Dead Plate Oneshots Little Pet

Warning: Gore, Kidnapping, Blood, Innocent Vincent, Forced Therianism (I had to google that shit. Don’t google it before reading this if you don’t want a spoiler)

Rody first noticed Vincent at a tiny, dimly lit bookstore that smelled of old paper and coffee grounds. He was perched in a quiet corner, leafing through some thick art book with this shy, focused look on his face. Rody lingered in the shadows for a while, watching him. There was something fragile and almost otherworldly about Vincent: the way he fidgeted, his uncertain smile, the faint blush on his cheeks when he looked up and caught Rody’s eye.

It was too easy. Rody sidled up to him, making some casual comment about the book, and within minutes, Vincent was stumbling over his words, looking at him with wide eyes and an expression that screamed pure, naive interest. By the time they left, Vincent had given Rody his number, and Rody was already planning his next move.

The next few dates were a game of gentle nudges and quiet encouragement. Coffee, museums, late-night conversations over dinners Vincent insisted on paying for, as if that would make him a little less vulnerable. He was painfully innocent, really—blushing every time Rody brushed his hand, looking down whenever Rody teased him about his bashful smile.

After a while, it almost felt like Rody was training him. Vincent started to lean into Rody’s touches, stammering less and laughing more, showing bits of a soft, sweet personality that Rody was beginning to find… endearing. In a different life, Rody might have left things there, letting Vincent be another face in his memory. But this wasn’t a different life, and he had needs to fill.

Finally, after a handful of casual dates, he invited Vincent back to his apartment. Vincent had been startled at first, eyes wide as he stuttered out something about how he hadn’t really done this before, but Rody reassured him with a slow, confident smile.

“It’s just a movie, Vincent,” he said smoothly. “I make a mean hot cocoa. You’ll love it.”

Vincent had only nodded, cheeks flushed, and followed him inside.

—

Vincent was practically glowing when he sat beside Rody on the couch, nervously sipping his cocoa and stealing glances at Rody between scenes. Rody kept his arm around Vincent, pulling him close every now and then, feeling Vincent relax, his shoulders dropping as he melted into the warmth of Rody’s side. The movie droned on, and before long, Vincent’s eyelids began to droop. Rody waited, watching as Vincent’s breathing evened out, his head falling onto Rody’s shoulder. Then, with a patient smile, he got to work.

—

When Vincent woke up, something was wrong. His head felt fuzzy, his limbs heavy, and as he blinked through the darkness, he realized he couldn’t move. Panic shot through him as he tried to pull his hands free, but they wouldn’t budge. He was bound tightly, ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles. His breath hitched, and he twisted, eyes darting around in desperation.

A voice—Rody’s voice—brought him back to reality. “Shh, don’t struggle, Vince. You’re safe… just stay calm.”

Safe? His mind raced, trying to make sense of the word. Safe? How was this safe? Rody’s face was calm, a strange smile on his lips as he crouched beside Vincent, fingers tracing gentle patterns on his arm. And then, behind him, Vincent noticed a woman, arms crossed, scowling at them both.

The woman sighed, her voice dripping with annoyance. “Rody, really? This is the best you could find? He’s scrawny. Barely a meal between his bones.”

Rody shot her a glare, his grip on Vincent’s arm tightening. “Leave him alone, Manon. I… I wasn’t planning on letting him go.”

“Obviously,” Manon muttered, rolling her eyes. She stepped forward, studying Vincent with a look that made his skin crawl. “But this? He’s hardly going to keep you fed for a week. And you couldn’t even leave him untouched?”

Rody’s eyes flashed with something that looked almost like regret as he reached out, brushing his hand over Vincent’s cheek. “He’s different,” he murmured, almost to himself. “There’s something about him, Manon. I… I don’t want to kill him.”

Vincent’s voice was barely a whisper, breaking as he looked between the two of them. “Rody, please… I don’t understand.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Rody said, his tone almost soothing. He held Vincent’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not going to hurt you, Vincent. Not really. I just… I can’t let you leave.”

Manon rolled her eyes, her voice snapping in the darkness. “Oh, come off it, Rody. You’re acting like you’ve never done this before. You’re getting attached to him? Really? Just let me do it, alright?”

“No,” Rody growled, pulling Vincent closer, his eyes hardening. “He’s mine. If you’re going to eat, you’ll take what I give you, and you’ll leave the rest.”

Manon scoffed, but there was a glint in her eye that Vincent didn’t like. She circled him slowly, examining him from head to toe. “Fine,” she said finally. “I’m still eating tonight. You’re going to have to share because I’m really hungry.”

Vincent’s heart raced as she picked up a knife from the nearby counter, and he looked at Rody, pleading. “Rody, please, I… I don’t know what’s happening. Please, I just want to go home…”

Rody shushed him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “It’s alright, Vincent. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.” He nodded to Manon, his face tense. “Just… don’t go too far.”

Manon only shrugged, crouching down by Vincent’s feet. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smirk. “He’ll live.”

Vincent’s stomach twisted as he felt the cold press of a knife against his ankle, and he jerked, trying to pull away. But Rody held him steady, keeping his eyes locked on Vincent’s face. “It’s going to hurt, Vince,” he said softly, almost apologetically. “Just… bite down, okay?”

The first slice was agony. Vincent cried out, his whole body tensing as pain shot through him, and Rody wrapped an arm around his shoulders, murmuring soft, soothing words. Vincent’s cries were muffled against Rody’s shoulder, but he was shaking, tears streaming down his face as he tried to process the searing pain.

