Welcome to the trash fire

While you sit on the couch, phone in hand; Alasdair works on cleaning the rest of the living room. Taking a feather duster, he cleans every surface of dust. You could hear Baron in another corner of the house; working on his own cleaning. You don't know how he managed to get anything done as a seven foot demon, but you didn't ask. On the other hand, Alasdair looked human for the most part - aside from the halo over his head and lack of irises. He could honestly pass as a normal guy - until he sneezes.

His body glitches; doubling in size, skin pure white, eyes sprouting over his limbs - for a single second. Six pairs of wings protrude from his back, remaining even when he reverses to normal. Overlapping one another, pearl colored with the faintest tint of golden; looking so soft you though they were made of clouds.

".... Bless you."

"Ah.. apologizes." He says, addressing the elephant in the room. "It seems I'm adjusting to my human form."

"Can I touch them?"

"P-pardon?.."

"They look soft. I wanna feel them."

"Well I can't say so, but they've never really been.." He stammers, a flash of yellow reaching his cheeks. "Nevermind. Yes you can."

Alasdair walks over to the couch, turning around so you can feel his wings. They nearly smack you in the face from how quickly he turns. You stroke your hand over the middle set. Alasdair tenses up. They felt exactly as they looked, though somehow even softer. They were warm too. A comforting warmth; like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. You run your hands beneath them, rubbing your cheek against the mass of feathers.

"Y/n? What are you doing?"

"Hush. They're so soft." You bury your face deeper into his wings; your breathes noticeable upon the sensitive nerves attached. You hum in delight, the faint rumble in your throat and careful touch sending him over the edge. He lets out a sound that could best be described as a chirp; wings rising slightly as his body stutters. You raise your head.

"What the hell was that?"

"I'm not sure. I guess my wings are sort of sensitive in this form.. that or it's because they don't get touched very often."

Blood coats your forearms; risen flames casting their shadows and your sins to the floor below. You stand tall. Gone are the days you cowarded from your crimes: retched at the smell of copper and burnt flesh. How many had been culled by your hands? The numbers had blurred together by now, but they mattered not. Someone had to do it.

You walk to the cabin's doors; staining its doors with the blood of the sacrifice. Your followers stand at its steps; gazing upon you in frightened wonder. The fires of your fallen lord behind you makes you towered unopposed; flickering in your dull eyes. Your arms fall to your sides; the liquid coating dripping to the floor below. The spirit of your God clouding your mind, you lick the traces left at the corner of your lips; leaving many with a strange feeling of arousal.

Trying to get the cult started in your name to worship a dark God was hard work. Within the confines of your tent, you seek rest for another day you've failed at your true goal. As you drift you to sleep, you grow unaware to the figure standing at the tent's entrance.

The follower tightens their grip around the basket in hand. They had missed the ceremony of sacrifical offerings; the day spent on making sure it was absolutely perfect. They creep to your side; blood rushing to their face. Being alone with you was like a dream - even if you were unaware. Their hand itches toward your bare hand, stopping before they lost complete control. Just being here was punishable by banishment; not by your own words, but by those of the others. If they actually touched you, who knows what would happen. Temptation bit at the back of their mind - as well as the whisper of a disembodied voice.

"Child....."

The voice is deep, foreboding. A rasp they've heard before in their slumber, that they usually ignored. You were the only voice they'd listen to. Just as they were about to tune it out, it continues - catching their attention.

"You wish to touch their flesh, correct?"

They swallow hard, dipping their head in agreement.

"It... is all I've ever wanted since laying eyes on them."

"Then toss your offering into the flames of my blood. As their master, they have no choice but to comply to my command. You may have your moment with them if i I deem it worthy."

They hug the basket to their chest. Was what they were hearing really true? Or simply delusions guided by their swollen heart. They look at you, so blissful and unaware - an absolute gift from the higher powers. They'd do anything to hold you even once.

They remove a piece of their offer and place it by your bedside, leaving the tent and crossing the field to a cabin across the way. Within the cabin; down a crimson carpet, a fire burns brightly in its ceremonial fountain. The red edging the orange flames flickered a deeper color than one would find normal; the heat given off like standing at the gates to hades.

The follower walks up to it, dumping their gift into the pit; flames jumping higher at the fresh fuel.

"Worship me... For them."

They kneel, clasping their hands together in prayer. The words feel uncanny on their tongue. Wrong. But they'll do it - for you.

"My... lord, by your grace please give me the leeway to take hand with the one you’ve choosen as your disciple. Let me walk by their side for the rest of our days. Please.... let me kiss them goodnight."

