#whatever ruffles your feathers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iamactuallysocute · 7 days ago

Note

you’ve got me thinking about so many scenarios now with the saja boys. like what if reader and bird, and the cat/tiger started bonding, and won’t let the any of the boys near her now. which ofc drives the boys crazy which reader takes full advantage of

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER this exact scenario editon

AN: Started with your idea, then flipped the plot a little ;) This is connected to the original assistant!reader series but not canon to it. I KNOW the animals have names but I feel sm better just calling them tiger and bird, so no names will be in this one, except a few times. Just tiger and bird :P also plz tell me if I wrote crow somewhere.

cw: cursing, could be uncomfortable situations for some readers, Stockholm Syndrome developing, sexual themes, me actually writing down “demon dick”

It started, like most of your misfortunes around here, with Baby being a dick.

You don’t know how it happened exactly, maybe he got bored, maybe he just liked the way your skin jumped when feathers brushed your neck unexpectedly, maybe it was just a mood. Either way, Baby got hold of the bird.

He trained it, or more like influenced it, with whatever slick little sugar-poison voice he uses to get what he wants, to divebomb you. Steal your hair ties. Drop little pebbles into your water. One time it literally dragged your sock away mid-nap.

You’d be sitting at the kitchen table, minding your own hostage business, and the next thing you know there’s a feathery blur by your ear and your fucking banana is gone.

Jinu always sighed and said, “Sussie. No.” But it was half-hearted. You could tell even he was impressed sometimes.

And of course, Baby thought it was hilarious. He’d smile with all his teeth, lips barely curled up, watching you wrestle with a bird wearing a tiny hat. He’d hum to himself as the bird ran off with your notes, or your pen, or your peace of mind.

But here’s the thing, you bond with animals.

Always have.

So while the bird spent a good two weeks trying to make your life a nightmare, it started changing. Subtly, at first. It would land near you after a successful theft and just stare. Not looking for praise. Just…waiting. Studying. It noticed when you didn’t scream. When you didn’t chase it down. When you just reached for your backup pen without a care. It didn’t know what to do with that.

Then one day, you fed it a dried mango piece. No big show, no coaxing, no baby voice. Just held it out and waited.

It took it from your fingers, slow. Eyeing you with something like suspicion. It came back the next day. Sat on the coffee table and blinked at you while you peeled an orange. And when Baby told it to go knock your cup over?

It didn’t move.

That silence was delicious. Baby narrowed his eyes. “Sussie.” he said again, warning in his tone.

The bird ruffled its feathers and hopped closer to you instead.

After that, the bird kept hanging around. Close enough that its tiny hat started looking endearing rather than stupid. It picked your shoulder more than Baby’s now. Started bringing you things, too, shiny buttons, a single earring, once even a heart-shaped stone it must’ve dug out of some rooftop garden or one of Romance’s necklaces.

Then there’s the tiger.

You didn’t even try. You didn’t coo at it or offer treats or chase it around the apartment like Romance once did with a laser pointer (a bad idea, he got clawed so hard he couldn’t wear crop tops for a week). You just…acknowledged it.

You’d smile when it entered a room. Move out of the way without comment. Sat near it, not with it, when it chose to lounge near the couch.

And eventually, the tiger started choosing you.

The first time it climbed into your lap, you were shelling sunflower seeds on the balcony, blanket over your legs. It circled twice, and settled with its massive weight pinning your legs numb. It purred, deep and resonant. You didn’t dare move.

You did, however, slowly, carefully, place a seed in front of the bird sitting on the railing.

Balance.

Now, the tiger follows you from room to room. The bird perches on your shoulder, judging everyone and occasionally trying to steal your fruit again.

Baby pretends it doesn’t bother him. But it does. You can tell. Every time the bird ignores his call, or the tiger hisses when he enters the room, his eye twitches just slightly.

Sometimes you whisper, “Traitor.” to the bird, just to tease. It blinks slowly, like Yeah, and what about it?

Jinu watches the whole thing with that serene little smile. Not surprised. Not proud. Just…gentle. Like he always knew you’d bond with them. Like that’s the real reason they’re yours now.

And it’s weird, maybe. Being held here. Being watched, interrogated, occasionally flirted with or ignored or attacked. But you have allies now.

And honestly, at this point? You think they’d kill for you.

Though the tiger, as majestic and celestial and myth-born as it looks, is dumb as bricks.

There’s no other way to say it.

You’re pretty sure if it were capable of stringing thoughts together, they’d sound like, “food now? sleep here? this lap mine? bird annoying. must sit on bird.” It’s all muscle and divine elegance until it walks headfirst into a sliding door. Which it has. Twice. Tail held high the whole time like it meant to do that.

