Dead Plate Oneshots For Survival

Rody sat at the dining table, staring at the plate of food in front of him. The sight of it alone made his stomach turn, but he couldn’t afford to show even a flicker of disgust. The tender slices of meat, arranged so perfectly, dripped with Vincent’s signature sauce—rich, fragrant, and utterly repulsive to Rody’s senses.

Vincent hovered nearby, as he always did during meals, watching with a soft smile. His hand slid over Rody’s shoulder, his fingers warm through the fabric of Rody’s shirt. “You don’t look like you have much of an appetite tonight,” he said quietly, his voice filled with concern. “You’ve been overworking yourself.”

Rody clenched the fork tightly in his hand, forcing himself to look up and meet Vincent’s gaze. That loving gaze. Vincent’s face was serene, his expression nothing short of adoring. It twisted something deep in Rody’s gut, but he masked it with a weak smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all,” he muttered.

Vincent knelt beside him, his hand moving from Rody’s shoulder to cup his face. “You know you don’t have to push yourself for me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over Rody’s cheek. “If something doesn’t feel right, we can always adjust things. You know I’ll take care of you.” Right, Vincent thought he was frail and sickly.

Rody’s heart thudded in his chest, not from affection but from dread. He couldn’t tell if there was an edge of suspicion behind Vincent’s words or if it was just his own nerves gnawing at him. “I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice a little too sharp. “I just… I need to eat.”

Vincent’s expression softened, his lips pulling into that gentle, almost loving smile. “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself,” he said. “But if you’re too tired to eat, we can skip dinner. Just say the word.”

Rody hesitated, feeling the weight of Vincent’s offer. It sounded so innocent, so caring, but beneath it was always the same reality. He couldn’t afford to skip meals. He couldn’t afford to show any signs of weakness or hesitation when it came to eating.

“No,” Rody said, a little too quickly. He grabbed his fork, spearing a piece of the meat and bringing it to his mouth. He forced himself to chew, ignoring the bile rising in his throat, swallowing down the metallic taste of human flesh. It took everything in him to keep his expression neutral, to act like it was just another meal.

Vincent stood again, still watching him with that concerned smile. “You’re always trying so hard,” he murmured, placing a kiss on the top of Rody’s head. “I appreciate everything you do.”

Rody didn’t look up, didn’t respond. His fingers tightened around the fork as he shoved another bite of the meat into his mouth. He had to keep up the act. He had to keep going, no matter how much he hated it.

Vincent walked around the table, settling into his own seat. “I was thinking…” he began, his voice casual but still warm. “Maybe we could take some time for ourselves soon. Just the two of us. A little getaway, maybe?”

Rody almost choked on his food. A getaway? The thought of being trapped alone with Vincent, away from any semblance of escape, made his blood run cold. He forced a swallow and glanced at Vincent, who was looking at him with such hope in his eyes.

“That sounds nice,” Rody lied, managing to keep his voice steady. He couldn’t afford to show hesitation. Not now. Not ever.

Vincent’s smile widened, pleased with the response. “Good. I’ll start planning something. You deserve some rest.”

Rody nodded weakly, returning his attention to his plate. Every bite he forced down felt like it was slowly killing him. And yet, he couldn’t stop. He had to keep pretending. He had to keep playing the role of the perfect partner, no matter how much it tore at him from the inside.

After a few more silent minutes, Vincent stood again and moved behind Rody, wrapping his arms around him from behind. His lips brushed against Rody’s ear as he spoke, his voice a soft whisper. “I love you, *mon cher*,” Vincent murmured, his breath warm against Rody’s skin. “You mean everything to me.”

Rody’s hands shook slightly, the fork slipping from his grip. He felt Vincent’s arms tighten around him, pulling him closer, and he forced himself to relax into the embrace.

“I love you too,” Rody whispered back, hating how easily the lie slipped from his lips. But he had to say it. It was the only way to survive.

Vincent kissed his temple, lingering there for a moment before pulling away. “Why don’t we get some rest?” he suggested, his voice soft and affectionate. “You’ve had a long day.”

Rody nodded, grateful for the excuse to leave the table and escape the horror of dinner. Vincent took his hand, leading him towards the bedroom, his grip warm and gentle. As they lay together in bed, Vincent’s arms wrapped securely around him, Rody stared into the darkness, feeling trapped in the love that was both his shield and his prison.

Vincent loved him. Truly, deeply, in a way that made Rody’s lies feel all the more suffocating. But he had to keep lying, had to keep pretending, because the alternative was far worse.

And as Vincent pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck, whispering sweet nothings in the dark, Rody knew that this love—this twisted, suffocating love—was the only thing keeping him alive.

The quiet of the room settled around them as Vincent’s soft whispers eventually gave way to the gentle rhythm of his breathing, signaling that he had fallen asleep. Rody lay there, stiff in his arms, staring blankly into the dark, feeling the slow rise and fall of Vincent’s chest against his back. The weight of Vincent’s arm draped over him, warm and protective, might have once been comforting. Now it felt like shackles, chains that bound him to this life of lies.