You wake in a cold sweat, the booming voice of your God still ringing in your ears and leaving you partly deaf. You stumbled outside, met by the faces of your followers. Eyes glassy, faces pale. You know they've seen it in their sleep too. Still, their lips break into adoring smiles at the sight of you.

"Y/n is finally awake!"

"Are you hungry? You look a bit pale?"

"You haven't accepted all the offerings we left you yesterday. Did you see mine?"

You rub your throbbing temples. "Guys, please stop worshipping me. I'm pretty sure that if I wasn't the only one who could hear them, the God living in my head would have culled me by now."

Your cult complies with faux agreement; all hiding the truth in their loyalty. Few denied the existence of the entity, but all agreed that you remained supreme in their hearts and souls.

"Thank you all for joining me in the worship of our merciful leader. I was too once like you all, lost soul in need of a flock to call my own. We can all join together in harmony now and be one."

You look around the crowd; relieved before compare that you finally had other followers for the deity that demanded worship and sacrifice, who had left the task in your hands. After weeks of trying to convince people, a large group of them just randomly appeared one day. Standing above them all, they look upon you with awe and disbelief. It was... honestly kind of odd. They seemed to be focused on you rather than the mercy and power of your lord. You could've sworn you heard someone say, "They're even cuter up close", but that may have been the heat of the sun frying your brain. Your proud facade breaks. You take a deep breath.

"Ok- I'm super happy that you all are here, but may I ask why you're here? I've been doing this for a while and most people just think I'm crazy."

There's mutters through the crowd. Somewhere in the front, someone sheepishly raises their hand.

"I only came because I wanted to see if joining meant I had a chance to ask you out.'

What.

"Me too! I thought I was the only one. I heard rumors that to become a part of this cult, you had to kiss the leader and swear your eternal loyalty to them by sacrifice what you hold dear. And I'm honestly down for both."

There's more mutter, all of agreement. Aside from trying to get people into the cult, you hardly went around town. The few times that people saw you after a while was like a ghost's tale. One that captivated the audience rather than strike fear into their hearts. Those who saw you, described you as a breathtaking soul. The one's you actually talked to had always been enchanted by your voice itself rather than promises of salvation. After a while, some of them just decided to see you for themselves; coming to find they wanted to join the cult for all the wrong reasons.

You stand there, stunned. Somewhere in the back, a person shouts.

Feminine Male Yan + Creep Reader

Tags/Warnings: Crossdressing, Creep should be on a watchlist (so should yan probably), plans/thoughts of murder.

-

He's cute.... isn't he?

A living, breathing porcelain doll. Everybody always says. Freckle kissed skin, rosy cheeks. A smile that can light up the whole room. Innocent, doey eyes.

People want him. People envy him. A toxic cesspool of jealousy and infatuation- To which a thin line stood between.

He's beautiful. One of a kind. Far cuter than that bitch at the top of your chart.

He didn't blame you. If some callous harpy sicced her boyfriend on him day in and out, he'd be pretty upset too. Enough to scrub that god awful fondation off her face with a sponge dipped in acid

They say the greatest pain is that of a broken heart. What has the bigger picture here? There had to be another reason why she was at the top of your kill list. He knew how this game would go. She'd be the last to fall, a helpless spectator as those she held dear dropped like flies.

It isn't fair-

"Pick me...."

Make him the star of your show.

Write him letters of all the terrible things you do if you got him alone. Tell him that the last face he'll ever see is yours. The thought alone makes him weak in the knees. Or perhaps it's the drift nipping at his soft flesh beneath the cut off of his skirt. Beauty has it's sacrifices.

Just like he'd kill to be yours.

He doesn't get it. He wears the same cheap lip gloss as her. Traverses all the same roots. They live in the same dormitory so it's no brainer. He even borrowed that dress. The one you promised she'd be buried alive in.

Nothing.

Was he too nice to you? He could never bring himself to belittle the love of his life, but does that truly mean he isn't worthy of your attention?"

"Y/n, you heartless bastard!

Pick me....

"Why won't you stalk me instead of her?"

Pick me!

"I'm cuter. I'm smarter. I'm better than she'll ever be! So why....."

PICK ME!

"WHY CAN'T I BE YOUR FINAL GIRL?!?"

....

Why?

"Because you're going to be my alibi."

Oh.. Turns out he was special to you after all.

"Come on. I don't want to be late for my first date with my boy.... girlfriend."

You're so silly sometimes.

-

"I don't think it's a good idea, Rascal."

The rabbit desperately points at the sparkly collar strapped around its neck, claws tickling the tag bodly presenting its name.

"Just because you see yourself as my pet doesn't mean my coworkers will do the same. You're more man than you are rabbit.