It’ll stare at shadows for hours. Watch lint fall. Try to climb inside laundry baskets and then forget how to get out. One time, it saw its own reflection in the mirror and spent ten whole minutes just pawing at it, purring.

An idiot, really. A glorious, loveable idiot.

But the bird? The bird is smarter than most of the boys.

That bird knows things. It gets things.

And at some point, maybe when you sat on the bathroom floor silently crying while the bird just perched nearby, not leaving, it started to realize the shape of your reality.

The boys, in their beautiful idiocy, had forgotten the most basic rule of kidnapping someone: acknowledge that you fucking kidnapped someone.

They didn’t talk about it. Not once. No mention of how you got there. No apologies. No explanations.

And for the longest time, the bird didn’t know any better.

But the bird is sharp. It noticed things they didn’t.

It noticed the way your shoulders tensed whenever someone blocked the door. The way you never turned your back fully in the kitchen. The way you clutched your toothbrush like a shiv, or kept the steak knife under your pillow. The way you flinched when someone laughed too loud.

The tiger didn’t understand allat. Not really. It just knew when you were sad. It would curl up next to you and make little bleating, wheezing purrs and press its giant head against your leg. It once dropped a sock in your lap and looked so proud you almost cried.

But the bird?

The bird wanted revenge.

It started small. Nothing major. Just tiny fuck-you’s.

Like flying away with Baby’s eyeliner. Perching directly above Romance and shitting precisely as he was taking selfies. Switching Jinu’s calming tea with saltwater. Taking Abby’s gym socks and hiding them in the rice cooker. The only one it didn’t harass daily was Mystery, but only because he didn’t really do anything to you.

They thought it was funny at first.

But it didn’t stop. It escalated.

The moment Baby realized it could unlock his phone? Brutal.

But Jinu wouldn’t let them punish it. Of course not. It was his. Which made them even more mad because they couldn’t yell at him either. Jinu’s soft “hmm?” and gentle hand petting the tiger meant absolutely nothing was getting done.

Meanwhile, the bird would sit on your shoulder, tilting its head just enough to let you know: yeah, I’m doing this for you.

You started letting it perch inside your room. Let it steal Abby’s protein bars and deliver them. You even once cracked open your window and whispered, “Go terrorize Baby for me.”

It came back two hours later with eyeliner all over its wings and one of Baby’s earrings.

And the tiger? Well. The cat didn’t do schemes.

It just loved.

You think that’s what made it dumber than the bird, but somehow sweeter. The tiger didn’t care what kind of tension filled the apartment, or which boy was growling at which. It just found the softest part of any room, flopped belly-up, and let Abby pet it.

It was particularly fond of Jinu’s lap, of course, but once it started sleeping in your bed? Game over.

It was your bed now.

And gods help anyone who tried to move it.

Romance tried once. Just once. Came into your room and tried to slide in beside you.

The tiger hissed so loud it blew out two overhead bulbs.

Romance ran.

After that, you didn’t need to lock your door. The tiger handled everything.

But Abby could flop down next to the tiger, call it “Big Fucker,” and rub its belly with both hands like it was a dog, and the tiger would just melt. Flat on its back, eyes closed, purring.

You didn’t mind at first. Thought it was sweet, even, seeing how gentle Abby got when he was with the tiger. Like it unlocked something in him that wasn’t pure evil. You liked that side of him, quietly.

But things started shifting.

Because even though Abby could pet the tiger’s belly…

The tiger didn’t just tolerate you. It gravitated toward you.

Started sleeping in your bed. Licking your hand. Butting its massive head under your palm until you pet it exactly the way it liked. Following you into the bathroom like you were the only creature in the entire apartment worth monitoring while peeing.

Abby noticed. Of course he did.

“Bro.” he said one day, staring in betrayal as the tiger stood up mid-pet and walked out of his arms to go sit by your feet. “I just gave him a whole-ass fish.”

You shrugged.

It felt good. Just a little. To be chosen.

Jinu, though. Jinu was different.

The tiger had chosen him first. You could see it in the way it curled around his legs when he was thinking, or in the way it listened when he whispered in its ear. He was soft with it. Never used it like a weapon. Never demanded anything. Just offered presence and peace.

And now, with you?

It was the same kind of love.

If Jinu was the beginning of the tiger’s life, you were the second parent in the divorce.

You’d catch Jinu’s eye sometimes. He’d just smile, fond and a little tired.

“He’s spoiled.” he’d murmur, watching the tiger roll onto its back, massive paws in the air, demanding more affection.

You’d nod. “He gets it from your side of the family.”

And Jinu would laugh, quiet and warm, like the two of you were in on something bigger than everyone else.

