a man who looked like him, you had no idea why he still wasn’t used to people pointing out the fact that he was hot. You’d thought he’d know, by now, but alas.
He leaned back to take you in, his hand gliding comfortingly over your shoulders. “Still feeling gross, darlin’?”
“Mm. If you could explain to my nerves what exactly this misunderstanding is, I’d appreciate it,” you said, one eye closed.
He smelled like lilies today, and you figured the family must have gone with the traditional arrangements. Just under that was the cold, clinical chemical smell of the embalming room; you weren’t totally used to it yet, but now it was almost weirdly comforting. Almost.
“…We-ell.” Maxi sat up again with a thoughtful expression.
You propped yourself up slightly, curious. “‘Well’ what?”
Maxi pursed his lips, looking around your room and tapping his fingers on his knee. “The nerves on that side of your forehead are inflamed due to a hormonal trigger,” he said slowly. He wasn’t explaining this to you, as you obviously knew how this worked - hell, you’d been putting up with this for more than half your life now. He was saying it more to himself, like figuring out a word problem. “…The best thing I can think to do is overwhelm it with an entirely different stimulus, one that will hopefully trigger enough dopamine to at least cut the pain down.”
“And that would be?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
When Maxi met your eyes again, his were suddenly dark in a way that made heat flare across your cheeks. Granted, they were always dark: a deep brown that at times, in the light, bordered somehow on burgundy. But when he looked at you like this, they were near-perfect pieces of night set into his skull.
“Well, if you feel bad,” he said quietly. “Give me a chance to make you feel good, hmm?”
Oh, right. Maxi knew he was hot. He just chose to deploy it strategically. And damn, was it effective.
“Um…” You bit your lip, thinking it over. “I might be a little sensitive for some stuff right now.” As in, you weren’t sure him wrecking you was something your already overwhelmed system could handle, as fun as it normally was.
“Oh, it doesn’t have to be me specifically.” Maxi shrugged. “We just need something that works.” He tilted his head, considering, before he reached towards the lower cabinet door on your nightstand. “May I?”
You blinked. You hadn’t really had a boyfriend before whom you were comfortable seeing your collection of vibrators - other sex toys, sure, but in the past it just felt like most dudes would rather stick with more… mutually interactive objects. But Maxi was someone who literally never seemed phased by anything about the human body, always approaching new developments with that same casual shrug and ‘fine by me’ attitude you found so endearing.
“…Sure,” you said, shrugging yourself. At least you knew you weren’t about to be judged for whatever was in there.
Maxi slid off your bed onto his knees, opening the cabinet and checking inside. “Perfect.” He grinned. He was looking through the assorted shapes and sizes there like this was something he’d done numerous times, examining the contours of each with an appraising eye before looking at you. “Got a favorite, sugar?”
“…The black silicone one,” you mumbled, pointing vaguely in the direction of where you’d left it last. You didn’t know why this felt so revealing; you were an adult who knew and had a conscious relationship with their body, it was a totally normal thing to have these and to have a preferred one. It wasn’t like Maxi cared you had them, he was too secure for that. Hell, he was the one who’d gone to pick one out in the first place —
You paused, looking back to him. “Wait, how’d you know where those were?”
Maxi froze for half a second as he was inspecting the vibrator in question, something unreadable flickering over his face before he answered. “Lucky guess,” he said casually, still looking over the toy. “If you’re gonna use them, it makes sense for them to be close to your bed, no?”
“True,” you agreed. He just seemed to have a knack for where things in your house were, even when you’d first started dating; you figured he was just really intuitive that way. Working with people who spent most of the time crying probably meant you had to get pretty good at figuring things out by context, or something.
Experimentally, Maxi turned the toy on, flipping through its settings before holding it against the pad of his thumb experimentally. “They say if you want to test one of these accurately, you hold it against the tip of your nose,” he said. He glanced at you with his familiar smile. “But you ever tried standing in the middle of a sex shop with a vibrator on your nose?” He raised an eyebrow. “You get some awful funny looks.”
You giggled at this image, and Maxi’s eyes lit up at the sound of your laugh. “Do you frequent those often, Monsieur Morvant?”
“Baby,” Maxi purred, and he leaned towards you, kissing the tip of your nose. “I wear button-ups, I’m not buttoned up. At least,” he paused, his smile turning somewhat shy again. “…Not with the right person.”
You felt your cheeks sear with heat so suddenly, you wondered if Maxi could feel the temperature from where he sat with his lips an inch from yours. You met his eyes, watching them shift from yours down to your mouth and back again.
“Damn,” you said quietly, and Maxi’s gaze snapped back, suddenly concerned. “You just really make that little smile of yours work for you, huh?” You smiled in turn, watching him turn pink again. “You get anything you want with that around here?”
“Um. It helps sometimes.” He shrugged, bashful again before he cleared his throat. “Now,” he said, voice low and hushed. “Let me take care of you, hmm?”
You nodded, feeling your shoulders relax. “Okay,” you said, a little more breathlessly than you meant to, and Maxi laughed softly through his nose.
“Lie back, gorgeous,” he murmured, moving so he was sitting down by your waist towards the middle of your mattress.
As you moved to rest against your pillows, you shivered slightly as Maxi’s fingertips brushed your skin and hooked under the waistband of your soft shorts.
“May I?”
You nodded, biting your lip, and Maxi pulled them down your thighs in a fluid motion when you lifted your hips slightly. You couldn’t stop another shiver as his right hand ghosted over your thigh, pulling it apart from the other with a deceitfully gentle grip.
“Good…?” Maxi paused, glancing at you with a slight upturn at the end like he was waiting to fill in a blank.