Every moment spent with Vincent was a reminder of the delicate charade he had to maintain. A human pretending to be something he wasn’t, blending in with creatures that would devour him without a second thought if they knew the truth. Rody swallowed hard, his throat tight. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, not even for a second.

Vincent stirred beside him, his arm pulling Rody a little closer in his sleep, a soft sigh escaping his lips. The sound was so intimate, so genuine, and yet it made Rody feel trapped. He was using Vincent, using his love to survive, and that truth gnawed at him every night as they lay side by side.

He hated it. He hated Vincent’s tenderness, his affection. He hated how much Vincent cared for him, how he always seemed to sense when something was wrong, how he wanted nothing more than to take care of Rody, to love him unconditionally.

Because Vincent’s love was built on a lie. If Vincent knew what Rody truly was—a human, the very thing his kind preyed upon—everything would fall apart. The gentle kisses, the soft touches, the whispers of love and devotion, they would all turn into something monstrous. And Rody knew, deep down, that there would be no escape once that happened.

He lay there in the darkness, eyes wide open, his body tense in Vincent’s embrace. His mind raced, going over the endless possibilities of what would happen if Vincent ever found out. The fear was always there, gnawing at him day by day, growing stronger with every affectionate gesture Vincent made, every loving word he spoke.

And yet, despite the fear, there was another feeling buried deep within Rody. A small, insidious guilt. As much as he hated this life, hated the lies and the pretending, there was a part of him that hated himself for taking advantage of Vincent’s love.

He hadn’t wanted to fall into this twisted relationship. At first, it had just been about survival. Vincent was powerful, influential in their world of monsters, and offering Rody safety—offering him a life outside the breeding facilities where other humans were kept like cattle. All Rody had to do was pretend. Pretend to be something he wasn’t. Pretend to love Vincent the way Vincent loved him.

But now… now the pretending had become harder. The lie had become deeper, more complicated. Vincent’s love wasn’t something Rody could brush off anymore. The way Vincent looked at him, the way he treated him with such care, it made the lie heavier.

And the worst part was, Rody knew that Vincent truly believed they were happy. Vincent had given everything to him—his home, his protection, his heart—and Rody had taken it all, feeding Vincent the lie that they could have a life together.

Rody’s chest tightened. He could feel Vincent’s breath on is neck, slow and warm. If only things had been different. If only he could have lived in a world where he didn’t have to hide, where he didn’t have to pretend. But that wasn’t the world they lived in. This world was unforgiving. A world where monsters ruled, and humans were nothing more than meat.

His thoughts spiraled, the weight of it all pressing down on him, suffocating him in the quiet darkness. He felt sick to his core, the guilt mixing with the hatred, the fear intertwining with his lies. And yet, he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not without risking everything.

Vincent shifted again, nuzzling his face into the crook of Rody’s neck, his arm tightening protectively around him. “You okay?” Vincent mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

Rody’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah,” he whispered, forcing the word out as naturally as he could. He closed his eyes, trying to will away the panic threatening to choke him. “Just… thinking.”

“Mmm.” Vincent hummed softly, his grip on Rody loosening a little, though his body still pressed warmly against him. “I love you,” he murmured again, his words slurred with sleep.

“I love you too,” Rody echoed, his voice hollow in the darkness.

And there it was again. That lie. The same lie he told Vincent every day, the same lie he used to keep himself alive. It was a simple lie, just three words, but each time he said it, it felt like another part of him was being chipped away.

The minutes stretched on, Vincent drifting back into deep sleep while Rody lay there, wide awake. He could feel the weight of the night closing in around him, suffocating him, the lie becoming too much to bear. But what choice did he have?

He was a human in a world of monsters. A human pretending to be one of them. And as long as he kept up the act, as long as he played the role of Vincent’s loving partner, he could survive.

But as the darkness pressed in on him, Rody wondered how long he could keep it up. How long he could live this lie before it consumed him entirely. Before he became just another part of the twisted, monstrous world he hated so much.

For now, though, he would keep pretending. He had no other choice.

—

The next morning arrived quietly, sunlight filtering through the curtains. Rody sat up in bed, watching Vincent sleep beside him, peaceful and unaware. It was strange, how human Vincent looked in moments like these. His chest rose and fell softly, his dark hair falling over his face, the peaceful expression making him seem almost innocent.

But Rody knew the truth. He could never forget what Vincent was, what all of them were.

Rody stared at Vincent, feeling the weight of the morning pressing down on him, an unsettling contrast to the serene scene before him. The peacefulness of Vincent’s sleeping face felt almost mocking—how could someone who looked so human be anything but monstrous? And yet, that monstrous part of Vincent was hidden beneath the surface, waiting, just as Rody’s true self was hidden beneath his layers of lies.

His thoughts twisted with bitterness. Vincent’s love was so easy, so unconditional. But it was love built on falsehoods. Rody wasn’t the person Vincent thought he was. He wasn’t the creature Vincent believed he could spend the rest of his life with. He wasn’t anything but prey pretending to be the predator.