Manon worked quickly, almost mechanically, cutting through flesh and bone with a casual efficiency that made Vincent’s stomach churn. Every slice was torture, every nerve alight with agony, and all he could do was cling to Rody, burying his face against his shoulder as he sobbed.

“Shh, shh,” Rody whispered, holding him close. “You’re okay, Vincent. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be ok”

Vincent’s head was spinning, his mind a blur of pain and confusion, but he forced himself to look up, catching a glimpse of Rody’s face. There was something strange in his eyes, something soft and almost… regretful. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t stop Manon. He just held Vincent close, stroking his hair as if that could make up for everything.

When Manon was finally done, she stood, holding the bloodied remains of Vincent’s feet with a satisfied smile. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Vincent’s whole body was trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he managed to look at her, his voice barely a whisper. “Please… please, don’t… don’t hurt me anymore.”

Rody wiped the tears from his face, giving him a soft, almost tender smile. “It’s over now, Vincent,” he murmured. “She’s done. You’re going to be alright.”

Manon rolled her eyes, tossing the remains onto the counter. “Just make sure he doesn’t bleed out, Rody. I’m not dealing with the mess.”

Rody nodded, grabbing some bandages and pressing them gently to Vincent’s wounds, his touch surprisingly gentle. Vincent whimpered, his face pale and streaked with tears, but Rody held him close, whispering words of reassurance as he wrapped the wounds.

“You’re going to be okay, Vincent,” Rody murmured, his voice soft. “I’ll take care of you. I’m not letting you go, but… I won’t let her hurt you again.”

Vincent didn’t know if he believed him, but as Rody’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close, he let himself sink into the warmth, clinging to whatever hope he could find in the darkness.

———————

Days blurred together after that night, with Vincent mostly drifting in and out of consciousness. The pain in his legs was excruciating, even bandaged up. Rody kept him on a threadbare mattress in a dim, cramped side room that smelled faintly of dust and mildew. Vincent wasn’t sure if he was allowed to leave, but his body couldn’t manage much movement anyway. He was lucky if he could manage a few hours of sleep before the pain would drag him back to the surface, leaving him gasping.

Rody came in regularly, talking to him in that soft, reassuring voice that only seemed to make things feel even stranger. Vincent couldn’t understand why Rody was being so kind—why he would press a cold cloth to his forehead, bring him food, even help him sit up when he was too weak to do it alone. He was doing his best to understand what he had done to deserve this. And yet, as much as he wanted to fight, the fear paralyzed him. It left him quiet, compliant, and empty.

One morning, Manon swept in, as she always did, with a disdainful look on her face. She made a habit of inspecting him, as if she were checking on a piece of livestock, looking him over with detached eyes. Every visit from her was worse than the last; her face twisted in disdain, as though she could hardly stand the sight of him.

“You’re still here, huh?” she sneered, crossing her arms. “Not sure why he’s wasting all this effort. You’re barely holding up.”

Vincent’s throat was dry, and his voice barely managed a whisper. “I… I don’t understand. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Manon scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Wrong? You didn’t do anything wrong. You just happened to stumble into Rody’s life, that’s all. And now he’s grown attached—calls you his ‘little pet’ every chance he gets.” She leaned closer, her gaze icy. “That’s all you are to him. A pet. You understand?”

Vincent didn’t respond. His lips quivered, and he felt the tears spill over again. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from sobbing outright, lowering his gaze to the floor.

“Oh, what, you’re going to cry now?” Manon’s voice was sharp, mocking. “Pathetic. You’re lucky he’s keeping you alive, honestly.”

Vincent didn’t know how to react. Part of him wanted to plead, to beg her for mercy, but he had a feeling it would only make things worse. She stared at him for a long moment, her lip curling in disgust, before turning to leave.

“Rody’s too soft with you,” she said, almost to herself. “A little too attached for his own good. You’d be gone in a second if it weren’t for him.”

With that, she left, slamming the door shut behind her. The sound reverberated in the room, leaving Vincent shaking, too frightened to even wipe away his tears.

—

Over the next week, Rody came and went, his demeanor alternating between doting and detached. He fed Vincent, cleaned his wounds, sometimes even sat beside him and talked, though Vincent was usually too exhausted and scared to respond with anything but a quiet nod. The painkillers Rody gave him dulled things a little, but it didn’t take away the ache, the memory of Manon’s blade slicing through his flesh.

One evening, as Rody was dabbing a damp cloth across Vincent’s forehead, he noticed Vincent staring up at him with a look that could only be described as lost.

“Vince… you don’t have to be scared,” Rody murmured, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

Vincent’s lips trembled. “I… I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Why you didn’t… why I’m still alive.”

Rody gave a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because I don’t want to hurt you. Not really. Manon doesn’t understand that—she doesn’t think of you as anything more than a meal.” He sighed, his hand lingering on Vincent’s shoulder. “But you… you’re special.”

“Special?” Vincent repeated, his voice barely a whisper. He wanted to believe him, but the memory of the pain, the sound of Manon’s mocking laughter, kept echoing in his head.

Rody gave a small nod. “Yes. I don’t expect you to understand, but there’s something about you, Vince. I… I don’t want you to go.” He spoke softly, almost tenderly, and for a brief, fleeting moment, Vincent found himself wanting to believe him, wanting to trust that maybe Rody really did care.

But then Manon’s voice rang from the kitchen, sharp and annoyed. “Rody! Are you coming, or do you plan on spending all night with *it*?”

Rody’s face fell, and he gave Vincent’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before standing up. “Just… try to get some rest. I’ll be back soon, alright?”

Vincent nodded weakly, watching as Rody left the room, shutting the door behind him. He was alone again, with nothing but the shadows and the silence to keep him company.