“Hm? …Oh.” You smiled once you put together what it was he was asking. You’d mentioned to Maxi maybe all of once, when you were first getting to know him, that sometimes certain terms vibed with you and sometimes they didn’t, and since that single conversation, he’d made a point of checking what you wanted whenever the two of you were together. He was sweet that way, with an attention to detail that would’ve been almost spooky if he didn’t always use it for something thoughtful. “…Honestly, I’m not really feeling either today?”
“I can work with that,” he said softly. “Now, keep being good for me and spread.” His fingers tracing lines up and down your inner thighs, and you complied readily.
You felt yourself squirm slightly as he took your free thigh in his other hand, leaning between the two and surprising you when he licked a broad, hot stripe up your slit.
“Maxi!” you hissed hard through your teeth, flinching against your mattress at the unexpected sensation.
“Easy, darlin’.” He glanced at you over the frames of his glasses. “This is just getting you ready, that’s all.” He rubbed your thighs with his thumbs, planting a soft kiss on your stomach. “Poor thing’s so sensitive.” You could swear you saw the smallest hint of a smirk as he slid down again, his hands locking into place on your upper thighs and squeezing slightly. “Just relax, I got you.”
You let yourself lie back against your pillows again, trying not to twitch as hard when he laved another wet stripe through you, the warmth of his tongue like the hottest part of the summer. You heard the smallest moan from him on the third swipe, and when he finally came up again, you saw him lick away the slightest tinge of blood from his lower lip.
“…Couldn’t help myself,” he said quietly, his smile with something a little… darker to it, now.
“You fucking vampire,” you laughed self-consciously, falling back against the pillows again and covering your eyes with your arm. “Was that what you were after, you weirdo?”
Maxi chuckled, but that too was different somehow, and you glanced out from under said arm as he kissed your inner thigh and then your knee. “You know I’ll never say no to a taste of you, sugar. Now then.”
You heard the vibrator whirr softly to life, and you uncovered your eyes entirely to see Maxi testing it again against the base of his palm.
“I’m startin’ with this on high because we’re trying for some quicker relief, but you tell me what you need, okay?” He looked to you for eye contact, as always. Maxi was nothing if not deliberate, everywhere.
You nodded, giving him a smile at how seriously he was taking this. “Okay.”
“Look at you, being so well-behaved,” he said, his smile its usual self again. “Now, relax for me.” With a carefulness to the gesture, he pressed the vibrator carefully to your clit, watching your face.
Your hips moved against his hand, but reliably, he held you in place, his grip like iron. Jesus, you never would’ve suspected he could hold you down like this when you’d first met him, cleaning headstones that day in the cemetery near his House. But when you considered how often he probably had to quite literally lift dead weight — and then again, how often he was asked to step in as a pallbearer — it kind of made a grim sort of sense.
“Oh fuck, right there,” you hissed again, moving your hips to get the vibrator in that spot that had just caused sparks to shoot down your nerve endings.
“Wanna show me, darlin’?” Maxi said quietly.
You reached down with your free hand, covering his and helping him position it exactly where you wanted it. You kept him there, pushing it down with yours to add pressure, until he laughed low in his throat and leaned down to kiss your knuckles.
“I got it from here, I promise.” He held the vibrator perfectly still as you let go, albeit reluctantly. When he was sure you were comfortable, he shifted so he could lean down next to your hips, tracing the skin with the tip of his nose. “God, aren’t you a sight.”
You felt him press a slightly open-mouthed kiss to the stretch marks on your thighs, his tongue tracing one even as you felt your leg spasming slightly under his mouth.
“Fuck, Maxi, I’m really close already,” you managed, the pressure causing your hips to twitch hard under his careful application. It had only been a few minutes by this point, but between your favorite toy on its highest setting, and your favorite boy being… well, himself, it was enough.
“Good, that’s it,” he crooned, pushing down just a little more so you had to bite down hard on your lip. “Come on, gorgeous, let go for me.”
You came with a soft moan against the pressure, squirming as best you could as he held you down. Even through your aftershocks, he held it there, waiting until your hand gripped his. “Let up, baby.”
Maxi lifted it away from you, but didn’t turn it off, sitting up so he could look down into your eyes. “Anything?”
You were panting slightly, and a laugh bubbled through as you tried to catch your breath. “For some reason that’s a lot more fun when it’s not just me holding it, I don’t know why.” You paused, rubbing your temple slightly. “And… kind of?”
“Hmm.” Maxi watched you with a thoughtful purse of his lips. “We’re probably gonna have to give it a little more than that, I think.”
“Oh god, that’s just the worst news,” you joked, rolling your eyes. “Twist my arm, why don’t you?”
“Sorry.” Maxi winked at you. “Didn’t bring the right rope for that tonight.” He waited until you were laughing again before surprising you by setting the toy right back on your clit, causing you to gasp and grab his wrist.
“Fuck!” You were suddenly aware of exactly how sensitive you were, your current symptoms plus the lingering heat of your previous orgasm combining to have you writhing hard against your mattress. “Fuck, Maxi, that’s so much—“
“You’re okay, sugar,” Maxi soothed, propping himself next to you with his free hand so he could kiss your forehead. “I got you, you just ride it out for me.”
You were whimpering already, biting down into your lip so hard you thought it would bleed. Everything felt like exposed wire against a chainlink fence, your nerves sparking at their ends as the overstimulation began to set in. Something at the core of you twisted tighter still, and your breath felt short in your lungs.
“Maxi, baby, god…” Your hand flew up to clutch at his wrist, nearly lightheaded.
“Come on,” Maxi whispered, stretching out next to you on the mattress so he could kiss your neck, biting gently in places to make you squirm more. “Be good for me, you can give me another. Let me see you come, you know I love to watch you when you do.”