The bird made no such compromises.

It was yours.

Flat-out, fully, unapologetically. Even when it still technically listened to Jinu—came when he called, perched on his arm when he whistled—it still returned to you.

It started sleeping near your pillow.

Started warning you when someone was coming down the hallway.

Started pulling your sleeve when Baby entered the room.

No more pranks. No more tests. It trusted you now. And anyone who didn’t? Anyone who crossed that line?

The bird would handle them.

It became very clear, very fast, that the animal had picked a side. And it was not the boys’.

It began policing them.

Not overtly. The bird was too clever for that. But it started showing up between you and the others. Not all of them, not all the time, mostly just Romance, Mystery, and Baby. (Especially Baby. That vendetta never quite died.)

They all noticed.

Baby started giving it the look, that sharp, slit-eyed, oh-you-want-to-fucking-go look.

Romance pretended to be heartbroken. Put his hand to his chest, all “Birdy, how could you?” while inching away under its stare.

Mystery just glared at it. The bird glared back. Feathers ruffled, wings spread.

The tiger joined in, eventually.

Not in the same active, devious way.

The tiger started inserting itself, sprawling across doorways whenever someone tried to corner you, laying on your lap when someone tried to sit next to you, curling up on your feet when the boys raised their voices.

It was unmovable.

At one point, Abby came too close during a joke—just a joke, really—and the tiger slowly turned its head and growled.

That shook him. Just enough to step back, hands raised. “Damn, okay, I got it.”

You were being guarded.

Kept.

You’re locked in a penthouse with five demon boys, kidnapped from your job like it was some cute prank, denied freedom, interrogated, and occasionally tortured. You’ve been through shit. You’ve cried silently on tiled floors. You’ve been treated like background noise and still no one’s even acknowledged that you didn’t ask to be here.

So no. You don’t feel bad. Not even a little. The bird became your errand boy. Baby once tried to lock you in the guest room while he “dealt with something” (read: Romance having an emotional meltdown over not being the most popular Saja on TikTok that week), and you just smiled, waited for the door to click shut, and whispered, “Go.”

The bird flew off in an instant.

Thirty seconds later? You were free. Not because you broke out, because the bird had taken the keys right out of Abby’s pocket.

By the time Baby realized, you were already on the balcony, cup of tea in hand, staring out at the skyline.

He stood there, blinking at you like he’d forgotten who held the leash now.

And you just said, “Forgot to lock it better.”

Then you began testing your limits more.

Started walking into the boys’ rooms just to look at things.

Not for revenge. Not for sabotage. Just because you could.

The bird would perch on your shoulder like a little knight, ready to scream at the first sign of resistance. The tiger would trail behind, tail curling around your ankles, utterly unconcerned.

You stepped into Romance’s walk-in closet once and picked up his most dramatic silk shirt. Stared at yourself in the mirror.

He caught you.

Right in the doorway, mouth parted, hand already raised to start his usual flirty bullshit. But then he saw the cat, planted at your feet like a bouncer. And the bird, tilting its head on the top shelf.

He just smiled. “Looking good, angel.”

You didn’t answer. Just walked past him like he was the wallpaper.

And Jinu? Sweet, loser Jinu?

You loved him. Hated that you loved him. He was kind in a way the others weren’t. But he still let this happen. Let them take you. Let them keep you. Prolly planned it first place.

So now, when you walked past him and the tiger followed you instead, tail curling, purring like thunder? You didn’t smile. But you made sure to meet his eyes.

He didn’t say a word. Just looked quietly… wistful. Like someone who realized they were losing custody.

It evolved.

You started using the animals as social armor. Like a literal shield.

And when you were sad, you didn’t cry anymore. You just curled up on your bed. Cat to your left, bird to your right, a pillow behind your head.

You didn’t ask them for comfort. Didn’t need to.

They came anyway.

The bird would bring you shiny things. Screws. Buttons. Random rings from the boys though none of them fit you. The tiger would press itself so close you couldn’t tell where it ended and you began.

While Romance?

He wanted you melting in his arms.

Mystery?

Wanted to be close without touching. Wanted to be inside your head, buried deep.

Baby?

Fuck if he knew what he wanted. He kicked your chair one day. Once stood behind you for twenty silent minutes just breathing like he was working up the courage to insult you.

Abby?

He laughed around you too hard, wrestled the others right in front of you, made a whole show of being the alpha male. But he was a fool for you.

And Jinu?

He’s an actual loser beneath the pretty looks and the perfect little nose.

