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syoddeye · 2 months ago

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cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part three, final part two cw: dubcon, noncon, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome (kind of), endearments, vague/implied first time, grief, guilt, mild body horror, pregnancy mention a/n: many thanks again to the anon who originally suggested this. part one | part two | masterlist 🦢

The lake is choppy the day John marries you, its surface churned by a coming storm.

Cold water laps at your ankles, bare feet numb in the shallows. The hem of your dress drinks deep from the surface. Soaking up what memories it can before you're further bound to man.

John says marriage is sacred, unbreakable. A higher purpose. It's a slap in the face to what you lost.

The nameless friend he brought stands smirking between you, reciting empty words. Invoking a god you do not recognize, but curse all the same. You answer only when John squeezes your hands. The veil, stitched from your ruin, is a mockery. A whisper-thin shield.

John lifts it with reverence, eyes bluer with the lake beside him, darkening at the edges where clouds gather. He looks at you the way he did that night. Hungry and triumphant.

After slipping a thin gold band on your finger, he kisses you, deepening it until his friend chuckles. Holds your face as if you are delicate and cherished. And for one fleeting second, you hate him less for it.

But when his lips leave yours, you feel it. That hollow space. The sore spots between your shoulder blades. A rift not easily mended.

His friend claps him on the shoulder, bids you both well, and winks as John steals another kiss.

Thunder rolls over the water, threading through and shaking the trees in warning. You doubt he hears it that way. To him, it's nothing but weather.

The first drops hit before you reach the cabin, cool pinpricks that swell into a downpour. John's grip tightens, tugging you along as the storm swallows you both. He laughs as you stumble inside, slamming the door behind him, bracing against it like you've outrun something wicked.

His laughter fades as his eyes rake over you. Your dress clinging, veil slick to your skull. Shivering. He watches for a breath too long before turning toward the hearth.

"Strip," he says, kneeling to coax the fire back to life. "You'll catch your death."

He tells you he overspent on dinner, whatever that means.

The honeycomb drips viscous gold, pooling in the flat of a salted biscuit before spilling over your lips. John hums, pleased, pressing the next bite to your mouth. You chew, tasting the wildflowers.

His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, solid and warm, still slightly damp. Tracing whorls of hair with your eyes. His arm is heavy around you, holding you firm in his lap, as if you might slip away between bites. He feeds you another, thumb brushing your lips.

With the fire and rain pattering the roof, it's almost tolerable. Nice.

Then his fingers bump against your lips, sticky and insistent. The last of the honey, scooped up and offered. You hesitate. He does not. Two fingers slip past your lips, pressing sweet and heavy against your tongue.

You suck them clean, head buzzing as he pets your tongue. Their rhythmic draw over the muscle elicits a ghostly tug at your nethers. A string of spit breaks and splatters on your breasts when he extracts them. He gathers it as he did the honey, then drags them between your legs.

Outside, the storm howls. The cabin groans under the wind, trees clawing at its walls. Rain batters the roof, thunder cracks, lightning splits the dark.

He puts you on your back. It's only proper, he says as he climbs over you, for a man to first lie with his woman this way. Separates them from the animal.

You don't bother pointing out that it's foolish, him justifying his acts. That you expect him to do whatever he damn well pleases.

Your tongue stays fastened to the roof of your mouth, holding back words that wouldn't change a thing. Self-loathing leaking out with every pulse of your puffy, needy cunt, your feathers soaked from his attentions.

What a creature he's reduced you to.

You go rigid when it's clear he's done playing around, that there will be no more easing you into it. You fold your arms tight, the same as when he sets down a plate of something unappetizing and expects gratitude.

John merely exhales through his nose, a near-silent huff, and keeps on. He grabs an ankle, yanking you closer with an unbroken focus. Your display is nothing more than a child's sulk.

"This was meant to be, honey," he muses, tucking his hands under your knees and opening them. "You and me, right here."

A heavy, hot weight slots into the crease of your thigh, and your head jerks up, unable to stop yourself from looking. It's flushed, redder than you imagined. Thicker, too. Crowned with a thatch of coarse, wiry hair that looks like it'll pull at your feathers.

He strokes himself, fist tight enough to push pearls from the tip, dribbling them over your swollen clit. You shudder, torn between repulsion and enthrallment, each equally strong and disorienting.

John licks his lip. "Arms around me."

You hug yourself tighter on instinct now that you've seen, up close, what he intends to shove inside you. He bristles.

"Fine. Be difficult."

Surprisingly, he doesn't force the issue, but—

"No matter how you deny it or fight it, this is where you belong." His jaw clenches, fingers flexing on your hips like he's barely keeping himself together, thumb pressing a shade too firmly into your skin. Like the fact of finally having you underneath him is almost too much. "Me and you. Me and my wife."

He nudges your lips apart with his length, exposing the core of your heat to it, and glides through until you're squirming. He keeps bumping your clit, purposely nudging the rim he worked open by the fireside. Then it catches for real, and the head alone makes you dizzy. Much bigger than his fingers. A blunter, harsher pressure.

You fought him on that third finger, back on his lap. You regret it now.

When he starts to push in, you picture egrets skewering fish. Impalement. Gasping, wide-eyed, and belly-up. Your arms fly open, startling a laugh out of him, abruptly cutting into a grunt as your nails sink deep into his furry chest.

John exhales hard through his nose, adjusting his grip, palms slick with sweat as he pulls at your hips. "Hell's sake, Shy," he mutters, voice threaded with frustration, but he tamps it down quick, replacing it with something softer and meant to soothe.