At this, your second broke over you, and you bucked hard against the vibrator, your hips spasming at the rush of warmth that seemed to hijack your whole system. You could feel your cunt positively dripping onto your sheets, your face flushed from both the sensation and how vulnerable you felt.
Maxi didn’t let up with the vibrator at all through the aftermath, and you felt yourself choke out a small groan of a sob, tears beginning to gather at the corner of your eyes. “Holy shit, that’s- that’s so much, I can’t—“
“Ssh, yes you can, baby,” Maxi soothed, and one of his legs curled over your twitching bare thigh, pinning it against the mattress.
You turned your head to look at him lying on the pillow next to you, and felt another spike of heat when you saw his expression: dark eyes seemingly fathomless, watching your face with a mix of hunger and curiosity. He leaned towards you, capturing your lips and threatening to overwhelm you a completely different way even as you flinched from the merciless sensation at your clit.
You gave a broken sound like a sob again when he pressed it down just a fraction more, and he only kissed you all the more fiercely, as if trying to swallow the sound.
Pulling away for a second, he removed his glasses, now thoroughly fogged and somewhat crooked from the friction between the two of you. He dropped them off the edge of the mattress, seemingly unconcerned. He came back for more, half pulling you underneath him as he kissed you again, and all you could taste was him, somehow sweet in your mouth.
He let go of your lower lip after nipping it hard enough with his teeth that you made a sound like a wince, and when he pulled away, there was the slightest trace of blood again. He looked at you with a raw darkness to his hunger, now, before he buried his face against your neck, his teeth rasping softly at your pulse point.
You reached up, one hand tangling in his now absolutely disheveled hair and the other gripping the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling like you were just trying to ground yourself in something before you couldn’t think anymore. This was the Maxi that you had learned over time was in there, somewhere. He only ever seemed to come out here, with you shaking and whining underneath him, but it was a part of him that felt sometimes like you were standing on the edge of a black hole. Like the essence of Want concentrated, like he had found something sustaining after going without for ages, and there were moments you’d swear to god the man was about to devour you. You didn’t know if it was something in someone constantly surrounded by death reacting to such a visceral sign of life, but the thing that scared you about this wasn’t feeling like he could consume you: it was that part of you kind of wanted him to.
You’d spent so long feeling like you’d had to hold everything together, keep your head above water, that the idea of someone else wanting to take you over so completely was almost… a relief. And it was hard not to feel safe with someone as vigilant, as thoughtful as Maxi; he spent so much time constantly thinking about and caring for other people, you were more than fine if he found something he needed so viciously in you.
But this train of thought was obliterated when Maxi bit down right on a spot he knew you liked, and between that and the vibrator becoming nearly punishing against your clit, you were gasping like you were drowning, your hand clawing so hard down the back of Maxi’s shirt you were worried you’d rip it.
“Good,” he gasped, breaking bruising contact with your skin. “Come on, darlin’, c’mon, one more, come for me and tell me how you feel.”
“Maxi, fuck, I’m gonna break,” you sobbed, tears definitely starting to spill now. “Fuck, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t do this—“
“Yes you can,” Maxi murmured, his voice low and frantic as he kissed the tears off your cheeks. “Give it to me, gorgeous, make a mess and tell me how much you want it, fuck, you’re so pretty, I just want to keep you like this forever…”
Maxi’s loss of coherence in your ear was just enough to send you over, his free hand reaching across you both to hold you down as your back arched sharply off your bed. “Fuck, Daddy, it’s too much, I can’t—“ Your words faded into a strangled cry that echoed off the walls of your room as you felt a rush of warm slick coat the tops of your thighs, your whole body shuddering hard against the white-hot sensation that eclipsed everything else.
When you fell back to the mattress, panting and shaking, it took you a moment for your eyes to focus again, and you turned sharply to hide your face in Maxi’s shirt.
“Good.” Maxi lifted the vibrator away, turning it off before he set it aside to pull you against him. He was running his hand over your hair, pushing it away from your face as you fought to catch your breath, and whispering praises as he kissed your bruised neck and your cheeks. “You did so well for me, you make such a beautiful wreck, baby, it’s breathtaking…”
You were still panting against his chest, waiting for your thighs to stop shaking but unable to bring them together because of just how sensitive your still-spasming cunt was.
Maxi dutifully pulled you on top his chest now, holding you there and kissing the top of your head as he waited for you to come down. “…Better?” he asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice as you finally evened out.
“Fucking god, Maxi,” you laughed, rolling so you were fully laying on top of him. “Jesus, babe, were you trying to get me to black out? I’m pretty sure I blacked out.”
You paused, thinking through what just happened and suddenly realizing exactly what you said. “…Oh fuck me, I really did black out,” you mumbled, immediately rolling off him curling nearly into a ball to hide your face. “…Sorry? About that? Was that weird?”
You timidly looked up just enough to see Maxi lying there, looking off to the side like you’d just asked him to do advanced calculus in his head — not like it was unpleasant, but like it was going to take him a second. “…No?” he said slowly, looking back to you. “I mean, really, no,” he added quickly when you groaned, covering your face with your hands.
“Fucking hell, I knew it would be weird, I’m sorry—“ you mumbled all in a rush, putting more space between the two of you. You wondered briefly if you rolled off your bed and under it, whether he’d just go away if you refused to ever come out again. He had to go home at some point, right? It’s not like he could cancel a viewing because the person he was dating had decided to become a bedframe hermit, after all.
“No — Hey, come here, baby,” he laughed, reaching over to pull you back as you tried to curl into a fetal position on your mattress. “Honey, nothing with you is weird. It’s really not, I promise.” He moved so he was propped over you on both elbows, kissing your hands were they were hiding your face. “Come on, darlin’, come out and talk to me. It’s really okay. I’ve just- aww,” he cooed, seeing you tear up slightly with embarrassment when you at last removed your hands. “What’re you getting so upset about, sweetheart? It’s fine.” He smiled, pulling you stubbornly back against him and kissing your face with obnoxious emphatic smooching sounds until you cracked and giggled, albeit shyly.
