that damned Solovey. @nightingaletherobber - Tumblr Blog

Jun 4

ad season, pt. 2

Fandom: Deltarune Pairing: OC (Addison)/Blue Addison/Pink Addison/Yellow Addison/Orange Addison Word count: ~9,700 Warnings: explicit sexual content; heat/mating cycles; group sex; null/terato genitals; body horror & doll body weirdness; mild emeto; implied/referenced abuse/sexual assault Series: backdoor entries (side story, can be read as directly following ad season, pt. 1 and boot loop) Summary: The scenery has changed, but the song has ever remained the same — isn't that right, Blue?

“So... What do you think?”

It might just be the first time anyone’s asked V for his opinion on anything, at least in earnest, and at least as far back as he can remember — which, to be fair, considering the state of his mind over the past several years, really isn’t saying very much at all.

“Hmm.”

He still can’t figure out this kid’s angle: Ralsei, so-called ‘prince from the dark,’ supposed master of the domain in which V now finds himself, for reasons he also can’t fully figure out. The spiel he’d overheard from the Lightner kid’s pocket — “Remember, Kris, enemies we RECRUIT will come to our Castle Town!” — he can’t see how that could possibly apply to him, not when there’s a perfectly good inventory slot he’s meant to be taking up, permanently.

With both arms folded across his chest, head and hips both cocked at alternate angles, V sweeps his one good eye and two un-eyes across his surroundings — an interior room, sparsely appointed but decently livable — before he turns that look of perfect disinterest to Ralsei himself.

“You still haven’t told me what this is all about.”

“Umm... Well...” The kid’s awkward reaction indicates that he’d expected this response, without actually figuring out a response of his own. “It’s not really...about anything, Mr. V, it’s just... Kris and Susie won’t be coming to school for the next few days... You know, for the holiday, so... I just thought, maybe, it would...be nice? If you, um, got to stretch your legs for a bit! So, I made you a place to stay while—”

“Why?”

“Er...”

One finger taps against his other arm as he gives Ralsei his most withering look. How stupid does this kid think he really is? The set-up is obvious, at least in his mind: lure him out from the safety of the Lightners’ inventory, give him a supposedly safe hideout where he can let his guard down, and let him wait like a sitting duck for that goddamn big shot and his pet CRT to come and get their revenge, for fucking good this time...

“I mean... It’s this, or...you’d be stuck up in the Light World the whole time they’re away, right?” The kid’s expression is clearly strained, though he can’t quite tell by what. “And— D-Don’t get me wrong, it would be great to get to hang out with Kris some more, even if it is just...as an object, right? But, for you, I thought, well... Wouldn’t it be...kind of lonely?”

V isn’t entirely cognizant of the look that comes over his face in that moment, just that he can’t control it — and that Ralsei’s reaction is both immediate and apologetic.

“I-I mean!! I know that, um, you don’t really... LIKE other people, s-so, that’s why... Instead of me making a room for you in the castle, we’re, um...away, from most everyone else, in the town... Y-You don’t HAVE to, um, go out and see anyone else, i-if you don’t want to! You could just...stay here and relax, you know? Or, anything else you might want to do...”

His eye narrows; the kid’s a godawful liar. Might as well cut straight to the point.

“And I don’t suppose Spamton will have any objections to my hanging around?”

“Oh!”

To his significant surprise, Ralsei doesn’t flinch, or recoil, or even continue looking awkward, or react in any way like he’s been caught in any measure of dishonesty. No, to the contrary: he’s...smiling?

“Actually, um, Susie and Kris already found a new home for Mr. Tenna, you see, and Mr. Spamton went with him! So...” There’s something disgustingly earnest in that smile of his. “Y-You don’t have to worry about them anymore, okay?”

Of course, the actual meaning behind his words couldn’t be any clearer: THEY don’t have to worry about YOU anymore.

Not that it matters, really. Assuming the kid actually is telling the truth, anyway.

V casts another appraising look over the room. It’s nothing luxurious, not by any means, but compared to where he’d been laying his head for the past ten goddamn years...

“Fine.” He huffs out a little sigh. “It’ll do. I guess.”

“Okay!” Ralsei still doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest by V’s outward disdain. “Great! And, um, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to come find me in the castle, okay?”

“Sure.”

He can’t even begin to imagine what he could possibly need from the kid at this point, or at any point, but it doesn’t matter. None of this really matters at all, does it?

At last, though, Ralsei leaves him, and for the first time in what feels like entirely too long, V finds himself well and truly alone.

(He’d been alone, of course, for perhaps the entire duration of his imprisonment at the bottom of that goddamn dumpster. But he hadn’t been of sound enough mind to properly appreciate it.)

Right. Time to have an actual look around, now that he doesn’t have a too-eager-to-please hanger-on hovering nearby. The decor is plain, impersonal, though perhaps that’s to be expected; he’s not sure if he would prefer it any other way, really. There’s a bed, of course, and a comfortable-looking chair just beside, and a desk he can’t possibly imagine using for any purpose, not for whatever little amount of time he’s surely going to spend here.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he ended up in a mid-rate hotel room or something...minus the TV, but who needs one of those, anyway?

Not him, that’s for goddamn sure.

The very thought of it, the merest hypothetical in his mind sparks a flash of indignation, a burning sensation spreading upward from the back of his throat — a response which he knows, he knows is wholly irrational, and yet it takes both conscious effort and a concentrated flex in each of his molded finger joints to keep from boiling over into an actual outburst.

(It’s a little easier these days, now that he’s regained some measure of his sense of self, to hold his temper back from swinging so wildly, to keep himself from lashing out so violently. But easier isn’t the same as easy, and this is just one more thing that he suspects will never come easily to him ever again.)

V turns, and catches sight of himself — in a full-length mirror, although the split second it takes him to realize that is more than enough to kick his instincts into full fight-or-flight mode, each of his senses flooding with something like adrenaline, something like panic. Fortunately that split second isn’t quite long enough for him to summon any bullet patterns, and thank god for that; he doesn’t know how he could ever live it down if he managed to wreck this place within minutes of being left to his own devices.