Vincent shifted slightly, the light catching his sharp features, and Rody quickly tore his gaze away, guilt clinging to him like a second skin. He couldn’t stand this—this constant dance of deception, this forced affection. The weight of it felt heavier every day, and the strain was beginning to show in ways that even Vincent was starting to notice.

Rody swung his legs over the edge of the bed, standing up quietly to avoid waking Vincent. His stomach churned at the thought of another day of playing the role he despised. The facade was growing too heavy, and yet he had to wear it, plastering on the same lies he did every morning.

As he moved toward the bathroom, the sight of Vincent’s discarded clothes on the chair caught his eye, another reminder of how intertwined their lives had become. Rody clenched his fists at his sides, pushing down the rising resentment.

This was his life now. No freedom, no truth, no choice.

After washing up, Rody caught his reflection in the mirror. His own face felt like a mask now, a mockery of the person he used to be. His skin was paler than it should’ve been, his eyes darker, shadowed by sleepless nights and relentless fear.

He was tired. Exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, from carrying the weight of the lie he lived in. And yet, despite the hatred he harbored for Vincent, for this life, there was always a part of him that was terrified of losing it. What would happen if the truth came out? If Vincent discovered that his beloved partner was nothing more than a human—a creature to be consumed, hunted, destroyed?

Rody pressed his palms against the sink, feeling the cold porcelain ground him. He couldn’t let that happen. He had come too far, sacrificed too much to survive in this world. He would continue the charade, as long as it kept him alive.

A knock on the door pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. “Rody?” Vincent’s voice, groggy from sleep, filtered through the wooden door. “Are you alright?”

Rody’s heart clenched. That voice—soft, concerned, full of affection. It made the guilt worse.

“Yeah,” Rody replied, forcing steadiness into his voice. “I’m fine.”

Vincent didn’t respond immediately, but when the door slowly creaked open, Rody caught the sight of Vincent’s gentle smile. His sharp features, softened by the lingering haze of sleep, made him look almost vulnerable. Almost.

“Come back to bed,” Vincent murmured, stepping closer. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Rody’s face. “It’s still early.”

Rody swallowed, feeling the familiar mixture of revulsion and guilt tighten in his chest. But he smiled, because that’s what Vincent wanted. That’s what he needed to do to keep surviving. “Okay,” he whispered, allowing Vincent to guide him back toward the bed.

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he swallowed it down just like he always did.

As they lay back down, Vincent wrapped an arm around Rody’s waist, pulling him close again. He buried his face into the crook of Rody’s neck, his breath warm and steady. “I love you,” Vincent whispered again, a quiet affirmation in the early morning light.

Rody closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. “I love you too,” he echoed.

Another lie. Another day.

But for now, that was enough.

—

Later in the day, as Vincent prepared their evening meal, Rody sat at the kitchen table, watching him. The smell of cooking meat filled the air—human meat. The scent alone was enough to make Rody’s stomach turn, but he had learned to force it down over time. To eat like the monsters around him, to pretend to enjoy the very thing that made his skin crawl.

Vincent glanced over at him with a smile, his eyes lighting up the way they always did when he cooked for Rody. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, plating the dish with a level of care that would seem almost loving if Rody didn’t know what it was made of.

Rody forced a smile. “Starving.”

The meal was placed in front of him, and he stared down at the perfectly prepared dish, his throat tightening. He hated this more than anything—the constant reminder of what he had to consume to keep up appearances. But it wasn’t just the food. It was the entire act. Pretending to be something he wasn’t. Pretending to love Vincent.

Vincent sat across from him, watching him with quiet adoration, waiting for Rody to take the first bite. His gaze was full of so much love, so much trust, and it made Rody’s stomach churn with guilt. He had perfected the lie, but every day it became harder and harder to swallow.

The taste of the meat hit his tongue, metallic and sickening, and Rody fought to keep his expression neutral, even as every fiber of his being screamed in protest. He chewed, swallowed, and forced himself to smile at Vincent.

“It’s good,” Rody said, though the words felt like poison.

Vincent’s smile widened, his eyes bright with pride. “I’m glad.”

They ate in silence after that, the quiet clink of cutlery the only sound between them. Rody’s thoughts swirled in the silence, a mix of guilt, hatred, and fear. How long could he keep doing this? How long could he keep lying, keep pretending?

Vincent reached across the table, taking Rody’s hand in his own. His touch was warm, comforting, and yet it felt like a noose tightening around Rody’s throat.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Vincent said softly, his thumb brushing over Rody’s knuckles. His gaze was tender, filled with a kind of love that should have been beautiful, but for Rody, it was suffocating.

Rody’s heart twisted painfully. He could feel the lie choking him, could feel the walls closing in. But he couldn’t let go. Not yet.

“I’m lucky too,” Rody whispered, though the words felt hollow, meaningless.

Vincent’s eyes softened even more, his expression warm and full of affection. He leaned across the table, pressing a soft kiss to Rody’s lips. It was a gesture that should have made Rody feel something—something other than the sickening mixture of dread and guilt that now ruled his life.

But he felt nothing.