A hand lifts, and his thumb strokes over the hinge of your jaw, coaxing it loose. You're tense all over. His eyes are darker now, a thin ring of blue around the black swell of his pupils. The coldest part of the lake, where the light can't reach.

"Ain't doin' yourself any favors, it'll feel good, promise," he says, bracing an arm beside your head. Crushing your chest with his for another kiss. "Relax."

A deafening crack of lightning follows his words. A tree could come down on the cabin right this second, but he wouldn't even blink. Nothing would draw his attention away. That's obvious when he raises slightly and starts again with renewed purpose.

"John," His name cast as a lifeline. Desperate, grasping. "Too big."

"You're alright," he grits out, voice tight, breath uneven. His cheeks, florid beneath his whiskers, lift in a grin when he takes another inch. "That's a girl."

You hiss angrily, spitting mad. Pinned and helpless. Humiliated even as your heels jam into the small of his back.

It keeps doing that, your body. Moving of its own accord, traitorous thing. Clinging when it should let go, leaning in when it should recoil. Caught between the urge to shove him off and the quiet, irksome need to let him in deep.

In, in, in. Your head presses into the pillow beneath it, mouth falling open as he makes a place for himself in your body.

The pain blurs at the edges, numbing into something almost unrecognizable. No, unfathomable. A creeping, repugnant pleasure germinates where his cock drags. And just when your toes start to curl, coming around to the idea of it, to acceptance—he stops.

Confusion fizzes and pops between your ears, leaking steadily through the sieve he's punched in your skull. You slur the beginnings of a question, but the words sharpen, solidifying when he withdraws too suddenly. Something within stirs, sensing his intent, desperate to intervene.

"S-Said you'd take care of me," you choke out. "Be nice. Be nice."

John falters, swallowing hard. He stares down at you, so intensely you think he'll lash out, every bit of him flexed.

"This you saying you'll behave?"

You don't answer right away, breath hitching when his thumb drags over your ribs, just shy of tender.

"Well?" His patience draws taut over the word, a fraying thread poised to snap like his hips. "Say it, honey."

There's but one answer he'll accept.

"Yes," you lick your lips. "Yes, John. Please."

He waits a moment, waiting for you to take it back, then tests: "Arms around me."

This time, you oblige.

How kindly he keeps this promise. The minute shake in his arm from the restraint he shows from not simply barging in. Sweat sluices over the swell of his bicep, tracing the ridges of muscle and the veins pulsing beneath the hair on his arm.

His eyes brighten—just barely. A flicker of tenderness, the same glint you've caught in stolen moments. The longing he's kept at arm's length, from across the table, from the beam outside the cabin, from the doorway. Burned into the back of your neck at night where he confesses but never apologizes.

This time, he unhurriedly feeds you his cock again, bottoming out with a groan, and rubs a circle into your hip.

"This is where you belong," He echoes, half-growling the sentiment with a grind that has you noiselessly pulling him closer. "Not in the muck, not in the grass. Bet you were a pretty thing with wings, but as a woman?"

John doesn't finish the thought, instead fixing his gaze to where you're stretched around him, silently deeming you acclimated. He kept his word, now to keep the others. It's like he said—he'll teach you every little thing you need to know. He'll make it good.

You're not naive about what's happening when he begins to move. Apart from the men you've spied on, you've seen wild animals. But knowing doesn't stop your breath from catching in your throat or the moans that follow.

Noises indecent enough to heat your face, each languid thrust finding its mark. They'd scald you with white-hot shame if emptiness didn't seem so awful a notion now. His cock jerks at a particularly sweet sound that stutters and skips like a stone over water and ends with his name on a sigh.

His fingers dig in, guiding the roll of your pelvis to meet his, grunting out filth. How wet you are, how right you feel.

"Don't even understand what you do to me, do you?"

You don't. Haven't since you arrived. It's still a mystery why he chose your dress from the dozen on the shore. Surely, he hadn't known it was yours. Hadn't picked you especially, hadn't spied you before—your mind severs the thought at the root, a little hysterically.

John switches arms, planting the other elbow beside your head to bear his weight. The other disappears, but you don't follow its path. His breath grows rough, eyes half-lidded and weighted with devotion and its twin. He picks up the pace, rolling his hips harder, bludgeoning his thick cock into you with urgency.

He surprises you by wedging his hand between your bodies, trapping it on the feathered slope of your cunt. He thumbs your pearled clit, stroking over it in tight circles. It makes you clench down greedily, rewarding you with a roll of his eyes and flash of gritted teeth.

It's—He's—

You've no point of reference for this turmoil.

The closest thing is the storm outside, wild and unrelenting. Rain pelting the earth, flooding the soil, swelling the lake beyond its banks. A force that drowns and nourishes in equal measure, tangling ruin and rebirth.

And under your skin, your blood simmers into a rolling boil. It spreads, curling through every inch, pooling under your navel and tightening.

"Give it, honey. C'mon, can feel it," He rasps, punctuating his demands with an ungentle grind of his cock and a quick succession of firm pats to your clit. "C'mon, on my cock, now, Shy."

You don't fight him, but you don't make it easy either.

When you come, euphoria wrestles with doubt. A current that sweeps you away from him, tumbling hard and fast, only to throw you back, gasping for air. And through it all, John's voice, steady as the shore.

"That's it," he rasps, preening, "Knew you had it in you. My good girl."