The moment passes, and the panic fades, leaving a bodily weariness in its wake...leaving only the sight of himself in that mirror.

And, god, what a wretched sight it is, isn’t it?

Even now, V still doesn’t know exactly what it is that emanates from the broken shell of his head; perhaps he never will. It swirls upward in a viscous flow, yellow-pink-yellow marbling together before pulling back apart into a bubbling drip, as if caught in some kind of reversed gravitational pull. He doesn’t know what would happen if he ever tried to rid himself of it, perhaps by scooping it out or letting it spill from his upturned skull. Maybe it would kill him all over again...or maybe it would simply reconstitute as it always does, defying all logic and reason to reform itself from nothing, forcibly clinging onto life no matter how much good it would do him — no matter how much good it would do for this entire damn world — to finally slip into death.

V’s lip is already curled into a familiar look of disgust by the time he finally tears his gaze away from that unending flow — so familiar that it might nearly be a comfort, to look like himself, to feel like himself again, were it not for the ugliness and horror of everything else that remains of his face — and, as he flicks that gaze up and down, something occurs to him.

He hasn’t actually had the chance to look at himself since he was first forced into this joke of an existence, has he? Not thoroughly, not in any meaningful way, not past the occasional glance at a distorted reflection in some dilapidated window... And he’ll never get a better chance than this, will he?

Undressing himself, somehow, poses more difficulty now than he’d ever imagined possible; the stiff plastic of his fingers and the limited mobility of his joints don’t exactly lend themselves to fine motor control, and the tight collar of his shirt very nearly pulls his head loose from his neck. But, gradually, and with no small amount of persistence, he manages it: he manages to shed every last piece of his clothing, to finally, fully lay eyes on the entirety of the doll-like mannequin body to which he’s been consigned.

And, perhaps unsurprisingly, the first thought that crosses his mind afterward is — what a fucking joke.

It isn’t a surprise at all to see scuffs, scratches and dings marring the otherwise smooth plastic surface that now passes for his skin; he imagines this thing had to have been tossed in the trash for a reason, after all. Less expected, however, is a set of rather more familiar markings: perfectly round, discolored divots adorning his clavicle and throat like a tattooed necklace, and a similarly-colored pattern of stripes arcing down from his ribcage and about his inner thighs in perfect symmetry.

Perfectly symmetrical, perfectly matched decor on a near-perfect plastic canvas — perfect mockeries of the cigarette burns and claw marks that had scarred his living flesh.

That isn’t the end of it, of course. There’s everything else he might have expected to see — the dull shine that doesn’t even come close to approximating his Addison glow, the grooves and joints that only mostly move as he feels they should — and then...

There, between his legs — nothing. Nothing, save a smooth, featureless plastic mound.

If the rest of it is some kind of joke, then this has to be the punchline. It’s so absurd — so perfectly fucking absurd — he can’t help but laugh.

V slides one of his hands downward to double-check, stiff fingers feeling out the lay of the land, as it were — as if, at a single touch, the plastic down there might somehow reshape itself into a facsimile of the equipment he used to have. But, of course, it remains as nothing, barely even sensitive to his own probing touch.

But, really, if he thinks about it... Isn’t that just what he needs? Isn’t that just what he fucking deserves — nothing at all? If he’d never had anything down there to begin with, no dick, no holes, nothing, nothing at all... Would he have ever found himself trapped in that highrise, then? Would there have been any reason for those bastards to pass him around like a fucktoy until he broke? Would there have been any reason, any reason at all, for everything, anything that came after, to have ever...

It doesn’t make any sense, does it? For the emotion that now prevails foremost in his mind to be relief. And yet, it prevails nevertheless: relief, that maybe, just fucking maybe, there will be one fewer complication for him to worry about in whatever sort of life he has to lead from now on.

If there’s a single upside to be found in this plastic purgatory, or whatever it turns out to be, it must be this. It has to be this. What use does a thing like him have for sexual desire, anyway? Better instead to go without; better instead to remove even the barest possibility from his continued existence.

It has to be better this way — for everyone, not just himself.

Right?

---

When V wakes from fitful dreams the very next day, wrapped up in the moderately comfortable, mid-rate hotel room-quality bed that supposedly now belongs to him, he remembers none of the circumstances that preceded his falling asleep the night before.

He only finds himself reaching for those circumstances in the first place, of course, on account of the awful, just fucking awful, splitting headache that assails him before he’s even fully blinked awake. What the hell could he have possibly done that would result in this? No, not even that — where the hell could he have possibly gone to do anything like that? Like there’s a single chance in hell he would have ventured outside this room; like he’d have a single goddamn reason to want to mingle with even a single other Darkner in this stupid town. Why? How? What, even...

V raises a hand to his face, as though massaging the plastic shell of his head might somehow alleviate even a fraction of the pain, when he brushes against something that definitely should not be there: his...nose?

What? He grasps it, only to realize (with a sharp cry) that it’s the very source of that awful fucking pain, as though it’s been freshly broken out of place — and, yes, that hateful, ugly bend is there as well, just like it was before he... What? He brings up his other hand with a jerky start, feeling for the top of his skull, but his fingers end up probing right into the void that’s still right where it was before, as well as the viscous mass within. What? The split in his head is just as wide-open and ever-present as ever, but if he’s managed to regrow his nose, somehow, does that mean it’s...shrunk? Somehow? What? No, forget that— Why?

As his mind churns with questions, questions he can’t even begin to come up with answers for, a sudden rush of adrenaline floods his system. No — is this adrenaline? Or is it something else, instead, something that definitely should not be there—

In the next instant, V whips off the mid-rate hotel room-quality sheets that still cover his plastic form. The sight that greets him is one that defies all logic and reason — not to mention sensibility, and not to mention every fucking thing he had thought he’d come to understand about this stupid fucking body.