He leaned back, taking you in with a relieved sigh. “There you are,” he said, and the way he ran his hand over your side and squeezed your hip felt like an act of seeing that filled your chest with a new kind of warmth. “As I was saying, before you tried to turn into an armadillo on me — neat trick, by the way.” He winked at you. “If it’s something you like, I’m then I’m willin’ to give it a go. I’ve just… never been called that, before, ever,” he admitted with a shrug. He paused, thinking it over some more, before giving you a look of exaggerated suspicion. “Is this an age thing?”
“No, Maxi, don’t be ridiculous.” You rolled your eyes as he chuckled. There was about a decade and change between the two of you, but you both felt the same about so many things, it was really only noticeable when one of you made a reference that went over the other person’s head.
“I…” You bit your lip, now the one feeling sheepish again. “I’ve actually never used it, with anyone else. Um, before.” You shrugged, smiling a little but still not quite able to meet his eyes. “I just… I don’t know, I feel… safe, with you?” Your hands found his chest, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. “Like… like you mean it, when you say you want to take care of me. Not that you’d have to, obviously, I know that’s a lot. I just. I don’t… get that, um, often.” At last, finally desperate to see if any of this made sense, you met his eyes. “…Is that okay?”
Maxi’s eyes were, again, startlingly dark, but it was his expression of such blatant need that made you inhale sharply in surprise.
“Yes.” It came out like a hiss through his teeth. “Yes, darlin’, that’s absolutely okay. Jesus, is it ever okay.” He wrapped an arm around your torso and crushed you to him with another bruising, edge-of-consuming kiss, his hand tightening into a fist in the back of your ratty t-shirt.
When you wound your arms around his neck as you kissed back, fitting yourself to him, you could feel his desperately hard length through the fabric of his dress pants.
He pulled back just a moment as you brushed your thigh purposefully against it, gasping quietly. “Sorry — I know you weren’t feeling well, you don’t have to—“ he said quickly, his words practically tripping out of his mouth in his hurry.
You shook your head, sucking hard on his lower lip for a moment and shutting him up. “No, I want it,” you reassured him softly, reaching down and cupping the bulge there just enough to make him fight back a groan. “…Give it to me?” you asked, widening your eyes innocently.
Maxi exhaled like you’d just kneed him in the stomach. “Baby, you can’t be looking at me like that, I will lose my damn mind,” he muttered, shaking his head but nonetheless sitting up and ditching his belt as soon as he could get it unfastened. He started undressing himself, but you sat up, unbuttoning his shirt with a deft hand. You pushed it back off his shoulders, then the two of you stripped away the white tank top underneath without a second’s hesitation. He only paused to pull you against his skin, savoring the contact as he traced the tip of his nose up the side of your neck.
One of his hands reached down, tentatively brushing the ripped hem of your shirt. “Can I take this off you?” he whispered, studying your face. “I just wanna see you - but I understand if it’s a bad chest day, you can say no.”
“It’s fine,” you reassured him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “They’re just sore.”
“I’ll be careful,” Maxi promised, and he lifted the cloth off you so gently that you knew he’d keep it. He held you to him again, kissing your newly exposed clavicle, and you shivered at the contrast between his mouth and the cool air of your room.
Your fingers traced absently over the scar on Maxi’s chest; it was a fairly wide, perfectly white strip of raised tissue that ran diagonally over where his heart would be beneath the muscle, and had surprised you in its intensity when you’d first seen it. He was much less shy about it now, compared to when he could barely meet your eyes the first time, and after you’d started spending the night on a regular basis, he seemed to doze off a bit quicker when you kept your palm against it as you both were falling asleep.
In this moment, however, your fingertips seemed to spur him on, and he pulled his trousers and underwear off with haste before he pinned you by your shoulders against your mattress.
“You’re sure?” he asked again. His eyes were practically onyx as he looked you over, hands shaking just enough to be noticeable as he held you there.
You couldn’t help but smirk, your hands reaching up to settle on top of both of his. “You’ve taken such good care of me today,” you murmured, leaning up to kiss a line up his jaw. “I want to do the same for you, babe.”
You made a small noise of surprise as Maxi immediately fell to your throat again, sucking hard at the crook of your neck and shoulder before moving lower, his kisses turning ghostly when he reached your chest. You savored the affection, the kisses and kitten licks to the parts of you he knew at times caused you the greatest anxiety, but when he looked up at you again, hair falling into his eyes now, his eyes somehow seemed different yet again.
You weren’t sure what had changed in the light, but the burgundy of his pupils seemed even more prominent than before. Almost veering into outright red.
“Darlin’,” he said, his voice rough in a new, unfamiliar way. “You have no idea just how well you do that.”
Before you could question this, he locked his lips on yours again, this kiss messy and warm but harsh enough that you felt the bloody nip on your lip from earlier start to bleed anew, tasting it between your tongues. Maxi’s hips were against yours, his cock already dripping and needy against your thigh, and you reached between the pair of you to guide him to your entrance.
“C’mon, Maxi,” you murmured, and that was invitation enough. His hand found one of yours, intertwining your fingers and pinning it hard to the mattress as he slid into you in a fluid motion. This was enough to draw a surprised breath from both of you; normally, you needed to be eased into, something that took a few minutes of gentle assurances and pausing, but in your current still-wrecked state, this felt effortless.