Your vision returns in fragments, palms sliding from his shoulders, falling limp to either side of your head. He's still moving, the lewd slap of flesh on flesh and squelching loud in your ears. He's fully abandoned his earlier pledge, any pretense erased. Rutting and battering your walls with a singular goal. Exploiting how you've unraveled beneath him. Gives him the perfect excuse to unleash weeks of pent-up frustration, you think hazily.

He bears down on you when he gets close, breath heaving against your neck, your forehead. Chasing his release with such an effort, part of you understands why he must've played the waiting game with you. He's saved his fury, all of it, for this.

John finally follows with a prolonged groan, head tilted back, sinking to the hilt to spill deep. Cheek to cheek, whiskers scraping and sopping up stray tears. Shuddering above you, crushing until your ankles unhook from his back. Until the tension bleeds out of him, freeing him to move. Sated at last.

He lifts enough to press a lingering kiss to your temple, his eyes tiredly twinkling as he drinks in whatever stupefied expression you must be wearing. Then, with a sigh, he finds your mouth.

"Did so good, honey," he murmurs, "Knew you'd be perfect."

He lies with you for a couple minutes, humming at how you tremble around his softening cock as it drags out of you. Pulling out spend which he gingerly pushes back in, mouth twitching at the quivering of your thighs. He stands, wipes his hand on his flank, then staggers away, knees popping, to fetch a towel.

He cleans his excess spend from your thighs and lips, then tends carefully to your feathers. Though in the lantern light, it's as if a different veil has been lifted. All you have is the aftermath.

A belly full of cum. Finger-shaped bruises. A fierce ache. The spell breaks, and whatever idea of romance you had vanishes.

He stole your dress. Plucked and stripped you of your feathers, offering no alternative but the cage of his arms. Earthbound and alone, save for him. You're not yourself and never will be again.

Outside, the night hangs unnaturally still. You know it's a false hope. That this is just the eye of the storm.

When John crawls back into bed, his hand finds your stomach. He murmurs about the future—how fine a wife you'll become, how fine a mother you'll be.

His breath stirs your hair as he chuckles.

What'll it be, honey? A baby or an egg?

You nearly break apart all over again.

Babies. Cygnets. You don't know if it's possible. This union, this wretched coupling, is the first of its kind that you know of.

But from how he takes you again in the morning, nesting within you until he softens, if there is one man who could make it happen—

It's John.

You don't know what you want. Maybe you never did. The thought of leaving gnaws at you in the quiet moments when the fire is low and John's asleep, one heavy arm slung over your waist.

You could slip away. You could try.

But then what?

The forest is vast. The lake depressingly empty. The town full of strangers. And you are neither swan nor woman, not truly. There's no going back to your sisters, no wings to carry you home, wherever that is now. And even if there were—would you take them?

Would you abandon the warmth of his hands, the way he looks at you like you belong to him, like you belong somewhere at all? More precious than the matching gold on your fingers or the money hidden beneath a floorboard.

The guilt coils tight, constricts your ribs. You shouldn't hesitate. Shouldn't find comfort in the rough edges of this man, in the way he steadies you, feeds you, calls you honey and darling like he means it.

He stole from you. He broke you open and reshaped you into something else that fits into his world, not yours. He doesn't even know your true name.

And yet, when his fingers trace lazy circles against your skin, when he murmurs Shy in the dark, you wonder—if you had the choice, would you take it?

It's best to tuck away your past life. Fold it like the lace in the trunk beneath your marriage bed. Shove it into a dark corner and relegate it to a memory to take out on rare occasions, softened with time. Best to recall the sweetness and not let the bitter ruin it.

Months later, you wake from a nap and find feathers strewn across the bed. Your heart stops.

With a trembling hand, you reach for the small of your back, and feel smooth, bare skin.

A wail rises in your throat, but then a tiny kick flutters deep in your belly.

You swallow the grief.

#john price x reader #price x reader #i agonized over the tags so please dm me if i missed one or if you think i ought to add something. thank you!

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holybibly · 9 months ago

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As much as I love my sugar bunnies, I can't leave you empty-handed before my trip. So enjoy the preview of my new ff for Seonghwa. I love you, my darlings.

𝔙𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔩

Mafia!au Alpha Seonghwa x Omega reader

"I think that you should take a little more time off from work, Hwa. If you go on like this, I'm very much in doubt that you'll be able to tie any Omegas with your knot. Aren't you worried that you're going to leave all those sweet, horny babies needy and unfulfilled, daddy?" Hongjoong soberly chuckled as he turned his amberish feline eyes to the gorgeous dark-haired Alpha beside him. There was a hint of mockery in his seductively purring voice.

"Oh, my sweet Joongie, you're so worried about that, I could think you're desperate to ride on my knot too. But you're working so hard too. Aren't you? When was the last time you tied a nice omega yourself?" Seonghwa said as he walked out of his office, which was located on the top floor of a luxurious, high-class brothel.

It was an exquisite establishment for Seoul's chosen elite, full of the most beautiful and fertile Omegas with luscious, sexy bodies and submissive, soft dispositions. Seonghwa would never settle for anything less than the most beautiful and luxurious.

Pulling a black glove made of soft Iberian leather over his long fingers, Seonghwa was walking down the dark corridor that led to the common room when a tantalising scent hit him in the face. It was barely perceptible—just a soft sensuality—but Seonghwa felt as if the scent had taken over his body, making every cell in it tingle and burn and sending goose bumps running up and down his smooth, golden skin.