So yeah, but then, Romance started brushing his teeth before speaking to you. Like a ritual. Mystery started growling less when you were around, which for him was practically a love letter. Abby cleaned up. Dusted things. Accidentally said “please.” Baby not kicking your legs out from under you. Jinu just turned into a bigger loser on the inside, but kept trying to make this better for you, even if you didn’t cooperate.

The animals saw all of it. And they did not approve.

Because you didn’t know.

You didn’t notice. You were busy staying away, surviving. You saw the boys as chaos. As danger. As captors who sometimes made you laugh and sometimes made you ache.

The feelings—the real ones—went under your radar.

But not under the animals’.

When Romance leaned too close? The bird would flap into his face. No warning. No elegance. Just a sudden flutter of feathers and caws that sounded exactly like laughter.

When Abby tried to ask you if you wanted to “maybe watch a movie or whatever” the bird pecked his bicep hard enough to leave a bruise.

When Jinu hovered nearby with something stupidly soft in his eyes, the bird would interrupt him. Or just drop a bottle cap or a coin in your lap so you don’t pay attention to Jinu.

Baby started swearing at it in four different tongues atp.

Mystery tried to lunge at it once. It bit his ear and lived to tell the tale.

The tiger would lie between you and the boys.

Abby once tried to casually sit next to you on the couch. The cat climbed his legs, sat on his chest, and would not move.

Jinu reached for your hand to help you up from the floor. The cat headbutted your knees and knocked you forward into its side instead.

Romance, being Romance, tried to say, “C’mon, angel, don’t you miss male attention?” and got slapped with a tail so hard it knocked his earring out.

Mystery didn’t even try anymore.

It liked Baby until Baby dared to talk to you.

You started noticing, eventually. Little things. The boys standing just a touch farther back. The way they’d hesitate. The way the animals always showed up when things got emotionally warm.

You see, animals feel things.

These animals—your tiger, your bird—didn’t read facial expressions, they read pulses. They didn’t care what someone said, they cared how their blood moved when they said it.

And when it came to the boys?

Well.

There was a lot to feel.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Not to you. You’d gotten used to their bullshit, Romance’s sex-drenched nonsense, Baby’s passive-aggressive jabs, Abby’s jock energy, Mystery’s whole “I will kill for you and then disappear into the walls” thing, and whatever that was going on with Jinu at this point. It all just blurred together.

So you didn’t notice. Not really. But the animals did. They noticed how Romance’s heartbeat spiked when you walked into a room. How Baby’s eyes always drifted your way when he thought no one was looking. How Abby got quieter around you. How Mystery watched you. The longing in Jinu’s eyes.

They noticed all of it.

And they were annoyed.

Because you weren’t interested. Or—more accurately—you were avoiding them.

Smart, honestly. They kidnapped you. They tortured you. They didn’t deserve you. The tiger and the bird agreed. But also? They were sick of how complicated this was getting.

Because you used them. Not maliciously. Just instinctively. Used the tiger as a wall, a buffer. You’d pet his big dumb head while Abby sat three feet away, clearly trying to find a way to say “Hey, I think about kissing you.” Used the bird as a barrier. Let it perch on your shoulder while Baby ranted about “how annoying humans are.” all while stealing glances at your mouth like he wanted to insult you with his tongue.

You built your fortress with fur and feathers.

And it worked. Too well.

The boys couldn’t get close. Not emotionally. Not physically.

So the animals did what any emotionally exhausted roommates would do in this situation:

They turned on you.

Not in a cruel way. They still loved you. Worshipped you, really. But they made an unspoken decision, one cloudy afternoon while you were napping under a sunbeam and the boys were scattered across the living room pretending not to look at you:

They were going to wingman.

It started with the bird.

Because wing. Heh. Get it? Bird and wing. Heh. No? Okay fuck me then.

The bird was smart. Smarter than the boys, probably. And it had watched long enough. It knew Baby was close to blowing his whole “I don’t give a fuck” cover. Knew Romance was a breath away from writing a ten-minute ballad. Knew Jinu was already in love with you and just politely suppressing it like it was a kink he was embarrassed to name.

So the bird started nudging.

You’d sit on the couch and suddenly there was space. The bird wouldn’t perch on your shoulder, it’d go to the windowsill. Leave a gap between you and whoever else was there.

You didn’t notice at first.

But the boys did.

Baby slid into that spot once, acting casual, only to freeze when you didn’t stop him. The bird cawed once, loud and approving, and he nearly passed out from the sheer rush of it.

Romance caught on fast. Of course he did. He followed the bird’s lead. Started showing up wherever you were, but not pushing. Just… hovering. Letting the silence between you stretch, but always being available.

One day, the bird landed on your desk, dropped a hairpin in front of you like a gift, and then pecked the air, once toward you, once toward Romance, then flew off like it had more matchmaking to do.

