I don't care if you don't want me / I'm yours right now
(Price × Reader)
[+18 | Warning: dub-con, drug use (sex pollen), light choking, and a dash of breeding kink]
There he goes again, ricochets between virtue and desire.
"You're too good for me."
"Don't get me wrong, love. You're beautiful."
"But I'm just an old man, I'll bore you to death."
"As if I care." You retorted, "You know me, John. Don't make this difficult for us."
"It's for your own good, (Name)." He smiled, "Someday you'll understand."
You grit your teeth, as you sense his mind is lost in the sea of uncertainty.
It's not a secret that the two of you want each other, just as the skin closing itself over the cut. But his selfishness keeps tearing it apart, leaving a gaping wound between you and him.
You wouldn't care if he didn't love you, but deep in his heart, he did. He still does. And that drives you mad, because there's no reason for him to push you away. Yes, you might come from a different background, but you share the same view as him.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?" You tilted your head, "You said that the government didn't care about trivial things." You leaned forward, as you spoke in a lower tone, "Unless you've already suspected their involvement in this."
He chuckled at you, as he rubbed the nape of his neck. "You know me too well, (Name). It scares me sometimes."
Still, it wasn't enough, as if reading each other's minds isn't something intimate. Something that could only be achieved at the expense of vulnerability. You knew he had read your thoughts, and he knew you've peered into his heart, but he stood there, unmoving, while you begged him to come closer.
You wished you could reach out to him, stretching your hands toward him, but your arms were tied, and your feet planted to the ground. You were bound by the principles, and your inability to hold him pushed you to the point of frustration.
Perhaps it's just a game of play pretend, or maybe it's true that you're not good enough for him. Not smart enough, not pretty enough, and not meek enough. But you weren't born to be a lamb—a creature so sweet, and lovesome. A pretty thing that could put a smile on his face, and a poison in your heart.
When he looked at the other women, your chest would tightened, as bitter tears stung your eyes. It blinded you, as you walked away from the place. Not knowing that his gaze would linger on the door for a while.
This ugly side of you would grow, consuming the trust that you've built for him. You no longer found the use of moral restraint, since it didn't help you get what you wanted.
By the time you saw the unattended vial on the table, it was already too late.
You were never a saint, but you wouldn't be tempted by the devil either. Until Price came to you. Just like John the Baptist, his fate was sealed the moment he refused your kiss. You never wished to be Herod's daughter, but he left you with no choice.
If he wouldn't give you the answer, you'd just have to take it by yourself.
When he downed the whole glass of water you gave him, you simply waited. You waited, until his breath turned heavy, and his stare burned a hole in you.
"What'd you put in the drink?" He hissed.
"Nothing." You replied, "Just a truth serum."
"A truth serum?" He snarled, as he stood up and grabbed you by the collar, "Let me ask you once again. What did you put in my drink?"
"It's called a truth serum," You argued while you glared at him, "Because it'll tell me exactly how you feel about me."
"You foolish girl—"
You didn't have the chance to spat, as he shoved you to the nearest surface. The papers on the table flung down when he pushes everything away, before pressing you down with a kiss.
It's rough and stifling, as he leaves you with no room for breathing. You struggle to hold him off with your hands, trying to slow him down. But your attempt causes him to grunt, before he yanks them away from his chest.
"You wanted this, didn't you?" He growled into your ear, "You want me to ravage you like an animal, don't you? Is that what you really want?"
He wraps his fingers around your throat, rendering your speech into gibberish mess.
"You were wrong about me, sweetheart." He retorted, as he pressed his hip against your clothed core, "I might admire strong women in the field, but if I were a husband, I want my wife to be at home, taking care of our children." He dragged his grip up, and your mouth snapped open as you shouted in pain. "And if you were to be my wife, I'd knock you up every night. Because that's the only way to keep a woman like you by my side."
He chuckles when he feels you shudder under him. He lets go of your jaw, before slipping his hand beneath your pants. Your eyes widen, as he slips his finger between your folds.
"You're wet already?" He mocked, as he rubbed circles on your clit, "I barely even touched you."