The Alpha stopped abruptly, practically bumping into Hongjoong, and let his nose wiggle a little, trying to find out where the delicious scent was coming from. All of his Alpha instincts flare up with a strong curiosity. The blood in his veins becomes more viscous and hotter by the second, and saliva starts to collect in his mouth.

'Shit, Seonghwa, what are you...' Seonghwa doesn't let him finish and abruptly cuts him off in the middle of his sentence.

"Can you smell it, Joong? That aroma..." His voice is hoarse and deep, and there is a slight, velvety purr to be heard in between the letters. Seonghwa almost groans as a puff of air brings a new wave of the thick scent to him. A heavy, rich, almost maddening smell—there is something big in it—something sinful, decadent, depraved, but at the same time fresh, pure, and so innocent.

"What's that, Hwa? What do you feel?" Hongjoong's voice is filled with genuine curiosity. He raises a well-groomed eyebrow in question and sinks his teeth into his plump lower lip to keep the grin from spreading across his demonically handsome features. He takes real pleasure in seeing Seonghwa, who is normally so cold and perfect in every way, turn into an excited puppy at the slightest whiff of an unfamiliar scent.

"We have a new Omega in the brothel, don't we?" Seonghwa's voice drops a few octaves, each sound enveloped in a thick, murky sexuality. His breathing becomes heavy and hot, as if he has a fever. Fuck.

"Oh, that..." Hongjoong nods in understanding and now grins openly, revealing the tips of his pointed fangs. "I think it's the new Omega that Yeosang told me about—the cute little thing has just been hired to work here, Hwa. She's probably still waiting in Yeo's office."

Before Hongjoon could finish his sentence, Seonghwa was already halfway to Yeosang's office, the bare, luscious scent of vanilla wafting through the air and seducing him, and Hwa immediately wanted to know whose scent it was.

Seonghwa quietly opens the heavy, oak door leading to one of his assistants' offices and looks inside to finally see the owner of that intoxicating scent.

"You know, you can just have this omega if you want to.'" Hongjoong whispers as he tries to peek over Seonghwa's shoulder to get a better look at the Omega, the scent of which has made his friend so excited.

"Can you just shut your pretty mouth and stay out of my way, Joong?" Seonghwa hissed back irritably as he rolled his beautiful feline eyes on the other alpha before he focused all his attention on the unknown Omega.

Oh, what a little sugar baby you are. You look just too adorable dressed up like a doll in the fluffy pastel-coloured sweater with the open shoulders, the high socks with the satin bows, and the white lacquered Mary Jane shoes with the little gold buckle. You seem completely out of place in the gloomy atmosphere of the office, but you are seductive all the same. There is an inexplicable eroticism about you, like a fragile butterfly caught in the deadly web of a spider. Which was basically true because Seonghwa was the king of the world's dark side, and you fell right into his hands.

Your hair is long and black and shiny like the silk sheets on his bed; he can't see your whole face from his seat, but the contours of your plump cheeks are seductively soft and pink, and your lips are childishly plump and overly sensual. Seonghwa would even call them kissable, but as far as he's concerned, he'd rather bite them bloody and lick them with his tongue than kiss them.

You're clearly nervous; it's all too easy to tell by the way you fidget restlessly in your seat and the slightly bitter notes in your scent, which fills the entire office like fluffy candy floss, sticking to his tongue and leaving a moist, sweet trail on it. Seonghwa can't help but wonder: What could a candy thing like you be doing in a brothel in search of work?

This is definitely not the kind of place he would have in mind for such a delicate Omega. You might look perfect between his legs, with a diamond collar around your swan-like neck and your sweet, glistening lips curled around his cock, but a brothel...

Only the most desperate and needy Omegas seek work in a brothel. And even then, not all of them get the chance to find a place. It's necessary to comply with too many requirements to be able to be just an object of pleasure for the rich Alphas, Betas, and even other Omegas.

His curiosity is aroused even more, as is his excitement. His hard cock tugs at the fabric of his leather trousers, and the knot at the base begins to press slightly, slowly swelling. Fuck, he's no puppy to be so shamefully turned on by your scent alone, but you smell heavenly and look like an angel, and Seonghwa just wants to spoil you in the most depraved and darkest way, and maybe this desire is too strong for his own good.

Something catches your attention, and you turn your head sideways, allowing Seonghwa to finally get a full view of your angelic face. Involuntarily, a small sigh escapes from his throat, his feline eyes darken, his fangs ache to sink into the soft skin of yours, and thick saliva gathers in his mouth.

You're beautiful, a real little angel from the heavens, an exquisite porcelain doll for his pleasure. With a face like that and a scent of pure innocence and sweetness, you could be a gold mine for a brothel. Seonghwa isn't surprised that Yeosang hired you. If even Seonghwa himself wants you so badly, he has no idea how long the queue for you will be.

"Seonghwa, Mingi wants to talk to you." Hongjoong whispers in a low voice, hands a mobile phone to the dark-haired Alpha, and tries not to draw the attention of the Omega to them. Seonghwa closes the door carefully and takes the mobile phone out of the hands of the other Alpha.

"I'm listening...' Seonghwa glances at the Omega for the last time before walking away. He leaves behind his back the rich scent of vanilla and a sweet, angelic face with sugar-sweet lips. There is no doubt that you will be the object of his wet dreams.