Romance grinned.

The tiger, bless him, was dumb as rocks if I haven’t said that already.

Not in a way that made him useless. Just… slow. He got the vibes but not the nuance. He’d see you sitting on the floor with your tea, and instead of guarding you like usual, he’d suddenly get up, walk over to Abby, and flop down directly across Abby’s legs, purring.

You figured it was just laziness. The boys figured it was random.

But it wasn’t. It was strategy.

The tiger started “accidentally” leaving you unguarded. Would find other laps to sprawl in. Would go snuggle with Jinu while you were in the kitchen, and then not-so-subtly nudge Jinu toward the counter you were slicing apples at.

One time, the tiger headbutted you so hard you stumbled right into Mystery’s arms.

You were too embarrassed to meet his eyes, but he didn’t move. Just stood there, chest barely rising, holding you.

The bird gave a low whistle from the top of the bookshelf.

Success.

You still didn’t get it. Still thought the boys were just annoying and bored and full of themselves, and sure, yeah, they were.

But they were also soft for you. Desperate in five different flavors.

Romance flirted because it was the only language he knew.

Baby insulted you because sincerity felt like peeling his skin off.

Abby got awkward and loud because being vulnerable wasn’t part of his programming.

Mystery didn’t speak, but his gaze could hollow out gods.

Jinu looked at you like he was waiting for an apology for falling in love. Loser. Loser. Have I said loser?

And the animals were tired of watching them fail.

So now? They interfered.

The bird started timing things.

Like, you’d wake up late and shuffle bleary-eyed into the kitchen, hair a mess, t-shirt barely hanging off your shoulder, and who would already be there, hair perfectly mussed, sweatpants low on his hips, humming like he didn’t spend twenty minutes prepping for this moment?

Romance.

Acting casual, like he didn’t know what time you usually got up. Like the bird didn’t land on his chest that morning and scream until he rolled out of bed and stood in the kitchen waiting.

“Oh hey, angel. Didn’t see you there.”

Sure. Sure, he didn’t.

The bird would then perch on the cabinet and just… watch. Casually. As if to say: Are you gonna offer to share your grapefruit or not, slut?

Romance would usually cave. He always did. Ended up leaning against the counter, peeling segments for you like he wasn’t plotting a second kidnapping, this time to steal your heart.

Then came Abby’s training arc.

The tiger loved Abby. They wrestled constantly. It was honestly cute.

But after the cat started picking you over him more and more, the dumbass man started sulking.

So the tiger changed tactics. Went back to Abby, started play-fighting again, only now? It was instructional. He’d nudge Abby toward you. Literally press his entire dumb weight against Abby’s side until he was leaning awkwardly into your space. It got to the point where you’d be sipping tea and Abby would be hovering six inches from your thigh, face red, like he couldn’t physically move away.

You glanced at him once, eyebrow raised. “You good?”

He panicked. “Tiger’s heavy. I—he’s like gravity. Just—just ignore me.”

You didn’t. You smirked, leaned into it. Let him sweat.

Tiger purred, proud and dumb.

The bird got meaner with Baby.

Because that boy would not get his shit together.

He liked you. He didn’t say it, he insulted you, mostly. Called you names. Acted like your presence was an inconvenience. But the bird knew. Knew by how Baby always looked when you left the room. How quiet he got.

So the bird escalated.

Started sabotaging Baby’s entire life.

Pushed his shampoo off the shelf. Hid his things. Took his makeup brushes and dropped them in your lap like “you fix him.”

Mystery was harder. He didn’t talk. Just blushed sometimes and looked.

But the tiger? The tiger loved him.

Not like Abby-love. No wrestling. Just a weird, quiet affection. They’d sit near each other and stare into the void. Besties.

So one day, when you were curled up in a corner with a book, Mystery watching you from across the room, the tiger just got up, yawned, and walked over to Mystery. Sat down next to him. And then began shoving him toward you.

It was slow. Methodical. Giant nudges of his hip. Every time Mystery tried to readjust, the tiger would just headbutt him again.

You didn’t look up until Mystery was practically pressed to your side, hands curled into fists like he was trying not to implode.

You blinked at him. He blinked back from behind his hair.

The bird whistled from the ceiling, scandalized.

And of course, Jinu.

He needed the most help, surprisingly.

And his animals? His bird, his tiger? They were betrayers.

They picked sides. Yours. Every time.

But even they couldn’t deny Jinu deserved something. Anything.

So they started making moments. The bird would “accidentally” drop your hair tie behind the couch and then screech until Jinu came to help you retrieve it. The tiger would pretend to be sick, lay on the floor groaning, tail twitching, until you and Jinu both had your hands on him at the same time, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder.