Maxi full-on moaned, hiding his face for a moment as you felt him flex hard inside you as you adjusted around him. “Jesus, baby,” he managed eventually, voice shaking just slightly. He tentatively moved his hips against yours, testing, and you found yourself able to take him further than you normally could at first. Encouraged, he started moving against you in earnest, keeping one of your hands interlocked with his. His other moved for now to grip one of the rungs of your iron bed frame, holding fast as you moved your hips against his as the two of you fell into a pattern.
“Good, that’s my baby, god, you feel fuckin’ fantastic…” He was already losing his train of thought, and you weren’t much better off, your free hand trying to find purchase on his back and ending up leaving long red marks when you felt every inch him against your still-sensitive walls. After three rounds with your favorite vibrator, you were a bit tapped on your faculties for speech, biting down into your lip as a particularly high whine came from deep in your chest when he brushed the sensitive spot inside you. It felt like your nerves were on fire again, your breath becoming staccato once more as Maxi’s hips snapped hard against yours.
He was flush against your chest and stomach, barely leaving room for you to move as you felt the stretch of every thrust. You felt him let go of your bed frame, his free hand moving instead now to gently place itself over your neck. You shivered at his long, tapered fingers, hands that could play the piano as easily as they could stitch closed a mouth, eye, or fatal wound, and you swore you saw just the slightest hint of a smile from him when you did.
He was watching your face again, always careful, but gave the smallest questioning squeeze. You nodded with a soft, breathless noise of assent, your hand leaving his back to cover this one and emphasize this permission. When he put the slightest pressure on your throat with his thumb and index finger, you audibly moaned, tilting your head back to give him better access. When he squeezed more, you felt your eyes roll back slightly.
“God, you’re so soft,” Maxi murmured, and you felt his thumb trace up and down the side of your neck. “You’re so delicate, darlin’, and you don’t even know, you have no idea how gentle I have to be with you, keep you safe…” He made a strained frustrated noise, his thrusts sharper now as his hips started to stutter.
“I trust you,” you mumbled. Your hand found his hair again and pulled so he fell once more to the crook of your neck, seemingly his favorite place to seek shelter in you. Or rather, one of them, as you fought back another moan at a sharp thrust. “I trust you, Maxi, I feel safe with you, remember?” You turned, pressing a kiss to his now damp temple.
Maxi let out a soft noise, half a gasp and half a whine, and you knew he was close. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep talking like that,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “You can give me one more, can’t you?”
All these sensations were still sharp and overwhelming to your already-rocked system, and even now, the heat pooling in your cunt threatened to burn away any other feeling. “Baby, I don’t know,” you whimpered, gasping slightly as Maxi moved to better brush against the spot inside you. “Fuck, I really don’t know if I can, it’s been too much—“
“Yes, you can.” Maxi kissed from your jaw over your cheek, finally kissing the corner of your mouth and squeezing your hand. “C’mon, sugar, come on my cock for me and let me feel you.” He kissed you once more, ravenous, and tenderly tightening his hold on either side of your neck. “Be good, and do as you’re told.”
“Maxi, fuck—!” That was it, you were gone. You came harder than you had yet around him, losing yourself in the rush of heat and slick with a strangled sob and practically yanking his hair. Your body arched hard against his torso, against the hand at your throat, and the solidness of him grounded you when it felt like your whole body was going to tear itself asunder in the overflow of feeling.
Maxi’s hand only left yours to catch you against him, holding you there as he pressed his forehead to yours. It was only a few more stuttering thrusts later, amidst your aftermath, that he joined you over the edge. He gave a growling groan as his filled you with his own heat, fingernails leaving marks in your skin where they rested.
The two of you were a panting, sweaty tangle, Maxi somehow managing to kiss you breathless when you were still trying to come back to earth. “You angel, jesus, darlin’, you’re gorgeous, look at you, you did so well for me.” His praise was a soft, effusive whisper, one hand ghosting over the marks you’d accumulated with a feather-light touch while the other held you solidly against him. “You okay, beautiful?”
“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding as you leaned against his shoulder, your hand finding the scar on his chest again. Beneath it, you felt his heart hammering as hard as yours, and for some reason you were comforted by this. “…Yeah,” you repeated, your voice somewhat steadier. You swallowed, still feeling like you were trying to catch your breath. “Just don’t expect me to, like, remember anything important for a little while, okay?” You smiled as Maxi laughed, kissing your forehead.
“So I shouldn’t tell you any secret family recipes, or exactly how much I adore you, got it.” He winked, and you laughed this time, your arms winding around his neck so you could press your forehead to his.
“Jesus, honey.” You giggled, kissing each of the little moles that formed a constellation across his face. “Could you not be perfect for maybe five minutes?”
Maxi chuckled, but there was something to it you couldn’t place. When you pulled back to try to look at him, he just moved his hand to the back of your head and leaned forward to kiss your forehead. You accepted the gesture, and even let him tuck you under his chin as he stroked your bare back in silence for a few, thoughtful moments.
“…Maxi?” you asked finally, at last leaning back enough to break his grasp. “Still with me, handsome?”
Maxi nodded, smiling a bit absently as he seemed to come out of some sort of thought. “Yeah. Sorry, you’re just… you’re really sweet, when you say stuff like that,” he said, and there was just the tiniest tinge of sheepishness to his voice.
You blinked, tilting your head. “Did I… make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry—“
“No,” Maxi said quickly, holding up a hand. “Nothing to apologize for, darlin’, I just… uh.” He shrugged. “Not used to that, I guess,” he laughed nervously.
“What, not even when you’re giving everyone’s ornery old relatives the perfect send-off?” you teased, lightly nudging his shoulder. “You’re golden at everything you do here. I don’t see how you haven’t been snapped up way before I moved in.”