Seonghwa had tossed and turned for hours in his luxurious royal bed, unable to sleep. The black silk of the expensive sheets flowed around his body like a surface of water, cooling the excited heat of his bare skin a little. But it did nothing to help him control his feelings and thoughts.

Even after all these hours, he can still clearly hear every seductively innocent note of your intoxicating scent, and he feels as if the bare, viscous sweetness of the vanilla has soaked into his skin and seeped deep into his bones. He almost chokes on it.

With a heavy sigh, Seonghwa leans back against the soft, fluffy cushions, his dark, feline eyes meeting his own reflection in the mirrored ceiling. Even though Seonghwa was hellishly tired, his body categorically refused to relax; every nerve tingled, and his muscles tensed and trembled as if he were in heat. And it's all because of you.

You're such a sweet, voluptuous omega, with a face like an angel, big innocent eyes that literally beg: "Fuck me, Alpha," and the most sinful lips he's ever seen. God, he just can't seem to get you out of his head.

As soon as he covers his gorgeous eyes, the image of your sweet mouth stretching so beautifully around his thick cock appears in his mind and causes his whole body to react in an instant. Seonghwa can feel how his cock is straining once again; the massive velvet length is getting harder by the second, and drops of pre-cum are starting to appear on the dark pink, swollen head.

The Alpha lazily runs his long fingers over his bare chest, hissing from his hypersensitivity, lust burning like poison under his skin. No other Omega in his life has ever been able to interest him in such a way that Seonghwa becomes hard just at the mere thought of her.

And he doesn't know if he hates it or if it just makes him more horny.

You are the very real Miss Pink Sugar, not at all his type, but still, Seonghwa longs to crumble you up between his teeth like a damn shiny lollipop and to devour you without a trace.

The alpha in him purrs with approval at the thought of that.

As he stares at his reflection in the mirror, Hwa can't help but wonder what you would look like if you were lying in his bed with his cock deep inside of you. Your pretty tiny pussy is stretched so deliciously around his thick knot, and your belly is swollen from the huge amount of cum that he is pouring into you. Fuck. Hwa would have marked every millimeter of your soft skin and would have left behind forever the inflamed marks of his teeth, which would have bloomed like bloody flowers on your body.

Your pretty little brain can't even begin to imagine the horrible, dirty things that he would do to you if you were in his presence right now and how much he would teach you.

And he'll be doing that soon.

For him, there is nothing more pleasurable than to corrupt someone's innocence, to turn divine purity into vice and sin—it is his natural instinct for his inner Alpha, one that has appealed to him since the very beginning of his kind. Hwa has never been a gentle Alpha; he has always been one to take what he wants, and you will be no exception.

To be honest, he didn't know what he would do with you once you had stated his hunger and satisfied his Alpha's dark desire. But that was the least of his worries at the moment.

Seonghwa wants to see your lovely, sweet face contorted in pure bliss as he ties you with his knot, your soft, plump cheeks all flushed with shame and wet with tears, and your beautiful mouth sticky and glistening with his cum.

Damn, you're going to look divine. Seonghwa has no doubt about it.

Hwa growls in irritation, turns over in the bed, throws off the silk sheets that are now only a nuisance to him, and reaches for his phone.

"Seonghwa, is there something wrong?" Yeosang's voice is deep and sultry as he answers his call. Seonghwa lets out a grim chuckle, knowing exactly what the gorgeous Alpha is doing right now.

"Why doesn't that surprise me, Sangie, that you're fucking around instead of concentrating on working? Sometimes I have the feeling that you all are an absolute waste of my time and my money, Sangie." Before Yeosang starts talking again, a muffled groan and rustling can be heard on the other side of the phone.

"I can never deny myself the pleasure; you know me as I am, but why are you calling me at such a late hour?"

At such a late hour? Seonghwa looks absent-mindedly at the screen of the phone. It's almost three o'clock in the morning; yes, really late. He's been spending more time in his fantasies than he would like to.

Fuck, he'll just go crazy if you're not in his bed, but he doesn't mind spreading you out on any available surface.

"Never mind. Hongjoong told me that you've hired a new Omega, right?"

"You mean Y/N, don't you? The doll is so gorgeous; it's not at all clear why she decided to work in a brothel, but let's just say it's our luck. I've already got some plans for her. In my opinion, she could be one of our star girls..." Seonghwa doesn't let him finish and rudely interrupts him.

"Sangie, I want you to bring her to me first. Do you understand me?"

"Oh, what do I see? Someone wants to play with the beautiful Omega, eh? Finally, our Seonghwa will have some time to himself. But I'll do whatever your wish is. Just don't break her, OK? She's real gold."

Seonghwa doesn't answer him, but ends the call and throws the phone down on the bed before she leans back onto the silk sheets.

As usual, Hwa will get what he so desperately wants very easily, he just has to wait a little longer.

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namelessgakusei · 7 days ago

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Unknown (Till The End...)

Mark Grayson x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Death and Violence, Gaku's lack of knowledge with guitars

Notes: Gaku actually had a vision about ALNST and Invincible.

Synopsis: You were taken as a performer by the Viltrumites who were fascinated by Humanity's song. Forced to sing to survive, you only hope that your voice will reach him.

"Don't even think this time's enough. Cause you baby still it's not enough. For me alright? Don't leave me, li li da da da."

You hate this.

Forced to perform for these damned aliens just because you have some stage presence. Those homicidal maniacs who only know how to conquer and dominate worlds suddenly got an interest in human entertainment?? What a joke, this must be some kind of twisted torture. Humans are pitted against each other to compete on who'll get the most votes out of their performance, and the loser will get shot to death. The winner? They'll have to sing for another round.