But the real win?

One night, you had a nightmare. Not screaming. Just… subtle. A whimper. A shift.

You didn’t wake up alone.

The tiger of course was already there. But the bird? The bird had flown to Jinu’s room. Pecked his face until he woke. Led him to your door. Then flew off.

Jinu didn’t say a word. Just sat on the edge of your bed, hand barely touching your ankle through the blanket, presence warm.

When you woke?

You didn’t even question it.

You just reached for him.

And he stayed.

The animals? They saw the cracks forming. The warmth. The beginning of something real.

You weren’t running from the boys anymore. You were watching them. Smiling, sometimes. Letting your guard down inch by inch.

At first, it was full resistance.

Understandably.

You were taken. Tied up. Questioned. Threatened. Occasionally growled at (Mystery), seduced at (Romance), ignored (Baby), coddled (Jinu), or dragged into gym drills against your will (Abby).

All this was going on, but after a while, it changed. It sure did.

Let’s start with the towel incident.

You were just trying to exist. You stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, one towel. Hair damp, steam still rising off your skin. You were planning to make a quick run to your room, grab your clothes, be invisible. No problem.

Except the tiger was waiting outside the door. Sitting. Like a bouncer.

He blinked up at you, tail wagging lazily, clearly delighted with the sight of you looking human, fresh and flushed and a little vulnerable.

“No.” you told him flatly. “Absolutely not.”

He made a little chirping noise. Then stood. Walked straight to Jinu’s room.

And began pawing the door.

You turned so fast your towel slipped, and you were half-wrestling with it, trying not to flash your whole ass to the hallway, when the door opened and there was Jinu, shirtless, looking dazed.

Tiger shoved past him, headbutted his hip, then trotted back to you.

You just stared at him. “What part of this looks like a good time for socialization?”

Tiger didn’t care. Sat beside you. Tail thumping. Looking at Jinu.

Jinu coughed, clearly trying to look anywhere but directly at your legs. “I—um—I’ll get you a robe?”

You turned and marched to your room. Tiger followed.

It also did this with Romance once, like… three days later.

He stopped in his tracks. His gaze dropped. Saw you. The towel. The death grip on your chest. The tiger beside you wagging its tail.

Romance blinked once. Twice.

“…I love you.” he said.

You slammed the door in his face.

The tiger scratched at the other side.

Another time you were sitting on the floor, playing with the bird (who was dragging a stolen earring across the carpet). The tiger was curled nearby. Abby walked in, sipping a smoothie, mid-conversation with Mystery.

He barely looked at you. Just nodded like a bro. “Sup.”

You nodded back. Fine. Neutral.

The tiger? Not fine. The tiger got up. Walked over. Headbutted Abby so hard he stumbled forward. Right into your space.

He blinked. You blinked.

“I didn’t do that.” he said quickly.

The tiger laid down behind him. Boxed him in. Big paws on either side. Nowhere to go.

You raised an eyebrow. “Trapped?”

Abby rubbed the back of his neck. “He does this sometimes.”

You smirked. “He definitely does.”

You sat like that for twenty minutes. Abby awkward. You amused. The tiger thrilled.

Once, you were on your way to the big bathroom, towel in hand, cat trailing after you.

Until Romance walked out of that said bathroom, dripping wet. Wrapped in a towel that was too low. Hair a mess. Muscles glistening like he moisturizes with fucking coconut oil.

You turned to leave. Immediately.

But the bird screeched at you. Full wingspan out, blocking the way.

Romance blinked at the scene. Slowly. Then smiled, infuriatingly. “Hey, angel. Want the shower next or wanna share?”

You narrowed your eyes at the bird. “This is manipulative.”

It cawed. Unrepentant. Tiger didn’t move. Just smiled.

You walked away anyway. But you heard Romance laughing under his breath.

And now my favorite fact, the tiger thinks Abby is the ideal mate.

In tiger logic, this made sense. Abby was strong, loud, covered in sweat 80% of the time. He gave great belly rubs. Wrestled daily. Brought snacks. He was affectionate. He scratched that perfect itch just above the haunches. He was the best pillow in the apartment. He even kissed the top of tiger’s dumb head once after a workout, and that was it. The tiger was sold. Which meant you should fuck him. Immediately.

So when you were walking down the hall, the tiger slid between your legs, because the fact that you and Abby weren’t rolling around like tiger and his favorite blanket was deeply upsetting to him. So it forced you to grab the nearest thing for balance.

That thing is Abby, coming out of his room in a tank top, completely unaware of the trap.

You crashed into him, full-body.

His hand caught your waist.