Maxi shrugged again almost reflexively, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. “Yeah, well. Small towns,” he said, barely managing a smile. He was oddly quiet, leaning over the side of your bed so he could find where he set his glasses. The silence remained when he put them back on, adjusting them even after they were in place.
“…Yeah, well,” you repeated at last. You leaned forward to take his face in your hands, making a point to look him in the eye. “Lucky me.” You gave him a reassuring smile, and kissed the end of his nose.
He sat there for a moment, looking at you with an expression that seemed… anxious, given the high you were both still riding. He hesitated a moment, adjusting his frames on his nose before he took a breath. “I just—“ He hesitated, running his tongue over his teeth as he tried to find the words. “…I don’t want to disappoint you.” His tone was serious, and it took you by surprise. “I’ve done that before — a lot,” he added, looking away for a moment. “And I… I don’t know, I… like you too much, for that.” The words once again tumbled over each other in a rush out of his mouth.
“Maxi, baby.” You felt your brow furrow in concern, still keeping your hands on his jaw. “…I know this is, um. Maybe… new? For me, anyway, in terms of its, uh. Intensity,” you said, stumbling a bit as you looked away yourself. “But…” You took a breath. “Don’t worry about that, okay? Like, you’re still human, I know that. So am I.” You smiled, tilting your head so you could catch his eye as he looked down. “If shit happens, we’ll work it out. But I’m not worried about that, with you,” you added, your smile suddenly shy with the truth of this. “I’m really not. You’ve been one of the most reliable, thoughtful people I’ve met since I got here — and, humanness aside…” You paused, choosing your words. “I don’t think you’d ever hurt me. Not on purpose.” You shook your head. “So just… be with me now, okay? We’ll figure out whatever we need to, but not before it happens.”
Maxi stared at you through this, and there was again something in his gaze you couldn’t quite explain, but the hesitancy didn’t seem to totally leave his expression. “…Okay,” he said finally, nodding somewhat. He cleared his throat, obviously trying to shake something off. “Okay. Yeah.”
He leaned forward, kissing your forehead and then your cheek, and you still couldn’t totally decide whose anxiety he was trying to assuage.
After a moment, he pulled away, his fingers drumming briefly where they rested on your thigh. “…Did you eat at all, today?” he asked at last, suddenly back to his usual self.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “As much as I could on this stomach, yeah.” You thought it over. “…You want to just order something in and take a whack at The Notebook?”
Maxi laughed. “Now, darlin’, I don’t want to suffer again on my account.”
“Nah, I’ll watch it with you,” you teased. “It’s not suffering if it’s with you. Especially not after… well.” You nodded towards your now thoroughly rumpled bedsheets, feeling your face heat up once again.
“Well, if that’s all it took, you shoulda said so.” Maxi winked at you, making you giggle. “Here, first thing’s first.” He kissed you again, surprising you with the heat of it before he got up and headed towards your bathroom. “Don’t go nowhere.”
“Twist my arm, Monsieur,” you called after him, before you fell back on your pillows again with a small contented sigh.
Fuck. You were in this deep. This morbid weirdo with the constant death-related dad jokes had your whole heart, and you seemed more than a little okay with it.
As you heard the tap running in the next room, you paused, picking up on something else close by. Looking to the floor, you saw where Maxi’s phone had slid out of the pocket of his slacks in his haste to take them off.
It was vibrating, a number with an unfamiliar, out-of-country area code showing up on his screen. Where there should have been a name saved, there was something else.: H. Do not answer.
You were frowning at it, wondering whether or not to inspect it further, before you turned to look back to the door — and about jumped out of your skin, finding Maxi looming just behind you with a damp washcloth. “Jesus, Maxi,” you breathed, putting a hand briefly to your chest. “You’ve got some ghost feet, or something.”
“Funeral steps,” Maxi said with an apologetic shrug. “Gotta move in silence when you’re trying to avert disaster during the hymns.” He nodded towards the edge of the bed, and you moved towards it obligingly, your cheeks heating again as he knelt in front of you to clean you up.
“I’m sorry, babe, I promise I wasn’t trying to snoop,” you said, glancing sheepishly towards the floor again. “I just heard it buzzing, and I wasn’t sure if it was going to be a pick-up again.” You had learned firsthand just how quickly Maxi needed to be on call when there was another decedent needing to be taken to the mortuary, even in a town as small as Greymoon. Things had even gotten to the point where he trusted you enough to ask if you wanted to ride along; he always handled the heavy lifting and dealing with the distraught relatives, of course. But he seemed to appreciate having a living soul along with him, the two of you talking about the family, the deceased, and just life and death in general on the rides to and from the House. He’d acted like this was such a pleasant change, sometimes, you’d wondered how many times he’d ferried another dearly departed along with only his thoughts for company.
“Hm?” Maxi paused, glancing over at his phone — and frowned in clear consternation when he saw the missed call notification. For an instant, his hand hovered half-heartedly towards it… before his fingers curled back into his palm.
He sighed, and there was some impatience to it as he looked away. “It’s nothin’,” he said quietly, returning his attention and delicate touch to you before taking care of himself. “It’s just…” He hesitated, as if weighing his options. “I have this cousin down in… Mexico City, I think I heard last.” The pause that followed had a tinge of melancholy to it, his eyes on the floor. “We don’t talk anymore. Haven’t for years.”
You blinked, taken aback. “I thought…” You hesitated, not wanting to kick a hornet’s nest but also still confused. “I thought you said you didn’t have any family.”
“I don’t,” he reassured you, meeting your eyes again. “I really don’t on this side of the border. My mom’s folk didn’t move down here when she got married, so I’ve never really met them. And my dad’s side is all dead now.” He shrugged, looking away again. You saw his fingers briefly drum on his own knee. “It’s just me left, here.”