Contestants were treated as pets, stripped of their freedom. Families and friends were torn apart by this system, forced to compete with each other and ultimately become an unwilling accessory to murder. Those who were too mentally weak were easily eliminated, those who rebelled (and subsequently caught) were killed, only those who knew to behave survived, ...or those who had talent, such as yourself.

Not long after the Viltrumites conquered Earth and enacted this sick show, you and some others were taken into a "garden", filled with obviously fake imitations of trees and nature, it's condescending mockery of your home planet. Evey single one of you are required to undergo music classes to improve your skills, and every once a month, all of you are taken to participate in laboratory tests to see your progress. You don't know whose idea was this, but you're sure as hell would want to beat them up.

You had quite the viscous streak, always retaliating and questioning authority, leading to more bruises and injuries than you can count. Pet-Humans, you gagged at the new name, are required to have collars that's used to monitor and as a remote collar. There are some cases of well-behaved humans who are let to live without them, but you? You're never without it, with the light on yours always bright red, signaling your negative feelings.

Surprisingly, it takes three Viltrumites to restrain you, granted, they were really holding back their strength as to not damage you too much. You spat at them once upon being referred to as less than human, and it earned you a concussion that left you bedridden for at least a week. It hurt like hell.

Due to your personality, the other humans steered clear of you in fear of being involved with the punishments, it didn't stopped the younger ones from constantly swarming around you though, insisting you sing for them. Despite your disposition, you wanted to make them happy so you obliged, at least for the couple more years that they get to live before they're forced to the stage.

You were... a decent singer, if you would say so yourself. You watched performances here and there back in Earth, watched theatre once or twice and sung along their songs, but you never performed by yourself, so it was a mystery that you were picked alongside the others to survive as entertainment. You overheard some of them talk about potential or talent but you call bullshit, until you saw yourself easily composing songs that secured your spot as the winner during the weekly tests. Ah, shit.

Sometimes, you think about your past as you sat by the fake river in the false garden. Your friends and family that you hadn't saw since you got abducted. Did they survived? Hopefully. There should still be heroes fighting for the sake of Humanity back there, right? There's Atom Eve, The GDA, Invincible...

You miss Mark. You hope he's not blaming and beating himself up because of this. You know he's a Viltrumite, everyone knows at this point, but you knew him beyond that. You know him as both Mark Grayson and Invincible. And you know that he's probably fighting tooth and nail to retrieve the humans that his kind... No, that his father's kind kidnapped.

That thought kept you going, kept you alive throughout the punishments and torture you get from fighting the guards and system. The thought that he'll be coming for you kept you sane from the abuse.

Until you saw a glimpse of him within the spectators.

It took a while, but the results for the humans who passed the tests came out. Those who pass will compete on the stage, those who didn't were either given away for other purposes or burnt to death. You opened your hands and a light-blue light crackled to life, showing "PASSED". You survive for another day in this hellscape.

You were sent to the fitting room to get dolled up for the photoshoot and promotional events, all while being restrained with wires and alien machinery to keep you in place. That didn't stopped you from flipping the Viltrumites off when it's time to show off alongside the other chosen contestants. That's when you saw Mark.

He's blended in the crowd, face notably exhausted, with dark spots visible under his eyes. His eyes followed your form until you disappear back in the backstage. What the hell? He's here? He's here! Mark's here! That means that this will all be over soon, right?

The first round happened without any repercussions. You saw in your capsule how it rolled out, it was a duet between two lovers. You heard that they plan to make it a tie so no one gets eliminated. You didn't had the heart to tell them that it won't work, opting to have them have hope until the very end. Your suspicions were confirmed later on, as one of them just got shot on the neck, traumatizing their competitor. Your eyes landed to meet Mark's, he's in a Viltrumite uniform, with a downcast expression, like he has given up.

You grit your teeth.

Your round comes after. Making an appearance in Round Two, you were pitted against one of your acquaintances back in the garden. You two weren't particularly closed and you thanked whoever made the teams for that. As the elevator rises up, you mentally prepared yourself for the public retaliation.

Suddenly strumming a particular loud chord, you caught the attention of both your opponent and the crowd, Mark included. You don't know what happened, how it happened, just that Mark looks like shit. You step to the center of the stage, your restraints trailing behind you as you glared at everyone.

"Come on!"

You sang an original song, not the one that was agreed upon a few hours prior. Your competitor tried to keep up with the unfamiliar tune but you kept singing over him, even attacking to prevent any chances of him winning. It was a dirty move, but it resulted in your win nonetheless.

You only grinned at Mark's direction, happy that you got your point across while you got pinned to the ground by the guards, before forcefully shoved back to your capsule. You closed your eyes as you bled from your head injury from getting slammed too hard.

Mark stares at you from the audience, expression unreadable but a flicker of defiance was seen for a second.

#invincible #mark grayson #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #gaku's works!#invincible x alien stage

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aayakashii · 13 days ago

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Small yandere yuri blurb. He's a dramatic little cry baby and I just wanted to amp it up a bit

Tw: yandere behavior, kidnapping, minor self-harm, obsessive thoughts, a little suggestive. MDNI.

Sickness, a rotten and sweet thing, burns inside Yuri's chest. Like whiskey clawing its way down on his throat, scorching everything on its way as it spreads down on his stomach.

Yuri fucking hates whiskey.