"John—" You gasped when he put a pressure against the little bud, "Wait—"
It wasn't your intention to back down, moreover getting a cold feet, but his grasp on your hands tightened, to the point that you thought your bones would snap. You cry out, as you fail to tell him the other choice for the second time.
Though you failed to do it verbally, he soon found it out when a small flacon fell from your pocket.
He brings it up as he inspects the liquid inside, before he murmurs, "It's the antidote, isn't it?" He doesn't need to see how your face changes to confirm his suspicion, "I knew you'd bring one along, you're such a thoughtful girl."
You watch him in shock when he pulls the lid off with his teeth, before pouring out the content to the floor.
"But we won't need it anymore," He sneered as he tossed the bottle aside, "Since I'm not stopping any time soon."
124 notes
·
View notes
I'll go with:
"You win"
"Why should I stay?"
"And what will you do? Run from me?"
It Seems the Devil and I Walked Hand in Hand
300 Followers Event
Warnings: Forced cannibalism, gore, murder, stockholm syndrome
Tags: Alastor x reader, GN reader, yandare, reader goes insane, dead dove do not eat
MDNI
A humid breeze blew through your hair, the putrid stench of Hell carried with it. Somewhere in the distance, something—whatever it may be this time—exploded, prompting usual screams of terror.
But your heart fluttered, eyes fixated on your friend next to you. You sat side by side with them, on a random hilltop the two of you stumbled upon. It was quiet, but barely out of the chaos of the main pentagram.
"What? What is it?" They laughed as they finally called you out on your staring.
You almost swooned as their warm brown eyes met yours. "You just have the prettiest set of eyes in all of Hell, that's all."
You had been so proud of that. So happy about how smooth you were at the delivery. Giddy about the blush that crept onto your friend's face.
The same warm brown eyes—Hell's prettiest, as Alastor so kindly reminded you—stared back at you now.
Unseeing.
Without its owner's head anywhere near.
On a plate placed before you.
Your blood felt like ice as you hung your head low. Unable to think. Unable to feel. Unable to breathe, maybe, you weren't really sure anymore.
"Afraid I might have gotten carried away, dear. I was absolutely starving since you stood me up on our lunch meeting." Alastor's tone was as bright and cheerful as it always was—you could almost argue that it was even happier now. "Of course, I did save you their eyes. I knew how much you just loved them."
He continued on, sighing and swooning about this and that. How it had been a while since he had such a satisfying meal. How it was all thanks to you for leading him to it. How he can't wait to meet more of your friends—if you ever managed to make any after the show he put on for you.
But you sat still, mind unable to comprehend what actually sat in front of you. Alastor might as well have been talking from three rooms away for all you heard from him. His voice almost sounding like it came from underwater, barely able to pierce through the fog in your head.
It was only when the demon who sat across from you stabbed a fork through an eyeball on your plate, did your senses come back. Like a flipped switch, you could hear well again, in time to hear the disgusting squish of the organ, blood and fluids spilling as it was stabbed.
"Don't let it go cold now, my dear. I went through so much trouble to get them intact and still warm for you." Alastor smiled as he sat across you.
One of his elbows rested on the table, hand cradling his cheek as you met his gaze. The gleeful, cold red eyes sickened you much more than the gore he held up. He raised the fork to you. Your friend's eye at the end of it. "Say Aaah~"
You pressed your lips together. Whether to resist the cruel torture, or to keep the bile from coming out, you were unsure.
Like a stubborn child, you shook your head, arms pushing against the table to get up from your seat. Alastor was behind you in seconds, dissolving and rematerializing through shadows faster than you could blink.
"Nuh uh, dearest. We don't waste good food in this Hotel. What would the papers say if they find out we throw away such scarce resource?" He pressed his body against the back of your chair, securing you back at the table with an easy push.
He leaned over your shoulder, long arms reached around you. You stared as his clawed hands planted themselves on the table in front of you, caging you in, framing that horrid plate.
