Work Text:
Fox News blared in the background. Tucker Carlson glared from the cracked television screen, a pride flag waving behind him.
“Are we really going to let this happen?” The host said confrontationally, disgust tainting his tone. “Are we really going to let the gays marry? Next thing we know, they’re going to breed and have gay babies. Do we want a country of gay infants running around kissing our children?”
Vincent Valentine, former Turk, current manbaby, sat on his unmade twin-sized bed, his stupid sabatons rubbing outside dirt all over his black cotton cross-textured sheets. His MCR pillow covers were covered in a thick layer of debris that had fallen out of the hair he’d adamantly refused to wash for the last 30+ years.
Tucker Carlson’s voice got louder and more aggressive, but Vinshit was unable to contemplate the wise preaching of Our Lord and Savior, Tucker Carlson, so busy was his contemplating the teachings of his flaccid donger.
Today’s lesson was one in cuckoldery, something Vincent was more than versed in. If requested (not that he ever would be, since he never answered his damn phone), Vincent was educated enough to teach a master course on being a cuck.
However, on this dark and stormy eve, he was content to just be its soul pupil.
Vincent’s opulent ruby eye sockets glistened with the residual tears. He was no longer able to cry, not after the intensive, non-consensual surgeries performed upon his bodily person (not to be confused with his metaphorical person[s]) all those many thousands of moons ago.
“Lucrecia,” he moaned the name of his crystalized (one-sided?) ex-lover(?) who NTR’d him in what felt like a past life. It wasn’t a moan of sexual desire or lewdness. After the aforementioned invasive and nonconsenual surgical procedures, Vinnie boy was no longer able to obtain an erection. It was for the better, honestly. What need did he have for a coffin (AN: that’s an innuendo XD) without a nice 6ft deep hole (😉) to bury it into?
He cried, or tried to. Tucker Carlson’s voice flickered off into nothingness since Vincent hadn’t paid his electrical bills for the month. To fill the void of silence, Vincent flipped open his phone (NOKIA) and selected the only song in his personal collection. This was a process that took a great deal longer than Vincent would ever admit, since his only working hand was swaddling his unresponsible (1.4334e inch thick) weed whacker. His other hand kinda worked, but not really, and it took a lot of juggling to get the correct buttons clicked. But, finally, his efforts paid off and 30 Seconds to Mars’ This is War (Nightcore REMIX) blasted from his tinny pre-2005 phone speakers.
“The martyrs, and the satyrs, and the guys who died by bomb,” Jared Leto sang sensually. “And the peasants, and the soldiers and the dude who fucked my mom~” (AN: I cannot remember the lyrics, and I refuse to look them up. I am an ARTIST and if you cannot accept that, you have SHIT taste. Don’t flame me SAMANTHA I don’t listen to your shITTY music)
At that moment, Vincent wished, oh so desperately, that he could cry. Or cum. Whichever it took to get him that sweat bodily release. He could pee, but that wasn’t the same. He didn’t pee like normal folk, not after the surgeries forcefully acted upon his mortal being. It trickled out in a stream after several months being trapped inside his body and kind oozed out once bimonthly. Vincent peed two weeks ago, so he had no hope of urinating again tonight, as much as he wished he could. Even a little dribble of piss would be enough, but DAMNHJ FUCKING HOJO wouldn’t even have this ONE THING. Fucking HOJO that fucking NERD Vincent should have bullied harder in middle school not only took his girl, he took his dick and half of his right testicle and also his beating heart and ONE OF HIS HANDS??? WHAT THE FUCK HOJO???? DAMN YOU YOU SICK FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK DAMN HIM IT’S A CRIME TO EXPERIMENT ON CHILDREN WHY THE fuck are we TRYING TO ILLEGALIZE ABORTION IF SICK WACK JOBS LIKE HOJO GET AC VCESS TO CHILDREN? DOESN’T THAT DEFEAT THE PURPOSE? UADFHALKSJDJFLAJSDFLKJ FIUCK HOJO in another life, Vincent Valentine was going to take Hojo to prom in high school and then embarrass the FUCK out of him in front of ALL THEIR PEERS and then he would pour punch on Hojo’s head or something and WHO WOULD BE THE SIMP THEN, JASON PATRICK HOJO? Not VINCENT, ATHAT’S FOR SURE. DAMN FUCKING HOJO. If Vincent ever got a time materia, he would use it to go back in time and hate fuck Hojo’s research notes and see how much the greaseball liked being on the other side of the cuckening.
(AN: ME AND THE SQUADDIES ALL HATE HOJO FUCK HOJO)
Just as Vincent was strangling his shlong while envisioning Hojo overdosing on jello enema shots, a morbid crash was heard from his boarded-up, wood-rotting (Vincent really lives in a dump) window panes.
CRASH! SQUEE!