His surroundings are muted. There is only the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, the sound of blood rushing too fast in his veins as his heart pumps it in a merciless rhythm.

Yuri is an old friend to rage. He's felt it countless times – the searing red that covers his vision when something doesn't go the way he wanted; the shivers that lick up his spine when it all becomes too much, too humiliating, too unfair.

Still, he's surprised that his body is able to hold the amount of anger he feels right now. It feels larger than himself; this poisonous, viscous gunk that drenches his organs in mindless rage. At any moment, it might all burst through his pores and leave him in a heap of red fury on the floor.

"This isn't normal", his own rationality whispers, but it falls on deaf ears. He'd accepted these shadows far too long ago.

Yuri's hands twitch, and he curls them in fists until his blunt nails manage to open his skin and draw his own blood. Crimson little droplets surface on his skin and he inhales sharply.

That's better.

He focuses his mind on his self-inflicted pain and his heart slows down. For a moment, he stops thinking about opening your chest cavity and inserting himself inside your ribcage, nestling right beside your beating heart, just so you can never get rid of him, never leave him alone, never trade him for anyone else.

So you can never do what you're doing right now ever again.

Yuri bites his lips and blinks his eyes fast, trying to keep himself from shedding the tears that threaten to spill. He's not sure what he feels anymore. Is it anger, is it anguish? Deep down, he knows it's pure, unbridled jealousy yet his pride holds him back from ever admitting it.

His eyes hurt, pressure building right behind them, and his throat constricts – invisible hands choking the life out of his lungs, making a mockery of him as he watches your hands playfully pat someone else's back.

The gears in his mind begin turning. The idea of locking you up in his laboratory suddenly seems appealing. He could find a way to deal with the consequences of your disappearance later, just like he always finds a way out of his problems – whether it is by blaming others or merely avoiding responsibilities.

He could think about it after crossing that bridge.

Still, he gently crafts excuses for his plan: you would have everything. Food, water, clothes, and all the comfort aproper dorm can offer (not that pitiful, crumbling building). And not to mention: his presence.

In return, all Yuri asks is for unwavering attention. Dedication. Devotion. Is that such a hard bargain to drive? Being exclusively his as a payment for a dignified life.

He wouldn't even mind delving into the role of teacher every single day of his life. He would teach you how to appease him, how to touch him until his thirst has been quenched; until this insistent flame of despair has been snuffed by your fingers.

Yuri seethes, teeth fiercely biting the cracked skin of his lips, as he fantasizes about this perfect dream, in which he's coddled and cosseted – a dream in which he's the only one in your eyes.

Yuri seethes, as harsh reality plays in front of his eyes: as he watches you enjoying your time mingling with other ghouls, with other people that think they're better than him, more worthy than him, less pathetic than him.

Other people. Not him.

"Why?", he asks himself with a choked sob, biting his fist until the pain once again dries his tears. What did he do wrong? Isn't he so useful? Isn't he smart and knowledgeable and more of an asset than any other ghoul around? Sure, maybe he's lacking in the physical department, but he fiercely believes in brains before brawns. Then why? Why do you hate him so? Why do you always choose someone else over him?

He thinks back to the basement of his laboratory.

Maybe, just maybe, if he steals you away from the world, he could stop feeling like he's near his death every time he sees you smiling at someone else, touching someone else, looking at someone else.

At this point, he figures, it's a matter of health; of self-protection: dying every time he's not able to breathe the same air as you can't be good for his body. Who knows what awful consequences to his physical integrity this could have? He's not willing to dive into this research.

All he knows is to covet, to envy – to be jealous. He needs you to be his and his alone.

And Yuri was never properly taught how to share.

#tokyo debunker #I know this one will probably flop but I'm just trying to get the creative juices flowing again :')#yuri isami #yandere tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #yandere x reader

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rius-cave · 5 months ago

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Lucifer: *Crafting the most creative and hurtful insult ever known*

Adam looking down at him: You're so short. Lol.

Adam used viscous mockery. It's super effective.

Adam just DMs this image to Lucifer every day from Heaven change my mind

#hazbin hotel #adam #lucifer #ask

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dobbie-doo · 5 months ago

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˗ˏˋ ꒰ YOUR GENTLE MADNESS꒱ ˎˊ˗ ballader/wanderer

pt I - pt II

Scaramouche loves you - incorrectly, abnormally. As if he were putting out cigarettes and licking burns, breaking your bones and knitting them in his own way..

✧ warnings — singer ! fem ! reader, dark content, stalking, dead (not reader ofc), unhealthy attitude, angst, psychological abuse n some yandere shit . ✧ a/n — I want to portray it not as psychopathological madness, but as selfishness and tenderness in one bottle and control of emotions over actions. On the victim's side, there is a heavy contradiction, doubts and Stockholm syndrome.

Enjoy and be careful reading!

Scaramouche is not one to sacrifice his time, running through the shadows of alleys and trying to be more attentive for the sake of a foolish mortal girl.

Someone inside him laughs sarcastically - a pathetic lie.

This is exactly what the harbinger does. At first, quietly, completely unnoticeably, he watches from afar, being carried away by the color of your eyes, or the shimmering ringing scattering of your voice. Scaramouche catches with his gaze the girl's half-smile, the sliding gait and the heap of unruly hair, braided into (your hairstyle)

You appear every shift in different corners of the island of Narukami and the main city, one way or another near the village of Konda, and for a long time you sing intricate tunes with a fairy-tale flair, while you are showered with mora

The balladeer finds it as pitiful as it is natural, because the ringing of the coins, their shimmer and shine when they are next to your slender legs, dressed in attractive stockings, all merge with your shining skin, your alluring eyes and interesting appearance, with an image worked out to the last detail.