You felt his breath by your ear, that horribly familiar static prickled your skin, before you heard him speak. "You know, I'm starting to think you like how your friends taste."
You swallowed against your dry throat, eyes wide. Every breath you took was shallow as you tried to shake your head only to be met with a mocking laugh.
"No? Come now, why lie, my dear? It's only us here." Alastor leaned closer over you. The heat of his body inescapable. "This is the third friend this month. Even a child would have learned by now."
"I'm all you need, darling. Everyone else is just cattle." His voice distorted as he spoke, a threat, a promise, you knew from experience that he'd deliver on.
Faintly you could feel the weight of metal around your neck. It wasn't physically there, no. After all, it's been a while since you've given him a reason to summon that chain. But it never really ever felt absent, specially at times like this.
You sighed in resignation, and braced yourself for that familiar horrible taste. Your hands clenched into fists on your lap—a sight that delighted the demon behind you.
"You win." You said softly. Numbly, you parted your lips, mind wandering away as you let Alastor slide the fork into your slack mouth. You ignored what it was you were chewing, letting your body function through the motions as you fought to keep your thoughts else were.
You felt a large hand pat your head, bringing you back to the present in time to hear Alastor's praise. "What a good pet you make, my dear."
The plate before you was empty now, Alastor's looming figure having retreated away from your shaking one, back in his seat in front of you.
The horrible rotten taste still lingered in your mouth, but you didn't bother to ask for something to wash it away. You simply stood up, ready to run to your room and force yourself to throw up—again.
"Hm? Running from me now, are we?" Alastor's brows raised as he watched you. "Not that you can, I own you, after all."
You suspected his words were less of a reminder for you, and more on just him loving to say them.
"And why should I stay?" Your words seemed argumentative, but your tone and the hunch of your shoulders were anything but. "I've already finished my punishment."
"I would say it was more of a treat, really. You have no idea how much I wanted to eat those." He laughed, not really minding that you just stared back blankly at him.
"Besides, you've yet to pay me back for leaving me waiting at Rosie's. So come, sit." An invitation to most, an order to you.
So sat you did. You ignored the smudges of blood on the plate still in front of you. You ignored the bitter taste the that lingered in your mouth. You ignored the growing numbness spreading from your chest to the rest of your limbs.
You ignored yourself.
Mindlessly, you nodded along to whatever gossip Alastor had, almost immediately, began sharing with you.
Alastor's hold on you had tightened in the past few months. Not only had he pulled you away from the people at the hotel—you were apparently terribly ill, contagious, but fine under his care—but he had also confiscated your phone and TV.
The window in your room was also simply magicked away. He didn't want you getting any funny ideas of leaving him again, after all.
At first you were fine with it. You had a few books in your room, anyway. But after the first two weeks, you've already finished most of them.
Still, they kept you entertained for a little longer after that; you didn't really mind rereading them—for the fourth time, you think.
But then you had that fight with Alastor. You had asked for your phone back, desperate to know what was going on outside your room. Desperate to listen to your music. Desperate to hear another voice aside from your own.
Alastor merely waved off your concern. He let you keep his radio after all. You could simply listen to him. He talked about current events, and played music, and broadcasted all sorts of screams voices. You didn't need anything else.
He didn't quite take it nicely when you had spat that it wasn't enough.
In the fray that followed, your books were lost. Torn to shreds in seconds.
But no matter, you had thought. You still had some paper, a pencil, some paint. While you weren't the best artist around, you doodled the hours away, anyway. Coloring, sketching, filling out every plain, empty gap on the papers you had.
You were quickly running out of material, though. You'd repeatedly ask Alastor to get you more paper, another pencil, even an eraser, every time he came by. But all he kept saying was that he forgot to fetch some, and that he will surely do so next time.
You were always disappointed, but knew better than to start another fight. You didn't want to risk destroying what little paint you had left, after all.
You had began to doodle on your walls. Counting the little details on the wallpaper, even each and crack along your way. You had drawn everything you ever knew existed; from characters you used to liked when you were alive to a freaking sock on the floor.
The friends he made you eat.
Hastily covered with a drawing of a deer.