It’s in the very next instant that something else occurs to him. What was the occasion that had led to him being here, in the first place, and not back in the Lightners’ inventory? What was it that the green kid had said? That the other kids, the Lightners, weren’t going to be at the school for a few days... That the holiday... The holiday...

Realization slams into him like a freight truck. Both hands go to his head, fingers raking through his hair and gripping tight at either edge of the cavernous split in his skull, as a frustrated, furious, disbelieving howl begins to loose from his throat:

“Are you fucking KIDDING ME!?”

---

The scenery changes, but the song... Well, as of right about now, the song is more obnoxious than ever, really.

“Oh, please!! How is any of this MY fault!?”

“How is it NOT your fault, Pink!?”

“Not just any of it, but ALL of it...”

Blue can’t be certain whether it’s the season itself, or the stress of adjusting to their new environment, or even just the fact that they’ve been hanging around the others for far, far too long at this point, but whatever the cause may be, their patience has been worn down to a sliver of its usual magnitude. It’s all they can do to keep their eyes forward while the other three trail along after, bickering amongst themselves all the while; they’ll make it back to their place in Castle Town before long, and then they’ll be able to finally work off this foul mood.

“They wouldn’t have banned all of us from the establishment if it was just ME they were mad at, you know!!”

“Come on, Pink, like you didn’t start all of this in the first place...”

“What!? How!? What did I do!?”

“What do you mean, what did you do, are you dense!? YOU’RE the one who wouldn’t stop messing around with Swatch’s employees, remember!?”

“So what!? And it’s not like I shacked up with all of them, it was just the ONE guy—”

“Not for lack of trying...”

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh!?”

“Like you weren’t flirting with the entire waitstaff...”

“The way you were going about it, you’d think you were trying to get them to run a train on you or something—”

“Ew, shut up!! Shut up, that’s not true!!”

“But you were flirting with all of them.”

“So!? Since when is that a crime!?”

“Since you got that one guy to sneak off his shift and take you back to his place, probably.”

“That was ONE guy, okay!? And it was almost closing time, anyway, so I don’t see how—”

“What was his name?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Pink, if it was just the one guy, then which one was he?”

“Well—”

“You got ALL of us banned from the cafe over ONE guy, and you can’t even remember his name!?”

“Sh-Shut up, of course I remember, okay, you’re just not giving me a chance to—”

“Spit it out already, then!”

“I’m working on it, alright!? It was... Uh... R... Rinaldo...?”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Shut up!! It was something weird for a Swatchling, okay!? Like... Uh... Robby? Rob? ...Rudolph?”

“It definitely wasn’t Rudolph.”

“Shut UP!! Like you would fucking know, anyway!! Besides, it’s not like YOU guys weren’t trying to flirt with him, too—”

“Yeah, so!? We’re not the ones who tried to hook up with him right there in the cafe!!”

“So!? You’re just mad because I didn’t bring the guy around to OUR place instead, aren’t you!?”

“We can be mad about more than one thing, Pink!!”

“So I’m right, aren’t I!?”

“That’s not the point!!”

“The POINT is that NONE of us can hang out there anymore because YOU were being stupid, stupid!!”

“Hey, YOU don’t get to call ME stupid when YOU’RE the one who—”

“Would all of you just shut up and DROP IT already!?”

The very last thread holding together Blue’s patience has finally snapped. They stop and turn on their heel, whirling around to fix a glare like they’ve never glared before upon the other three, who immediately stop and recoil in near-perfect unison.

Ugh. They’re really not cut out for being the stern one in this group; they’re already starting to feel a little guilty, and for what? Blue rolls their eyes, letting out a little sigh as they grasp for some way to smooth everything over.

“Look, once the weekend’s over, I... I’ll go talk to Swatch, alright? They’re not unreasonable, you know, if I just explain things to them, then I’m sure they’ll understand.” They start to turn back, to keep walking, but something occurs to them, something that brings them to shoot another look back at the others over their shoulder. “And I’m sure some apologies from you three wouldn’t hurt, either—”

“Wait, Blue—”

“Watch out!!”

The warning barely even registers in Blue’s mind before it happens: a total collision, one person power-walking at full speed crashing bodily into Blue while their head is still turned, sending the other sprawling to the ground with a loud, indignant cry. Blue only narrowly avoids the same fate by virtue of the other Addisons scurrying to catch them before they fall, though the shock of it leaves them so rattled that they can scarcely begin to wonder what just happened. What, or who—

“Fuck, would you watch where you’re fucking going!?”

“Hey, asshole, maybe YOU should watch where YOU’RE— Oh my god.”

The beginnings of a retort from Yellow are to be expected, but not the way that retort suddenly cuts off; Blue has only just barely gotten their feet back under them, only just beginning to parse out what’s just happened, when they hear the other two gasp. What? What could they possibly—

“Oh my god.”

“It can’t be—”

“Violet?”

What?

At once, in an involuntary reflex, both of Blue’s hands clap to their mouth with a sudden, shuddering gasp; they’ve finally laid eyes on whoever it was that had just slammed into them, still sprawled back on the ground, and the moment that they do seems to stretch into eternity.

V — unmistakably, it’s V — V, whose face is twisted in wide-eyed horror — whose face is only mostly there, sundered in such a way that Blue has only seen in their worst nightmares — V, who can’t possibly, actually be here, not in any corporeal fashion, not outside the realm of Blue’s own guilty conscience, and yet — and yet.

“No— No, no, no no no, fuck, no—”

But the moment, stretched into eternity as it had been, comes to an abrupt end as V, unmistakably V, scrabbles to get back to his feet, spitting and swearing under his breath all the while.

“Of all fucking people, I am not fucking doing this—”

Another reflex, both instant and involuntary: V finally gets himself up, already turning to beat a hasty retreat, but Blue, carried forward by their own feet before they’ve even realized it, stops him with a tight grip at either of his shoulders.

“V, you’re—”

“Would you fucking— Ugh, I don’t have TIME for this—!!”

V easily breaks Blue’s hold with a rough shove, but his escape has already been cut off by the others, each one circling around with varying looks of shock and awe.

“There’s no way...”