You bit your lip for a moment, not entirely sure what you were walking into here. “…So I’m guessing you don’t want me to invite him over for dinner?”
“Absolutely not.” Maxi’s gaze was suddenly sharper than you’d ever seen it. “I — Sorry, baby,” he added quickly, wincing when he saw the surprised look you couldn’t help. “It’s… it’s just complicated,” he sighed. He pulled his boxers back on before he sat down on the edge of your bed and fell backwards onto your mattress, staring sightlessly at your ceiling.
You shifted to grab the clothes you’d spent the day curled up in and took your time putting them back on, determined to ice over the traces of hurt in your chest so there’d be none left when you spoke. “…So, are we not at the part of things where we’re meeting each’s others, uh, people, or…?” You kept your eyes on your knees. This was not unfamiliar with people you’d dated before, but something about the idea with Maxi, who’d been nothing but sweet and genuine since you’d been going out… the disappointment threatened to cave in your chest. “Because that’s fine, of course. Obviously,” you added, your tone studiedly casual. “I’d just like to know, so I don’t mention anything to anyone I’m not supposed to.” You plastered on a closed-mouthed smile, trying to seem chill and flexible, charming and coy and Good at This. “We can keep things quiet. That can be… fun.” You tasted bile even as you said it. You wondered, silently, if you managed a wink when he looked at you next, could you manage to make it look flirtatious? Or would it just come off like your eye was twitching?
It took him a second to process that, seemingly having to surface from his own thoughts. “…Wait, what d’you mean— Oh, darlin’, no.” Maxi sat up again like a shot, seizing your hands in his. “It’s not like that, I swear it’s not. Please, look at me. Please?” He sounded aghast at the mere possibility, squeezing your hands gently until you at last looked up and your fake smile fell away.
“It’s not that at all, or anything close,” he said, shaking his head furiously. “It’s got nothin’ to do with you, I swear. It’s just… he and I fell out a long time ago,” he admitted at last. “A decade, at least. You don’t need to meet him, I don’t want you anywhere near him. He just turned out to be… bad news.” His jaw tensed. “Hell, I only kept his number because, y’know, ‘blood is blood,’ or somethin’.” He let go with one hand only to gestured dismissively, clearly quoting something he’d been told a million times. “Our dads were twins; we… grew up together. Him and me and my sister.” His voice was hushed as he spoke, and for a brief second, his lips pressed together like he was trying to keep them steady.
You blinked, your chest aching now for an entirely different reason. While you’d known Maxi’s sister had passed when he was a teenager, and that he lived alone after both his parents passed in his twenties, he’d really never talked about his family beyond answering your early questions. You’d respected that thus far, wanting to be mindful of his privacy, but you were suddenly aware of how much pain just might be lurking under that quiet.
You interlaced your fingers with the hand still holding yours, squeezing in lieu of the hug you desperately wanted to give him.
He glanced down at his phone again. “If for some god-forsaken reason I have to see him, then I’m just meeting him somewhere out of town. Even then, it’s not like we’re going to stick around and chat, either.” He looked back to you, eyes pleading. “I’m not keeping you from anybody, baby, I swear. Hell, if I still had family around, I’d never be able to shut up about you.” He smiled, the soft earnest one that you’d come to adore, and he stroked your cheek with a ghostly touch. “But if there’s anyone I definitely don’t want you to meet, it’s him. And it’s only because I’m afraid you’ll run screamin’ if you do.”
You rolled your eyes even as the tightness in your chest dissipated, lifting Maxi’s hand to kiss the back of it gently before holding it against your sternum. “Maxi, honey, he can’t be that bad. Like, I have some pretty terrible cousins, don’t get me wrong,” you added. “But still. I don’t want you to feel like you have protect me from anything — and definitely not your family.” You nudged him gently with your thigh. “I’ve already proven I’m not squeamish with a lot of stuff, right?” you teased.
“…Yeah. Right,” Maxi mumbled, his gaze falling back to his phone for a beat.
Finally, he glanced up at you again, smiling. “Anyway. We never agreed on dinner.”
“Oh, yeah, we didn’t.” You stood up, then paused where you were, wincing. “Oh, fuck, babe,” you muttered, laughing shyly. “I might need another minute.”
“Here, hold on.” Maxi stood up next to you, then swept you up into a bridal carry as you laughed in surprised delight — you couldn’t remember the last time someone had carried you somewhere, and definitely not this effortlessly.
He grinned, kissing your temple. “Now - where to, sugar?”
“Just my couch,” you said. You leaned against his chest, fishing your phone out of your pocket. “I’ll start checking the usual places’ delivery times.”
“Works for me.” Maxi carried you carefully through your house, never seeming to hesitate as he maneuvered through your small hallways. Like your bedroom earlier, he’d always navigated your house, even during his first time over, with a familiarity that was almost uncanny. You figured it probably wasn’t the only house built like this, especially in a town this small; how often did he come and go each day out of other people’s homes, usually at the most delicate moments of their lives? It must all seem intuitive, after a while.
At last, the two of you made it to your living room, and Maxi set you down so he could flop unceremoniously onto your couch. He then immediately pulled you down on top of him, holding you between his legs with your back against his chest.
“Thank you, baby,” you said, turning to kiss him appreciatively before you turned to your phone once more. “You feel like anything in particular?”
“Somethin’ appropriately greasy to go with the schlocky movie, I think,” he said with mock thoughtfulness, kissing behind your ear as you giggled.
He paused, and you thought he was reading over your shoulder, until you realized he was staring at the bookshelf in the corner of your living room. “…So, who’s that?”