By his next visit, Alastor was appalled by the state of your room. He didn't quite appreciate your vandalism. He promptly snapped his fingers and the walls were replaced. Your drawings gone, the wallpaper gone, even the cracks were gone. It was now just a smooth red surface.
He had taken away the paint, not that there was much left at that point. You thought it was fair anyway, considering you did draw on the walls like an irresponsible child.
You tried cleaning too, just to keep your mind going, your body moving. But no, no, no. Alastor couldn't have his dear friend, and a valued hotel guest, doing such menial labor.
He easily cleaned the room for you, not a speck of dust left. Barely any furniture left too—he had found them tacky, apparently.
At that point all you had to look forward to were Alastor's visits. Constant, they were. He insisted he brought you your food personally, of course.
You had been suspicious about what he was feeding you, even once outright questioning what you were eating.
He had laughed. "Unless you made any new friends from this room, I can assure you, you aren't eating any sinners, my dear."
You weren't sure how much his assurance was worth, but food was one of the only two things you actually had here. You didn't feel like giving that up, too.
You hated him. Hated him for keeping you here. Hated him for ignoring all your pleas to be let out.
You hated him, but still found yourself jumping from your bed as soon as you heard the door handle rattle.
You hated him, but him coming to visit meant you had something to do.
The radio by your bed, and Alastor's frequent visits were all you had left.
The isolation was driving you insane, broken only whenever Alastor wanted to.
Alastor was driving you insane, but without him you were completely isolated.
Your sanity felt like a candle burning at both ends, melting far too fast for you to keep it together. You didn't know anymore which torture you preferred. Alastor's presence or absence?
At least, that was a few weeks back.
Because it wasn't like you needed to choose now.
Your food had been appearing on your side table every meal time, instead of coming in carried by the familiar demon.
The radio beside you had been silent for a long while now. Not one terrified scream, not one jazzy tune, not even empty static.
And of course, Alastor himself hadn't come in to see you in weeks.
You think it's been weeks, at least. He took the clock with him last time he cleaned.
No, there was no need to pick your poison anymore. Alastor had chosen for you.
At first, you had been bitter. How dare he ignore you—or did he forget about you? God, no, he wouldn't. Right? —how dare he not even check in to see if you were even still alive.
How dare he not visit.
And then, you were worried. It was one thing for him not to pop in on you, another thing entirely to miss his shows. He'd never miss an opportunity to broadcast fear over Pride Ring, but your radio had been quiet this whole time. What was keeping him, then? Was he hurt? Was he okay?
Then, and you think it was the worst of them all, you started to miss him. From the moment you woke from restless slumber, your eyes fixated on the door handle, begging it to turn. Your chest ached, praying to hear his silly staticy voice again, even if it was just senseless gossip.
You felt like screaming, begging, pounding on the door for him to visit you. But you knew he wouldn't like that. No, if the others in the hotel found out, Alastor would likely never visit you ever again.
So you kept to your bed. Your days spent glaring down at the door in desperation, switching only to the radio to do the same, for hours on end. Every little shift you made, the sheets moving under you, felt so deafeningly loud in the empty room.
It was almost maddening.
"My dear, I have a task for you." Alastor's cheery voice spoke up by your ear.
Your eyes snapped open, greeted by the sight of the demon leaning over your head.
"Nothing too difficult, just a little grocery shopping." He continued on as if he hadn't left you to rot.
You didn't care, nor did you register what his words meant. No, the first thing your body jumped to, your mind went to, was that Alastor was here.
"Al!" The glee in your voice unrestricted as you pushed your sheets away and threw your arms around him. The relief, the absolute refreshment, of feeling another warm body against you again was almost heavenly.
A soft hand patted at your shoulder as he awkwardly stayed there. "Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart." He laughed.
You sat up, eyes wide as you leaned away and took him in. Unmistakably, a very welcomed sight.
He told you about the chore he needed done, truly very simple. Just a literal grocery list. But you held onto every word, every charming staticy syllable falling from his lips as if he was preaching your religion.