Its teeth click in a guttural hiss- mewls akin to a heartbroken wail following suit as they brush their nose against your cheek. He coos, the zipper of his mask drawn as they lap at your skin. Its tongue is like sandpaper.

"Acting cute isn't going to save you this time. The ceilings at my job are pretty low as is. Plus, I'm pretty sure all the pets are required to be able to fit in a cage."

The rabbit bashfully kicks at the floorboards, a web of drool trickling down his mask. He seems pleased with that idea.

"I'm not putting you in a cage, Rascal."

Creep Darling wishing upon a star for a companion-

"I wish I had a friend.... Not all the time, but sometimes... At least I have you."

Their trusty switchblade. Reliable, dependable. Their one and only savior from uncomfortable situations and sheer boredom. It'd be great if it was a person. Then Creep would never be alone.

It's silly- They're well aware of that. For once in their life, they'd like a taste of what it's like to genuinely connect with other people. Wishful thinking at its finest. Same as the night before, and the night prior to that, Creep falls asleep clutching the handle of their favorite blade.

...

"Soft....soo soft..."

A voice... Razors.. scrapping glass. It shrouds your hazy mind - numbingly frigid fingertips yanking you out the tranquil calm of slumber. Your eyes slowly peel open - shark-like fangs gleaming with drool as heavy breathes paint your skin.

"These hands... The way they'll handled me... Ha... I'm getting all worked up just thinkin' about it..."

You leap out of bed - frantically pawing at your pillow for your weapon- Your fright kindles their titillation - Cackling with shrill, ear-ringing glee.

"Looking for something? I'm right here, Silly. Just look at me. Remind you of anything? It's me."

The strips of leather around their palms. The same strips cut from an old apron you tore up for better grip. A chip in one of their canines, mirroring damage to your blade you'd yet to get fixed due to your crippling avoidance towards human interaction.

A butterfly sticker on their cheek - a prize from the numerous capsule machines waiting to ensnare their next victim outside your local grocery store.

There's no denying it-

[Mentions of Cannibalism]

-

They can't do this to you.

Why is he doing this to you?

If you obeyed- Hung onto their every word like a good partner, freedom was a guarantee. No longer shackled to the confines of his cabin. Free to do whatever you want, whenever you wanted - So long as you didn't stray too far from the place you now called home.

You did everything right. The perfect house spouse for your new caretaker. What offense could you have possibly committed to suffer this fate.

"Y/n."

Fatty juices pool from the slab of meat strung on his fork as his teeth rip through its charred exterior - the utensil almost comically small in their massive paw of a hand. Your eyes disobey the natural instinct to turn towards the trap as porcelain bumps against the ridges of the wooden table. The snap of their fingers neutralizes that command - your stomach twisting into tight knots as you look down at the plate.

"Eat your carrots, Love."

You groan.

"Mmm... Can't we just go back to you shoving unidentified scraps of meat down my throat?"

That came out - a little differently than you intended.

Your spouse huffs - wiping his greasy fingers along the chest of his apron before patting the back of your stubborn head.

"Maybe later. Don't matter if you're chowing down on the flesh of God, if I don't see you eating a vegetable - you ain't leaving this table."

Propping an elbow onto the table, you lazily push around the orange eyesores with your fork. "You're a saw welding cannibal, and you care if I eat a salad?"

"Balance. It's all about balance, Love."

Dipping the last mouthful of vegetables still on his plate in the film of juices, your captor clears their portion of dinner with complaint.

"Gotta keep my spouse strong and healthy. You ain't dying on me anytime soon."

"But they're mushy. I don't like mushy foods. Can you at least leave them raw next time?"

"Why? So you can't pretend they're fingers?" He jokes.

You hold your tongue. Staring at you, the steady beats of his heart ramp up - daring to burst straight through his ribcage.

-

[Slasher Darling wearing their mask apporches their victim, weapon raised-]

Victim: Ahh! It's the killer!

[Slasher Darling apporches their victim without their mask]

Victim Yan: Awww, look at you! What are you doing waving that axe around, Sweetheart- Somebody might get hurt. :( What do you need? Some money? A place to stay? I'll give you both-

-

Creep Darling: Are you going to kill me now?

Slasher Yan: Don't cry, Love- I'll make it quick.

Creep Darling: I'm not crying. This is just the natural tone of my voice. I suppose you would like to watch the life drain from my eyes too.

Slasher Yan: Wouldn't be opposed to it-

[Creep Darling pulls a headband from their backpack - big, beautiful eyes glossy and meek in the moonlight as they push their hair back]

Slasher Yan: ....

Creep Darling: Well? I'm waiting.

-

Slasher Yan, head in their hands as they stare blankly at the floor: It was like trying to bludgeon a baby seal-