“But everyone said you’d been...”

“What happened to you?”

“What is going on with your—”

“Wait, that weird ghost everyone kept seeing by the Trash Zone—”

“The one with the scary face?”

“The one who picked a fight with the Lightners...”

“Yeah, and then they snuck it into Queen’s mansion, for some reason—”

“Was that you?”

“Oh my god, this whole time—”

“Shut up!! Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut UP—”

V lashes out with swung fists and sharp elbows, but not only is his aim wildly off, he manages to overshoot his momentum as well; he stumbles, and the only thing that stops him from crashing to the ground all over again is Orange and Blue both catching him by either arm.

“Fucking, let me— Urgh—” But for all his vitriol, he seems to struggle to get his feet back under him again. “I have to go give that green kid a piece of my fucking mind, now would you fucking let me GO—”

He takes one more step, trying in vain to pull his limbs free and swat the others away, before he crumples to the ground with a cry.

“V—!?”

Blue doesn’t understand. Is he hurt? Has he been injured, somehow? Maybe he said the wrong thing to the wrong Darkner and got beaten up for it, or something? That doesn’t seem too unlikely, now that they think about it, and just knowing the kind of person that V is, but...

“Wait a minute...”

“If he’s here, too, then...”

“If he’s here now... Then...”

It takes the other three musing aloud — that, and a glimpse of the cold, clammy sweat beading on V’s uncannily dull skin — for Blue to realize what probably should have been obvious from the very start.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“Let me GO, already—”

V finally snatches his arm out of Blue’s grasp, but if he has any energy remaining to get back up, he doesn’t seem able to muster it; he remains in a crumpled heap on his knees, instead, both arms wrapping around himself as he curls into a defensive posture.

“I don’t fucking need this, alright!?” The sheer acidity of his tone belies the shake in his voice, to say nothing of fact that he barely seems able to even keep himself upright. “I don’t need this, and I don’t need any of you, so if you would— Just— Fuck off already—”

“V, stop it!!”

How many times have they failed him already? How many opportunities did they have to turn him away from this path, only to spurn each and every one for their own cowardice? How much differently could everything, everything have gone if they had just stayed by his side, no matter how bitterly, how fiercely he tried to push them away?

Blue shoots a quick glare at the other three — who have all crowded in entirely too close by now, and recoil back by only the slightest amount — before they take hold of V’s shoulders again, before they turn that glare onto V himself.

“Let us help you.” Another quick look at the others, just in case any one of them feels like chiming in with a word of protest or anything else, but they (wisely) remain silent. “Let me help you. Just this once... Okay?”

V opens his mouth, as if he means to spit more vitriol at them, only to clench his jaw again with a low, wordless noise; his one eye darts to and fro, avoiding landing on Blue themself, before he finally squeezes it shut.

“Fine.” When he does speak again, it’s through gritted teeth. “Fuck, just... Fine, okay? Just this once.”

The relief that fills Blue in that moment is palpable, and they breathe out a little sigh.

“Come on.”

---

The walk back to their shared apartment passes in relative silence — relative, of course, given how the other Addisons can’t seem to physically stop themselves from idle chatter even as they help Blue support V, whose silence is absolute.

Silence, awkward even in the moments when it’s broken up by pointless small talk, and an unmissable tension that hangs over the five of them like a heavy cloud... But Blue isn’t about to let a thing like that sway them from their course. They’ve made their decision — the right decision, they’re sure — and they’re going to stick to it, no matter what.

Once they’ve finally crossed the threshold, however, the door behind them clicking shut...

“Ugh, finally—”

“Come on, already!”

“H-Hey, wait—!!”

...the group dynamic turns on a dime, as the other three Addisons all but yank V away from Blue and pull him further into the room.

“W-Wait, you guys—”

“Would you fucking wait—!?”

Only Yellow, turning his head back with a quizzical look, seems inclined to listen to Blue or V; Pink and Orange, meanwhile, are singularly focused on getting V out of his overcoat and every other piece of clothing underneath.

“Come on, I want to see what’s going on with all of this...”

“And besides, Pink is the ONLY one who’s gotten any action yet—”

“Ugh, would you drop that already!?”

“Not until we’re even!!”

“Whatever, would you just help me get this—”

“Wait, WAIT, you fucking idiots, would you wait for one goddamn SECOND—”

V’s protests are muffled by two other pairs of hands pulling his turtlenecked shirt up and over his head, where it promptly gets stuck. Blue is just finding the words to admonish Orange and Pink when the two of them finally tug his shirt free, and by that very same effort manage to pop V’s head clean off his neck, and all four of them scream.

“God, I fucking TOLD you—”

Of course, no blood or gore follows; what’s left behind is a doll-like joint protruding from the base of V’s neck, not to mention blindly flailing arms as V’s furious (and still very much muffled) voice carries above the others from within the prison of his own damn shirt.

“H-Here—”

It’s Pink’s fumbling hands, only too desperate to pass the thing back to its rightful owner, that disentangle V’s head from his shirt and hand it back to him, and before long he’s affixing himself back onto that neck joint with a scowling sigh.

“So... That’s new.”

Orange breaks the tense silence that follows with a cautious tone — cautious, but not disinterested. V’s immediate response is a wordless, frustrated noise as he manually adjusts the way his head sits on his neck.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I mean... All of this is new, huh...”

Pink adopts a similar tone of voice, having evidently gotten over any lingering unease, as they slide both hands over V’s chest and back — over more segmented, doll-like joints, and strange, discolored grooves that catch the light with a plastic shine...

Segmented, doll-like, plastic — like some kind of mannequin. Like the same kind of mannequin, Blue suddenly recalls, that, years ago, they...

“You— Ngh...”

V starts to snap back, his half-face already twisting into another scowl, only for all that energy to falter beneath Pink’s hands — and beneath Orange’s hands, now joining theirs. The yellow-pink substance that flows upward from the cavern of his skull seems to ripple, its shape briefly distorting as V’s jaw falls slack on a wordless sound.

“It’s so weird...”