You were determined to memorize it all, not just to complete the task but to simply engrave his voice in your head.
You were so thankful to finally hear something other than your creaky bed. To finally be having a conversation again. To feel human.
It hadn't even click for you that you will finally be heading out.
You were quick in getting the task done, determined to get back to Alastor as fast as you could.
You hadn't notice how your skin thawed in the outside heat compared to the icy room you've been locked in. You hadn't paid mind to everyone's greetings around you. You didn't care for all the flashing lights, and tasty smells, and loud music and laughter and screams around you as finished you little assignment.
You wanted to get things done so you could be by the familiar demon again. His presence almost felt like a drug you've been deprived off for so long, that it physically irked you to be away.
And that's how it was from then on.
You were given a new room at the hotel. Alastor had replaced all the books he destroyed because he just felt so guilty. He had also finally remembered to buy you all those papers and art supplies you asked him to get you. And he had even returned your phone and television to you.
Not that you cared for any of those. You've spent most of your time in Alastor's room anyway, unable to stand a second without hearing his voice.
You'd cling onto every word he'd say, attentive, obsessed.
Your eye would twitch every time he'd mention someone, anyone. Part of you irritated that he had spent time with someone else other than you. Even more so that he cared enough to remember their name. To say their name.
Soon you not only clung onto his words, but onto him as well. Unable to stand that others spent time with him when you could not. You'd miss meals, miss sleep, drop whatever you were doing to follow him wherever he went. To stay by Alastor's side.
When he forbade you from doing so, you would follow in secret, or have your own little ways to spy on him. To know what he was doing.
The few times you were away from your owner's side, you could be found standing over a dead sinner. Maybe someone who touched him, maybe someone he mentioned, maybe someone who simply glanced at him for far too long for your liking. Regardless, they were all equally deserving of death in your eyes. How dare they.
Alastor knew of these, of course. And while he was quickly growing suffocated by your constant overbearing presence, he hadn't really bothered to say much.
He still preferred this—this grotesque reflection of his own affections for you—over your defiant little attitude before.
His last straw, however, was now. When you stood over yet another sinner. The light gone from their eyes as you still, repeatedly, shot at their corpse.
The green chain appeared in his clenched fist for the first time in a long while. The collar snapped shut around your neck, but you hadn't even noticed until he gave it a harsh yank.
You were pulled to the side, stumbling over the body by your feet. You looked up, confused, to see Alastor snarling down at you.
"I needed him alive, dear." He said, his annoyance barely kept under control.
"He touched you." You merely replied, as if it was the worst offense, worst sin, in Hell.
"Because we were making a deal, you stupid pest!" Alastor hissed through his teeth, but you merely blinked at him as if you didn't see his point still.
You stood up straighter, keeping your eyes on him. Always on him.
He was so beautiful, so perfect. Everything you needed.
Why had you ever wanted to find anyone more?
"But he still held your hand."
"I'll touch who I want to touch. Do not forget who holds the leash here." His eyes narrowed, chain pulling taught between you.
You smiled at him, loving the way his voice sounded when he was getting angry. It rarely happened now considering how good you were for him, but oh, did it sound like music to you.
Your hands lifted to softly run your hands through the chain by your neck. "You do, of course. I don't question that."
"I need you, Al." You added, soft, almost loving expression on your face as your adored his furious red eyes. "And while I can't force you to stay with me, alone. I can simply just get rid of everyone else. I can be your only one, if I'm the only one left."
"So you've finally flew off the handle, dearest?" His question seemed genuine, not at all in jest.
But you laughed anyway, as if it was the funniest thing ever. "And what if I have?" You grinned at him. "What will you do? Run from me?"
Your fingers gripped the chain suddenly, yanking yourself forward, closer to him. You feel his pull against the chain as well, not to bring you close but simply to keep hold of it. To keep hold of his control over you.
Your eyes lowered, admiring him from up close now. The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes was new, and you couldn't wait to see more new things from him now that you're so devastatingly devoted to him.
"You own me, remember? I'm here forever."
113 notes
·
View notes