A well-planned show. And one cannot help but notice how you, seemingly opening up to people, while your gaze is just as cold and far from participation, preserve your mystery.

Your little mortal soul sees him for the first time out of the corner of its eye and does not even attach any importance to it. He, leaning against the wall in a large hat and dark clothes, is erased from memory like a haze on the surface of the water. And Scaramouche can no longer deny himself the mischief and get to your hidden essence.

And more to come. He follows on your heels, finds you in all parts of Inazuma.

With each subsequent day, the harbinger appears more often. Now you can't just forget him, and now you allow yourself to watch him back, squinting invitingly as you shower everyone with your beautiful voice, moving to the music on stage. He smiles slyly back, a silvery glint in his gaze. You mistake it for curiosity.

Scaramouche is really trying to be gentle with you. As much as he can.

The lanterns are lit in Inazuma as you finish your song and, to the satisfied hum of the crowd, you gather your mora, disappearing between the houses and exiting the city onto the main path. His voice bounces off the expanses of Teyvat in a dull echo.

"Aren't you afraid of running into a wild kitsune at such a late hour?"

"What? Feel like keeping company?" - You immediately slyly respond to his mockery.

To all the sarcastic comments and stinging reproaches, you willingly echo him in the same way. Puppet laughs to himself: it is so funny that you perceive his words as a challenge.

Y/N…

Your name spills on his tongue like a viscous, bitter molasses.

And it is the only name in his entire life that he will carve into his memory until bloody scars.

Scaramouche is not one to place such a high value on mortals.

However, he understands that he is not so much captivated by your mischievous eyes or your melodious voice, as by all of you.

"I visited Ritou recently," you say casually.

Balladeer of course, knows.

You turn to him and slyly pull the corners of your lips.

Inside, Scaramouche trembles as the sun reflects off the chrysalite of your eyes and illuminates your face as brightly as you illuminate his darkness with a smile.

"I met a guy, he seems nice," he tilts his head in anticipation.

"Nice?" He looks falsely surprised.

"Do you really think so, sunshine?"

You shrug. - "His eyes are beautiful, like amber gold."

"It's stupid to play with fire," Scaramouche exhales into your neck, very close. "And don't even try to disappear, deciding to run away."

"I didn't plan to," you grin, but After a long look from Scaramouche, you add: "Okay, okay, I promise not to run away. Any more instructions?" You ask mockingly.

"Don't let yourself be shared with others."

You roll your eyes. You should take this more seriously, but you're too used to this kind of commanding tone from Scaramouche. You, stupid fox, perceive it as a game that tugs at the strings of your soul.

"And where do you even get the right to be jealous.."

Your feigned indifference and arrogance mix with bright flashes of sympathy and traces of embarrassment on your cheeks. You admit to yourself that you like him - not with a passionate hurricane feeling, on the contrary, routinely, but inevitably. This knowledge brings the harbinger to an exciting saturation.

He creeps up on all the bolts of your soul like a predator, and someone else's sincerity is a sweet poison. Help yourself, my dear demons in the dark. Demons willingly accept and ask for more, only everything suddenly falls out of their hands and bursting at the seams, seeing you with that worthless man. Again.

Wasn't he merciful to you?

Scaramouche takes his eyes, as if he were plucking ripe berries from a bush, and crushes them in his hands, melting this amber gold with his icy rage.

He wrings someone else's neck under the screams of the victim and your frightened look.

He is not one to forgive a mistake.

And despite this, puppet gently cups your face in his palms, leaving bloody streaks on your skin, and says irritably:

"I warned you, didn't I?" You look at him nervously and see nothing but blood stains and cruelty. You can't breathe in or out.

"Oh, so you can't say a word because you feel guilty?" Scaramouche adds caustically. His fingers slowly, almost lovingly stroke your cheeks, but you feel nothing. You yourself seem to be at the bottom, completely lost. You stop feeling your body and are left alone with a visual nightmare and a dry throat.

"I," you exhale with titanic efforts. "got it."

"I won't do it anymore.." You forcefully pull the words out of yourself as if with pliers.

"Ha-ha-ha!" His laughter, sincere, condescending, the kind that happens when a child does stupid things, thereby amusing you. You glance sideways and see behind Scaramouche, the lifeless body of a familiar guy. You feel nausea approaching.

"Don't act like an fool,little one, it doesn't suit you. We both know that I can't trust you anymore." You know, but you don't want to believe it. How could this happen? How could you cross paths with the wrong person. How could you — feel lovestick to him — how?!

Scaramouche brushes your hair away from your face, smearing blood across your skin and staining your hair, and peers into your face with his indigo eyes, which you used to look at so lovingly.

"Don't tell me you felt sick from the sight of blood and someone else's death," He sarcastically pulls and rolls his eyes. — "Forget about him and let's go, you look bad."

And he pulls you like an obedient doll. You are scared of what has fallen on you and chained you, but you are even more horrified by the familiar, harmless tone of the harbinger, as if everything is as before. He is just as kindly sarcastic and playful, and you — caustic and sharp-tongued. A stunning symbiosis.

Only the system was initially flawed - Scaramouche never tried to appear kind.

in the third part it will be… tough, it will be really tough.

@comesatimecomesashadow @anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @ashyashylee

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader

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