“What, like this is the weird part?”

“I mean, it feels like plastic but it’s, like, warm, you know?”

“That’s still not the weirdest thing going on here...”

“Hey, can you feel it if I do this?”

Once again, before Blue can snap at them to stop, Pink hooks two fingers into the gap between V’s arm and elbow joint, eliciting a sharp cry.

“Don’t fucking do that!!”

“Alright, jeez, sorry...!!”

“Hey, why are we all still standing over here?”

“Yeah, come on—”

“Wait, wait—”

And, once again, the others ignore V’s every protest to tug him over to the couch, too impatient even to take him to any one of their beds. Blue finds themself fighting the urge to roll their eyes as they follow after.

“You’re so— All of you, you’re so— Ugh...”

Whatever insult V had been building towards dies before it’s fully formed, giving way to another low noise as Orange mouths a wet trail from his shoulder to the molded shape of his clavicle.

“God,” Orange murmurs, drawing his head back by the slightest amount, “that’s so weird.”

“W-Would you stop saying that!?”

“What, it’s not like I mean it in a bad way...”

“Do I look like I give a f— fuhh—”

Not just mid-sentence, but mid-word, V’s been cut off all over again; Pink, having shucked off most of their own clothes in the brief span of time it’s taken them to get to the couch, is sliding a hand down the too-smooth plane of V’s stomach to skate over his still-clothed crotch.

“What about this, huh?”

“Yeah, is there anything new down here?”

“Like—” V’s voice is strained from the monumental effort of standing up to both Pink and Orange’s assault, but he manages to snap back, regardless: “Like you would f-fucking know...”

“Blue would know, wouldn’t they?”

“Hey, yeah— Blue, hurry up and get over here!!”

“That’s—” It’s patently ridiculous, the way Blue’s face flushes with heat at the mere suggestion of something like that, considering everything else that’s going on — considering the circumstances under which they’re all gathered here in the first place. They do their level best to push it aside, to struggle for a retort, as they start to take off their own clothes. “Th-That’s beside the point, alright...!?”

“Alright, alright.” Yellow, having managed to settle between V’s spread legs before anyone else even noticed what he was doing, slides his hands up V’s thighs before he reaches in to undo his pants. “Let’s see it, then—”

“W-W— Wait—”

Despite voicing his protest, feeble as it may be, V does nothing at all to stop the way Yellow begins to tug off his pants, slowly peeling them down his hips... And all four of them, even Blue, gasp in near-perfect unison upon seeing what awaits them underneath.

“Whoa...”

“What is that?”

“I’ve never seen anything like...”

“Is that normal? For an Addison?”

“Like any of this is normal for an Addison, Orange.”

“I’m just saying—”

“I don’t know!!” V finally interjects with a loud, frustrated groan, raising both hands to cover his face. “I don’t fucking know, okay!? I just— I woke up this morning, and it was just...there, alright!? I don’t know...!!”

‘It,’ of course, is something that even Blue isn’t sure what to make of, something they can’t seem to stop themselves from staring at as they lean in close: a thick, black tentacle emerging from an uncannily fleshy slit between V’s legs, glistening wet in the dim light, writhing and squirming like a worm caught out in the rain.

“I dont know,” he continues to groan, still hiding his face even as that yellow-pink mass roils and bubbles away. “I don’t— Hh—”

Pink is the first to try touching it, experimentally tracing a finger from the base to its tapered tip, drawing a hitched gasp and jerked hips from V in response.

“It’s so...wet.” Pink’s eyes are wide with what can only be delight as they wrap two more fingers around the tentacle’s girth. “Imagine what you could do with—”

“Hey, don’t hog it to yourself, I want a feel, too!!”

Orange is next, with an indignant snap, and he takes hold of the tentacle’s length where Pink hasn’t already grabbed on, pulling in an upward stroke—

“W-Wait— Sto— Ahh—”

V barely manages to choke out a single word before his hips buck, snapping up into Orange and Pink’s combined hold, and he struggles to hold back a gasping cry as that tentacle pulses and spurts a sticky black substance over their hands and across the length of his plastic torso.

“Whoa.”

“Is that...?”

“Obviously it’s cum, Pink.”

“Shut up, you never know!!”

“Fuck, would all of you...shut up, already...”

V’s voice is every bit as strained as before, his chest heaving as though he might actually be drawing breath into his body; a sheen of sweat mats his hair to his face, and his face is discolored as if in mimicry of flushed skin.

Blue doesn’t understand it; they can’t even begin to understand any of the logic or reason behind what they’re seeing, if such a thing even exists. But that doesn’t stop the sudden flood of heat that washes over their entire body at the very sight of him — at the very sight of the state he’s in now.

“Hey, there’s something else...”

“Huh?”

Yellow, still keenly focused as he is on the situation between V’s legs, doesn’t wait for a single go-ahead before he begins to probe with his own fingers — at the tentacle’s thick, fleshy base, in particular, pulling at its slick girth with both thumbs to reveal an opening that looks almost vaginal.

“Did you know this was down here?”

“What— What the f-fuck are you— t-talking a— Ghh, fuck!!”

V’s head tips back with yet another sharp cry, his entire body twitching and jerking with the sound, as Yellow, still stretching him open with his thumbs, leans in to probe at that opening with his tongue this time.

“Whoa, look at him go.”

“Jeez, what did you do to get a weird dick and a weird pussy?”

“That— Hhf— Shhhut the fuck up, already—”

It’s a wonder how V can keep struggling for words even when he’s so obviously overwhelmed, writhing under Yellow’s mouth and the hold that Pink and Orange still have on him; his hands keep reaching upward to cover as much of his face as he can, even while his jaw hangs slack, even while he pants and gasps for breath.

“Blue, come on, get in here already!”

“Huh—”

Before they can even fully register Orange calling their name, he’s grabbing onto Blue by the wrist and all but yanking them down to the couch, wedging them perfectly in between V and himself.