You looked up sharply, thinking someone had gotten in while you were stuck in bed, but saw nothing there. It took you a moment of searching your shelves before you realized he was talking about the small silver container on one at tour eye-level. “Damn, baby, good eye,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at him. “That’s my great aunt… well, her ashes. You know what I mean.” You shifted slightly where you sat. “She was almost a second mom, when I was growing up. She’d been like an older sister to my actual mom, then helped take care of me. I spent all my breaks and holidays in college at her and my gran’s house.” You smiled, remembering many sleepy afternoons and nights spent baking for the hell of it. “…She actually passed right after I got into my Masters program, at the tail end of what was probably, like… my worst ever depression spell. Episode. Whatever.” You bit your lower lip, remembering getting to share the news with her in the hospital.
How, despite her exhaustion, she’d still managed to glow with joy alongside you, holding your hand while you cried with relief.
“It’s weird, and probably a little selfish of me to think so, but it almost felt like she was waiting around to make sure I got my feet back under me again. You know?” You weren’t worried about him thinking you were weird. If anyone would understand your own grief-driven logic, it was Maxi.
“Sure,” Maxi said, nodding like this was a perfectly normal thing. “She’s moved around with you since then, I see.”
“Yeah.” You smiled a little. “I don’t know, it just feels nice to have family around sometimes, even if they’re not… really there.”
“No, I get it,” Maxi kissed your shoulder. “I get it completely.”
“I knew you would,” you said, relaxing back against his chest.
As you were still looking through menu options on your phone, you could feel him rest his chin on your shoulder where he’d just kissed it, apparently still staring at your bookshelf. Out of the corner of your eye on your other side, you saw, for a moment, the tiniest flicker of movement… was he waving at someone?
You turned just enough to sneak a peek out of your peripheral vision — only to find Maxi’s hand merely absently swaying next to you, in a slower version of the finger-drumming he did when he was thinking.
“…I know we did it last week, but do you wanna try that Italian place again?” he asked at last, getting your attention. “I don’t know about you,” he added, kissing the back of your neck to make you shiver. “But I’ve worked up an appetite.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” you agreed. You nestled yourself against him, picking the right place and absently punching in your delivery order.
Your focus elsewhere, you felt his arms cross over your chest, hugging you loosely. He leaned his cheek against the back of your head, and stared out your window into the growing cool blue of the dusk. Maxi was an odd one with his occasional long silences, but then again, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d ever been so comfortable with someone that words just weren’t necessary.
Really, aside from his grim family business, he was honestly too good to be true.
Lost in your respective thoughts, neither of you gave much thought to the clouds seeming to gather where the sky was already growing dark, nor the single bolt of heat lightning that flashed to the ground out of nowhere.
That was still miles away.
For now.
(if you read this far, you're a sweetheart, and I hope all your headache meds work immediately forever 🖤)
(a Bisexual Slasher OC x Plus Size!Nonbinary!Queer!Reader horror series, 18+)
a masterlist for what was originally "The October Arc" but has become a much longer ongoing project 🖤 links will be added and updated as chapters/character pages are posted.
chapters:
I. tear you apart (18+) (Enter Maxi.)
II. hunt you down (eat you alive) (18+)
III. a voicemail on maxi’s phone (Enter Hector.)
IV. jane doe (Enter Rora.)
V. (can't outrun) what runs in the family
VI. lovesong
VII. bad moon rising (Enter Seth Sunday.)
VIII. bury us alive
IX. the only thing that's real
X. and the dead start to dance in their masquerade (Enter Leon.)
XI. a gps route on hector's phone
XII. spellbound
XIII. and absolutely no one's dead
no use of y/n, reader notes and more specific warnings underneath the cut.
reader notes: reader is primarily a queer, plus-size non-binary/genderqueer person. when I first wrote this a few years ago, they used she/they pronouns interchangeably, but in this version, I've made the choice to use exclusively 'they/them' pronouns. other characters may still use femme-esque nicknames in places, though I'm in the process of changing those too. there are discussions of PMS symptoms/menstruation, be advised. all mentions of skin and hair are kept as neutral as possible so any reader can have a seamless experience in regards to those, and any recommended tweaks are appreciated. reader's body size is usually only referred to in pleasurable/intimate contrast with other characters, no body negativity present. reader does at points have discussions of isolation/depression/suicidal ideation (based on my own experiences), so discretion is advised.
warnings:
sexuality related: explicit sexual content; explicit horror content; mention of established light D/s dynamics and daddy kink in a relationship (both partners are switches); blood kink, knife kink, spit kink; fluidswapping/eating; sex without protection; penetrative sex; oral sex (enby and cis male receiving); period sex; stalking/possessiveness as a kink; facesitting (enby receiving); marking; rough sex; dub-con at one point (one participant is possessed); lots of sex in cemeteries, churches, and other frowned-upon places.
violence/harm related: discussions of homophobia and being closeted in the US South; graphic violence and murder; brief discussions of an attempted reader-targeted drugging/date rape from an antagonist; brief sexism, homophobia, and transphobia from an antagonist; reader wields a knife and stabs other characters; descriptions of decayed/rotting flesh; depictions of embalming and other processes involving bodies of the deceased; depictions of necromancy, sacrifice, and demons that eat flesh; violence from a partner (while they're possessed); discussions of abusive family dynamics; discussions of past partner/familial homicide.
general heads up: discussion of gender experimentation and presentation play; mentions of death by aneurysm; mentions of family alcoholism; brief vomiting mention; brief depictions of drinking alcohol and being intoxicated; discussion of grief; discussion of losing a relative to cancer; discussion of pet murder/depictions of reanimated pet (dark humor); discussion of child death.
this has been one of my favorite stories I've ever written, and I'm so excited to get to repost it with some much-needed updates, now that it's years later and I understand the characters immeasurably better than I did the first time through.
if you read this far, we already like you a lot 🖤 maybe consider giving your local queer horror writer some more reach with a reblog? ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_