You both froze. Inches apart. Breathing hard.

You parted awkwardly. Tripping over words. Betrayed.

Another time, you were in the kitchen, trying to chop onions in peace for a little pasta you were making. Romance walked by in nothing but sweatpants and the ego of a man who knows he looks like sex in bad lighting.

You ignored him, because he was being normal for once.

Until the bird dive-bombed your cutting board, snatched an onion ring, and flies into Romance’s face.

And then—slip. His pants slide just a bit too low.

Just slightly too low.

He grabbed at them, but the damage is done.

You froze.

He froze.

A beat of absolute silence.

Romance coughed, stepped back, voice slightly higher. “This is not how I wanted you to see that.”

You blinked. Slowly. “…You’re not wearing underwear?”

“I was! Sussie did something to the string—! I swear—!”

You sliced another onion, deadpan. “Romance, if your bird ever takes your pants off in my vicinity again, I will genuinely skin you alive.”

The tiger walked by, saw Romance half-naked and flustered, saw you not running, and just purred.

And the bird can be so much worse.

He doesn’t understand shame. Or nudity. Or human social etiquette.

So one night, Jinu freshly out of the shower, hair damp, robe loose, looking absolutely dangerous. You were in the hall, about to turn away, because respect, when the bird slammed into your back and pushes you forward.

Right into Jinu’s chest.

The robe opened a little.

Chest. Abs. A low “Oh—shit, sorry—” from him, all while trying to adjust without flashing you completely.

You tried to stumble back.

The bird blocked you.

Jinu was panicked but gentle, saying “He’s been doing this for days. I—I’m so sorry—do you want me to call him off?”

“I don’t think you can.”

“I really can’t.”

“It’s okay. I’ve seen worse.”

Yeah, that was… awkward.

Don’t even get me started on when you were bending over to tie your shoe.

Baby walked in. He wasn’t expecting you there. You weren’t expecting him. But it happens.

He stared.

You glanced back, casual. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Too fast.

You stood, slow. He was still staring. Eyes flick down. Back up. Red face. Like he’s trying to look away but physically can’t.

Sussie swooped down. Landed on the dresser. Pecked Baby’s crotch.

Right. On. Target.

He flinched. Hard. Then grabbed the bird and stormed off with it to give it a big fucking talk.

Now that I’m telling stories, you and Mystery had a quiet rapport, you didn’t hate him the way you hated the others at first. He didn’t try to touch you. Didn’t speak unless needed. He’d just sit in your radius.

But you hadn’t made any moves. No glances. No flirting.

So the bird forced you to.

Yes, even Mystery got dragged into it. Which was frankly unfair because the man couldn’t even speak in full sentences most days and now he was being cornered into moments with you planned by a bird with a vendetta and a cat with the IQ of a carrot.

One morning, you were heading to the balcony. Coffee in hand, half-asleep. You slid the door open, and the bird flew at your face.

You yelped, dropped the mug, and ducked.

When you looked up, Mystery was right there behind you. Not just close. Pressed to you. His arm shot out to keep you from falling, palm on your waist, mouth just behind your ear.

You both went still. Heat. Breath. Your spine curved like a reflex.

His voice was low. Rough. “You okay?”

You nodded. Too fast. “Sussie’s a dick.”

He didn’t move. “Yes.”

You were sweating. You blamed the coffee. Which you spilled. Which you never cleaned up because you ran.

The bird cackled for two solid minutes.

The animals didn’t understand discomfort. They didn’t recognize that a towel barely hanging off a hip meant anything bad. They didn’t know what erections were. They didn’t know that pushing you chest-first into Mystery’s lap was not okay.

They just saw affection. Saw tension. Saw chemistry and warmth and love, even if none of you could admit it yet.

They didn’t care about the rules of human touch.

They cared that you belonged.

Still took part in your little stunts though, for an example, you’d be sitting on the couch, and Romance would try to get all up in your space with that low voice and hungry stare, all “So, sweetheart, want to sit in my lap while we pick a movie—?”

And you’d snap your fingers.

Bird. Instant.

Lands on Romance’s thigh and pecks his dick.

Hard.

Romance yelps. You sip your tea. The bird preens.

Other times? Tiger plays the long game. Not because he’s smart—he’s not—but because he’s loyal. Which means, if he sees you frowning? Or crossing your arms? Or if anyone raises their voice even slightly near you?

He’s there.

Blocking. Nudging. Sitting on laps that weren’t offering.

Abby once called you “bratty”, and you didn’t even have to say anything, tiger stood up, walked across the room, and pushed Abby into a wall.

No claws. No growl. Just brute, slow, emotional pressure.