“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” Orange’s voice turns sly as he tucks his chin into the crook of Blue’s shoulder and neck, sliding one hand up their bare torso while the other, still sticky with dark, translucent cum, guides Blue’s to that wriggling worm — still writhing, nearly thrashing, as a pearlescent black fluid beads at its very tip. “It’s not fair if you get to hang back while we do all the work.”

“I-I— That’s—”

This was their idea, wasn’t it? And yet, holding that knowledge in mind doesn’t make them any less hesitant to wrap their fingers around V’s tentacled dick.

“God—”

But that hesitation lasts only a moment further before it’s gone, utterly obliterated by the sound of the keening whine that escapes V’s throat.

“See...” Orange breathes a giggling laugh against Blue’s skin as he mouths kisses over their shoulder, and the hand at their torso slides back down to loosely stroke their growing erection. “That’s more like it...”

The sensation of it in their hand is so strange, Blue scarcely knows how to quantify it: thick, heavy, warm, so slick that it’s practically dripping, so slippery that it’s a wonder they can hold onto it at all...a wonder, right up until it curls with prehensile dexterity to wrap over Blue’s knuckles in turn.

“G-God... Blue...”

V’s breath comes in heavy pants, his voice shaking, as he turns his head to meet Blue’s gaze — not an insignificant endeavor, given that his one good eye is on the far side from where Blue sits — and Blue finds themself utterly powerless against the urge to lean in close and meet his parted lips with their own.

“Mmf— Fuck—”

They’re out of practice with this sort of thing, of course, even from seasons past, and so their best effort at a kiss such as this is messy at best, clumsy and uncoordinated at worst. Teeth clash against teeth, catching on lips and nearly nipping desperate tongues, but they can’t stop, just as surely as V can’t stop himself, either; they tighten their grip on his strange, strange cock, squeezing with each stroke as if they’re trying to milk even more of that black fluid out of him, and V moans against their mouth, his voice pitching higher and higher with each pass of their hand.

“Mhm...” Pink murmurs from the opposite side, one of their hands smoothing over V’s chest while they mouth and kiss and suck at his plastic skin. “God, this is weird...”

“Shh— Shut up—”

“V—”

In a motion that feels nearly automatic, Blue reaches with their other hand to slide up V’s neck and cup his jaw...or, at least, that’s the intent, right up until their fingers meet one of the jagged edges of the uncanny split in V’s head, and he flinches with a sharp hiss.

At that instant, Blue draws back — as far as they can, anyway, with Orange still at their back, still working them over with both hands. “V, are you...?”

“Just— don’t...” His jaw is clenched tight now, eye squeezed shut as he struggles for words. “N-Not there...”

“Sorry, I’m sorry—”

“What?” Pink chimes in, nonchalant as ever. “Why? Does it hurt or something?”

“F-Fuck, does it matter...!?”

“I’m just curious, okay!?”

“Pink, don’t—”

“What does that stuff in there feel like, anyway? Blue, why don’t you touch it and—”

“What!? No, I’m not gonna—”

“Can I touch it, then?”

At once, in unison: “NO, PINK.”

“Man, you guys never let me do ANYTHING fun...”

“Th, then what do you call this, you fucking freak—!?”

“V, hey—”

Blue takes greater care in cupping V’s jaw this time, turning his head back towards them with gentle force.

“Focus on me, alright?” Softly, carefully, they sweep one thumb just beneath the jagged edge where V’s cheekbone should be. “Just... Focus...”

“I...”

It isn’t entirely clear whether V had been winding up with more vitriol or trying to say something else, but it hardly matters now, not when he’s pushing forward into Blue’s lips again, more hungrily, more desperately than before.

“Please—” He breathes the word against Blue’s lips, and it’s all they can do to oblige him, their wrist already beginning to ache as they squeeze and pull on V’s dick, again, again, again. “Please... Plea— Ahh, fuck—”

With yet another cry, V bucks beneath them, hips snapping all over again, as another pulse of black cum, warm and wet, spills over Blue’s hand — again, again, again.

“Fuh... Fuck...”

Of course, despite their own building need — a need which only continues to be exacerbated by Orange’s roaming hands and mouth — Blue’s immediate response upon seeing V’s obvious exhaustion afterward is, as ever, one of concern.

“V?” Another soft sweep of their thumb at the corner of V’s lips, and then Blue moves their hand to brush sweat-matted hair from his eyes. “Hey, are you—”

Before they can finish that thought, however, V snatches Blue’s wrist in his own hand, and he fixes upon them a glare that sends a spark of some unidentifiable emotion thrilling right down their spine.

“If one of you idiots doesn’t fuck me already,” he says between heavy, panting breaths, still glaring at Blue even though he’s clearly speaking to all four of them at once, “right fucking now, I’m going to kill everyone in this room and then myself. Got it?”

Pink breaks the silence that follows with a breathy laugh, to which Blue very nearly responds by shooting them a glare of their own, until they continue:

“Well, come on, then!”

What comes next is something of a blur, a tangling and disentangling of so many limbs into and out of so many different positions that Blue can barely keep track, at least not until they’ve already settled down onto the floor — until V is laying back in Pink’s arms, legs spread wide, arms grasping blindly behind him, Yellow to one side, knuckle-deep into his own pussy, and Orange to the other, grinding insistently against V’s plastic torso.

“Blue—”

V’s mouth hangs open on the sound of their name, a sight so captivating that it nearly distracts Blue from the slow, slick grind of his groin against theirs, from the way his tentacle dick begins to curl around their own.

Nearly, but not quite.

“V— V, you—”

But whatever they might have said next is gone in the very instant that follows, as V hooks a knee about their waist and pulls them in by force, utterly obliterated by the sensation of V’s slick, tight heat as their cock finally sinks into that strange new entrance between his legs.

“God— God, please—”

It’s Orange who pulls V into a kiss this time, turning his head just enough to capture V’s lips between his teeth, and, if only for a moment, some other unidentifiable emotion — something jealous, something possessive, something ugly — blooms somewhere deep in Blue’s chest... But it’s a moment that soon passes, withering away with the sensation of V clenching down on their cock, with the sound of his every little moan between every hitched breath, and all they can think to do now is to press forward as they pump into V’s pussy, as they kiss and suck and bite at what should be the skin of V’s neck.

