Archive of Our Own ^beta

It truly was the thirstiest time of the year.

I slutted my way into the supermarket, drool dripping down my chin and other liquids dripping from elsewhere: the soda can I had subconsciously crushed in my trembling, red-stained hands. Whatever was on these shelves was not my princess, my queen, my damsel in distress; the poor, underpaid teenage retail worker was visibly concerned, and with a small, quavering voice asked, “S-sir are you alright?”

My eyes flashed red, the store lights dimmed, the oppressive of aura of the store grew more and more dark. The teenager cowered as I T-posed all the closer.

“You are hiding her from me,” I spat. The maracas from Kitchen Nightmares jingled softly in the distance. “I will defeat this dragon you call ‘The Manager’ and rescue my true love from the depths of this cesspool’s storage closet, insolent worm.”

He fell to his knees shivering violently. “L-look, sir, you are causing a scene and I- and I have to ask you to leave right n—“

I hovered above him menacingly; the stores lights were all off by now, and a small hurricane had begun to form in the beverage aisle. Lightning flashed briefly, illuminating my scowling face.

“The customer is always right”

The refrigerators detached from the walls, one by one, sending the store’s other patrons screaming and running for the exit. The staff, composed mostly of doormat high schoolers, screamed like little childrens and scampered about in a futile attempt to regain order. They most definitely didnt sign up for this shit.

One of the fridges smashed into the back room of the store. The rush of breezy, ice cold air signified that I had indeed hit the jackpot. My groping hands grasped hold of a shiny red can. Fizzy, fresh and frosty.

And ripe for fucking.

She giggled as I roughly fingered her aluminum can, harshly jerking up on the pull tab, making her m o a n and fizz up. Her crystal clear bodily fluids poured out of her now gaping hole, sticky and wet on the sides of the her hollow metal cylinder.

“Heh did you know when cranberries are ripe, they float?”

The Sprite Cranberry groaned at that horrible soda pun. And then groaned again as my tongue entered her, slurping greedily at her delicious moisture, then slowly trailed down her sides, sucking up the spillage and tasting her cold flesh. Until today, I believed that inanimate objects could not have ahegao.

Eventually, her carbonation couldn’t take it anymore and she exploded from the intensity of the lovemaking, showering her sweet, sweet juices all over my buff, manly chest, and died in my buff, manly arms.

Satisfied, and holding the spent, lifeless body of the Sprite Cranberry, I finally rolled her on her side and glanced at her fine ingredients.

“Carbonated water, citric acid, n— NANI???? NATURAL FLAVOURS???”

I put on three pairs of glasses just to double check and gaped in astonishment as I soon realized the lack of real cranberries.

I was flabbergasted, shocked, wig-snatched. I felt betrayed and shooketh, staring intently at these harsh lies printed in white ink. Then, I finally realized what I must do.

“This bitch empty...”

YEET

Her desecrated corpse bounced down the supermarket’s aisles, before coming to a stop underneath a police officer’s boot. I was arrested for property damage and first degree murder.