It took Vincent twenty entire minutes to react. He had never been the most responsive man. By that point, the crash had morbed into a pile of wood, and from that pile of wood emorbed a man. That man? Was Micheal Morbius, CEO and Esexutive Manager of Morbius Industries, the world’s leading provider in blood play sex toys and accessories! When it comes to blood play, there’s a lot of ways to get aids! That’s where Morbius Industries, the World’s Leading Provider in Blood Play Sex Toys comes in! The newly-patented VampPill allows fetishists and vampires alike to suck all the bloody arseholes they desire without the pesky risk of contracting various illnesses! It was an invention few took serious and even fewer saw the necessity for, but that didn’t stop Micheal Morbius from having a live Ted Talk on the subject and being bashed by the entirety of the Internet.
But, unknown to the general public, Micheal Morbius was morb than just the inventor of the newly patented Vampilll distributed by Morbius Industries, the World’s Leading Provider in Blood Play Sex Toys and Accessories! He also happened to be a vampire. And like many vampires before him, Morbius could turn into a bat.
Well.
Kind of.
Not entirely. He was working on the whole ‘transforming’ bit. He pulled it off one time while pole dancing against Matt Smith (the 11th Doctor) in a New York sewer, but that was very situational and he hadn’t managed to pull it off again since. This last attempt, he successfully managed the bat flying but not the bat landing, hench why he took a crash through Vincent Valentine’s window.
“Top o’ the morbin’ to ya!” Morbius spoke pleasantly, despite it being 7:45 pm at night. He brushed his stripper vampire cape off dramatically and flipped his poorly-shampooed hair, before looking over at the window he’d completely decimated. “Well, I hope ya gotsome good insurance! I cannot recommen’ Geico enough!” A laugh track played in the distance.
Vincent had never been the most sociable of creatures. When confronted with controversy or conversation, he tended to just fake sleep and, when that didn’t work, do a backflip back into his coffin. Unfortunately, his coffin was back in Hojo’s (FUCK HOJO FUCK HIM REVERSE-ANALLY WITH A KNIFE TAPED TO THE LONGEST DRAGON DILDO THEY SELL. THIS MAN DESERVES VIOLENCE.) basement two continents away. So, he did what he did best. He disassociated.
---
Despite being the CEO of Morbius Industries, the World’s Leading Provider in Blood Play Sex Toys and Accessories, Micheal Morbius was on the spectrum. Not the electromagnetic spectrum, the LGBTQ++ spectrum.
See, Micheal Morbius was, in the terms of the young and #woke, an asexual. Or at least, for the entirety of his life, that’s what he’d always thought. As the CEO of the World’s Leading Provider in Blood Play Sex Toys and Accessories, Morbius McMicheals was more in tune to his inner sinnerster sex (th’t's an obscure reference to the Sinister Six from Marvel comics! XD roflcopter) than most. It’s what happens when you make your living going topless in New York subways and selling silicon butt plugs shaped like Darth Vader at Spencer’s Toys and Apparel.
But, upon looking at Vincent Valentine’s sun choked (that’s the opposite of sun-kissed) skin and red-amberish eyes, Morbfina knew, deep down in the darkness of his very being, that he was not as asexual as he once presumed.
He was Morbsexual, which meant he was only attracted to Vampire/Vampire presenting persons. Morbosexual is less a sexuality oriented around gender, and morbso one oriented around general aesthetic.
Vincent Valentine, despite never being properly diagnosed with Vampire, was as Vampire as they came.
He had the cape. He had the boots. He had the air of mystery, and mannerisms that screamed either century-old undead or high-functioning autist. He had the blood red eyes and the popped collar. Hell, even the name ‘Vincent Valentine’ reeked of blood-drinker.
Micheal Morbius had never been this aroused in his entire life. When confronted with Vincent’s Final Fantasy pretty-boy sex appeal, he found himself a nervous wreck.
“I, er,” he said awkwardly, before his mouth went on complete overdrive, thoughts completely skipping his brain before racing out his lips. Every since a young age, the Morbster had an unnatural fascination with bats, and one of his coping mannerisms was spitting out bat facts when distressed or uncomfortable. “Did you know that bats can eat over 1000 mosquitoes in the course of an hour?”
Vincent did not know this. He didn’t even seem to process the words coming out of Morbster’s mouth and he continued staring blankly at the television screen.
Michael continued, “It’s a right shame, but a lot of bat species are currently listed as endangered.”
“I wish my sex drive wasn’t endangered,” Vincent whimpered in monotone.
Morbius looked at him, his long tubular fangs catching the light alluringly. “Some bats can also lactate six times their body weight in an entire day.”
That caught Vinnie’s attention, not that anyone who hadn’t been forced to accompany him across the planet knew him well enough to dissect his interest.
“I happe’ to be one of those bats,” Morbrian sluttily whispered. “Want to see?”
“Okay.” Vincent said.
Morbius ripped off his sparkly spandex leotard with an inhuman vampiric shriek. ‘URWYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!” He shoved his hairy, swollen battits into Vincent’s virgin face and began cumming sensually.
“IT’S MORBIN’ TIME!”
Vincent’s errection magically returned. With a vengeance, and they had incredibly kinky, unprotected sex. Vincent got pregnant and gave birth to a little girl 30 months later. Michael Morbius, CEO of the World’s Leading Provider in Blood Play Sex Toys and Accessories, was later arrested for tax fraud. He quickly broke out of jail, and the small vampire family has been on the run ever since. The end.