And yet — the salty tang of sweat-soaked flesh isn’t quite there, is it? The downy texture beneath their tongue, the feather-light beat of a pulse beneath their teeth... None of it is quite as it should be, is it?

No, none of this is as it should be — is it?

But the uncanniness of it all can’t hold a candle to the way V moves now, to the way he sounds, keening and crying and jerking and bucking, all with such fervor that Blue couldn’t possibly let their mind wander elsewhere even if they wanted it to.

“Please— Please— Fuck—!!”

V’s head rolls back against Pink on an even louder, even sharper cry, one that heralds the shuddering clench of his entire body and even more of that sticky black cum spilling into the tight space between them.

It’s too much; already it’s too much for Blue to take, and they can’t manage even a single word, only a gasping moan as their hips stutter into V, as their own climax washes right over them, crashing through until nothing else remains but the sight, the sound, the very taste and smell of V directly beneath them.

It’s too much... But it’s not enough, is it?

“Please... Please, I... I-I need...”

“Shh.”

Blue presses their lips to V’s neck with soft kisses this time, without any of their earlier urgency, and their softening cock slips free from V’s neo-pussy as their hands work in tandem with Orange’s to shift his position.

“Come on— We’ve got you—”

They murmur just loudly enough to make themselves heard over V’s sobbing, keening pleas, and Pink’s hands now join their own, another tangle of limbs coming together to guide V into Orange’s lap.

“Please— Hh, ahh—”

Slowly, surely, V sinks down onto Orange’s waiting cock, and Blue feels the flooding relief that follows, palpable in the exhalation that escapes his throat, as if it were their own.

“Hngh— God, fuck—”

He needs no further guidance or encouragement to rock down onto Orange’s hips, but Blue can hardly stop themself from giving it to him anyway, seeking out his lips with their own all over again while they wrap a hand around V’s writhing cock.

“Blue—” His voice is barely above a whine now, barely able to form a single word, and yet he struggles on, regardless. “I— F-Fuck, I—”

“Oh, like they get all the credit—”

Pink’s voice cuts in, virtually from out of nowhere — Blue had been so wrapped up in V, in every little piece of him, they’d somehow nearly forgotten — before they press themself up against V’s other side, before they splay one hand over V’s chest and slip down between his legs with the other, reaching in from behind to push two fingers into his pussy, already stretched wide by Orange’s thrusting cock.

The sound he makes then is more like a yowl than anything else, something Blue doesn’t know how to interpret in any other way than a cry of pain. But it’s just as they’re finding the words to scold Pink that V’s entire body shudders and jerks again, again — he’s coming, again, spilling even more black cum from the tip of his lashing cock, from within those glistening folds still wrapped tight, too tight, around Orange’s cock and Pink’s probing fingers.

It’s too much. All of it — the wind-up to yet another climax, and the fall that quickly follows — all of it, all of it... It’s all too much.

And yet... And yet — as Blue watches him, as each of their senses flood overfull with nothing but him — all they can possibly think of now is...

“Hey, why don’t we let Yellow get a turn, yeah?”

Once again, it’s Pink’s voice that shakes Blue from their thoughts. Of course it is; of course, they’re right. Of course. The entire reason they’re all here, after all...

“Here, come on—”

V is utterly pliant beneath their touch, no longer trying even to speak a single coherent word as they shuffle his position once more; he winds up in Orange’s arms this time, his back to Orange’s chest, a high-pitched whine emanating from his throat as his legs splay open and he tugs Yellow in close with impatient hands.

Something aches, then, as he slips just out of Blue’s grasp — something jealous; something ugly; something that’s...

“Hey, Blue... It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

Pink is leaning all but their entire bodily weight against Blue now, one arm winding around them to pull themself even closer while their other hand seeks out one of Blue’s, lips absently sucking and kissing at their neck even as they guide Blue’s fingers to their own wanting, wet folds — even as they keep chattering on all the while.

“Riiight...here.” They nip at a spot on Blue’s shoulder, a playful breath of a laugh chasing their words. “On V... There’s a chip, right about here... Right where I remember dinging that mannequin you asked to borrow from me, that one time... You remember too, right?”

Something in the very pit of Blue’s stomach seems to freeze over, then. Do they remember? Vaguely, the memory starts to take shape at the back of their mind: they had asked Pink for the mannequin, and then...

Why?

Blue shakes their head, trying to bring themself back into the present moment — into a present where V is still here, through some miracle or another, and just within his reach, just within his sight, every part of him drawn taut as Yellow grinds down onto his cock.

“Well?”

“Pink—” Already, it’s slipping away; he can’t let it slip away, not now. “D-Do we have to talk about this now?”

“I’m just wondering...”

“Pink.”

“Ugh, fine.” They say it with a huff, although their exasperation, however real or feigned it may be, is dramatically undercut by the way they keep rocking into Blue’s obliging hand. “We’ll talk about it later. And we’ll talk about how you made me go to all that trouble for you just to end up throwing the stupid thing into the trash yourself. You got that?”

It freezes, and it twists: the sense that Blue has forgotten something of dire, deathly import.

(But you didn’t actually forget, did you? No matter how much you still wish you could have changed your mind.)

“Shut up, Pink—”

With the sort of assertiveness they’re almost never known to display except during this very particular season, Blue takes a firmer hold of Pink and shoves them to the ground, pinning them to the floor just beside V with their own weight, with biting teeth and fast-held hands — and Pink, of course, can only respond with a delighted giggle.

“Alright, alright...!!”

Later. Later; they’ll think about it later. They’ll remember it later, surely, when their head’s a little clearer, when they’re all a little calmer, when the air isn’t quite so thick with sex and pent-up need...

Surely, then, everything will make a little more sense.

Right?

---

Later that night, Blue wakes to the sound of violent retching from another room.

It takes a long few moments of blinking blearily at their immediate surroundings, almost entirely dark but for the others’ soft, multicolored glow, before the circumstances begin to fill themselves back in: they’d found V; they’d brought him back to their place; they’d all fucked, again, again, again; and, then...

V— Where is he now?

Not here, Blue realizes with increasing alarm, not anywhere to be seen at all in the pile of entangled limbs still beside them on the floor, utterly undisturbed for all that Blue suddenly feels fit to panic. Where could he have gone? Why could he have gone? No, most importantly...

That retching sound, louder this time — realization finally clicks into place, and Blue can’t scramble to their feet quickly enough.

“V—!?”

They find him in the bathroom, barely and haphazardly dressed, hunched over the sink with a shaky grip. There’s a hissing sound, now, too soft to be running water, too loud to be anything else their frantic mind can think to identify.

“V...” Blue lingers at the doorway, hesitant, unsure if their presence in this moment will do more to help or to hurt. “Are you—”

“Stop.”

That single word stops them cold, cutting them cleanly off from anything else they might have thought to say. V’s fingers flex, digging into the porcelain with an awful sound, and the fluid yellow-pink mass in his head ripples upwards.

“You...”

He begins to turn, then, just enough to look at Blue from the corner of his good eye — just enough to glare at them with all the venom Blue has ever seen him muster.

“Were you the one who did this to me?”

What?

“V, I...” Their mind races; their mouth starts running before they can even come to understand what it is that they’re saying. “I don’t know what you—”

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid!? Or did you just think I couldn’t fucking hear you!?”

V whirls on them with a sudden, almost violent alacrity, leaving Blue scarcely enough room to spot the smears of glistening black upon his lips before they realize there’s another eye staring right at them — and another, and another, suspended in bright, burning red above that roiling, marbled mass.

“This body—” V slams a fist into his own plastic chest as he speaks, again, again. “This fucking joke of a fucking body... The whole fucking reason I’m like this... Did you do this to me!? Did you!?”

Did they?

Blue finds themself caught in the undertow of their own memory, barely able to keep their own head above water long enough to give V anything like a coherent response. The mannequin... The entire reason they’d taken it from Pink... Was this why? Had they, somehow— But how? How, and why?

(You wanted him to live, didn’t you? You wanted to know why. But you were so afraid of the answer that you failed to follow through, and chose instead to forget — didn’t you?)

“V... I-I don’t...” Their voice shakes. What can they even say? “L-Look, I... I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what happened, really, I—”

“Tell me why.”

“What?”

More eyes stretch wide from the darkness, staring down into the very core of Blue’s existence, illuminating a truth that even they don’t know how to reach.

“Tell me why you fucking did this to me!!”

“I—”

(You wanted him to live.)

“Because I wanted to see you again, okay!?” That single truth, cast in burning red light, chokes out from Blue’s throat like their last breath of air. “Because, after what happened to you, I—”

(You needed to apologize. You needed to make things right. You needed to do all the little things you had failed to do, say all the little things you had failed to tell him while he still lived, before it was too late, as if any of it could have changed what he’d done — as if any of it could have changed what was done to him.)

“I-I just needed to—”

“And do you think anyone else wanted this!?” V slams a fist into his chest again, the sound of it too loud, too hollow. “Do you think I wanted this!? All those years— All those fucking years I spent out of my fucking mind, Blue, at the bottom of a goddamn dumpster— Do you have any fucking idea what that was like for me, huh!? Do you have the first fucking clue!?”

(You wanted him to live. But you never once considered what might come after — did you?)

“V— Vi—” There’s an unbearable tightness in their chest, but still, they struggle on; what other choice do they have? “Please, Vi, I’m sorry, I, I-I didn’t know— I-If I’d known, I—”

“But you fucking didn’t, did you!?”

Burning eyes, burning, too many to count, too many to even think of escaping their gaze. When did it get so dark?

“Did you think I’d be better off like this!? Huh!?” There’s something shaking in V’s voice now, something rattling, something sliding out of place from the joints of the world. “Did you really think I’d want to be alive if it meant being stuck like this, if it meant going through even half of what I’ve fucking been through— Did you really fucking think it was better like this!? Did you think ANYTHING in this whole fucking world would have been better off like this, if I weren’t still fucking DEAD!? FUCKING ANSWER ME!!”

Blue’s back hits the wall. Even if their feet weren’t rooted where they stand, they couldn’t possibly hope to flee his wrath now, not like this.

“V-Vi—” They can’t flee, they can’t possibly reason with him now, not like this, and yet, regardless of all else, they reach for him with desperate, shaking hands. “Please, Vi—”

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

With a sharp strike, V knocks their hands away — and as he takes a single step back, raking sharply pointed fingers into his hair, clutching at his face and the jagged edges of his skull, each of those burning red eyes winks out of existence, all at once, all in perfect, absolute unison.

“Don’t—” He speaks hoarsely, without moving his hands from his face. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me, don’t fucking look at me— Don’t ever come near me again. Do you fucking understand me?”

“Vi—”

But he doesn’t give Blue a chance to even try saying anything else before he shoves right past them, stalking swiftly through the darkened room and out through the door, which slams shut with such force that it seems to shake the very foundations beneath their feet.

Blue doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time they feel able to breathe again, before their lungs no longer feel as though they’ve been crushed beneath the tide. Dimly, faintly, they can hear stirring from the other room, a muffled and confused voice or two...but there’s another sound that draws their attention first.

Carefully, cautiously, they step back into the bathroom, just far enough to peer into the sink — just far enough to see the basin spattered in something black.

Glistening, bubbling black: something they can’t even begin to make sense of; something like blood; something like venom; something like acid, hissing as it eats away at the porcelain beneath.

Blue’s head begins to swim all over again. Somewhere, one of the others, at least one of the others is calling their name, but they can’t seem to hear anything at all over that sizzling, burning hiss.

God, what have they done?

#deltarune fic #deltaruined #deltarule34 #deltarune addisons #addison oc #backdoor entries #violet #writing

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that damned Solovey.