Abby’s response: “Okay. Okay, she’s not bratty. She’s lovely. I was wrong. Jesus.”

So yeah, they were still loyal to you, but no doubt that they also enjoyed doing… this, to you and the boys.

Another story incoming, it was a slow afternoon. The boys were lounging in the living room, half-dressed, lazy, complaining about annoying fans, humans in general.

You were sitting on the floor, half-watching them argue over whether or not Mystery had eaten someone recently. You mentioned, offhandedly, “It’s weird how your marks aren’t always visible. When do they even show up?”

Pause.

Romance smiled. “You paying that much attention, angel?”

You did not respond. Because no. You absolutely were not watching the way their bodies lit up violet when they got serious. You were not obsessing over the curling marks down Abby’s spine or the ones that ran from Baby’s jaw to his throat. You were not thinking about the ones on Jinu’s ribs.

No.

Not thinking about it at all.

And then, the bird turned its head. Looked at you. Looked at the boys. Looked down.

It flew across the room and landed square on Abby’s thigh.

Then it started pecking at the waistband of his sweatpants.

The boys went silent.

You choked on air.

The bird made a triumphant caw, grabbed the elastic waistband in its beak, and yanked to show you where else were patterns.

Romance dropped his drink, howled with laughter. The others watched with mouths agape.

The tiger, by the way? In the corner. Smiling. Like he understood exactly zero percent of the conversation but yes yes, this is family time, very good, I love when people scream. He rolled onto his back and started snoring.

The bird did not succeed in full pantsing Abby, unfortunately. (Or fortunately, depending on your trauma levels and whether or not you were ready to see what the demon gymrat was packing.)

Eventually, Jinu pried the bird off and carried it out of the room while it cawed in protest. “Sorry.” he told you gently. “He’s just… like this.”

“No.” you gasped, tears still in your eyes. “Let him cook.”

Jinu did NOT understand what that meant.

I’m carried away with the little stories, so once you were reading. That’s all. Just sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, trying to enjoy a little peace. The tiger was behind you, his big warm bulk nestled against the back of the couch.

He was snoring. You were ignoring him. So far, so good.

Then Romance walked in. Stretching. Fresh out of the shower.

He gave you one of his usual morning, sweetheart purrs and flopped onto the couch behind you.

The tiger lifted his head.

Looked between you and Romance.

Then stood up.

Walked around. Circled twice. And then shoved his giant body behind you—right between you and the couch—forcing you to fall backward. You slammed right into Romance’s chest, book flying.

“Shit—” You tried to sit up.

Romance’s arms went around you on instinct and he laughed into your neck. “Tiger. Buddy. I owe you one.”

You tried to get up. The tiger pushed his paw down on your thigh. Kept you firmly planted in Romance’s lap.

You could feel it.

Yeah. A dick. Under you. An actual demon dick.

Romance’s breath stuttered. His grip tightened. You both froze.

The tiger just yawned. It didn’t give a fuck, if it was capable of that. But what it does have is loyalty. And love. And the kind of warmth that makes Abby say shit like, “I’d literally die for this idiot.”

(Which he said. Once. While scratching the tiger’s belly. The tiger’s leg kicked like a dog. Abby cooed. Everyone else gagged.)

So yeah, it kept happening. Different variations.

Bird dropping your things into Baby’s lap just so that he can hold it in the air while you try to reach it.

Tiger pinning you to the kitchen floor mid-stretch and Jinu walking in right as your ass is perfectly arched.

Bird playing middleman in a game of fetch where the only “fetch” item was your bra (don’t ask).

Tiger shoving Abby forward into you while you were drinking tea, leading to a splash, a tangle of limbs, and somehow a hand on your thigh that didn’t move for a full minute.

Bird placing your hand into Mystery’s.

You stopped questioning it.

Not because it wasn’t weird. It was hella weird. But you started to like it. Started noticing how each boy reacted.

Romance would smirk but get real quiet, like he didn’t want to ruin it.

Abby would blush and joke but keep his hand a little too long on your hip.

Mystery wouldn’t say a word, just breathe slower, closer.

Jinu would help you up, apologize, but his hand would shake a little when he let go.

Baby always cursed under his breath. Acted annoyed. But never looked away. Never left.

Yeah. So this.

From being your tiny rebel army of “fuck these boys” to your two ride-or-die little assistants, your unofficial bodyguards and besties, your only allies…

To this.

You remember when the bird used to scream like a kettle every time one of the boys so much as entered your airspace. When it would nip at fingers, throw things at heads, or squawk aggressively.

You remember when the tiger would lie down in doorways just to block them from approaching. When it used to shove its giant head between you and anyone who got within arm’s length, and just sit there.

And now look at that and where we are now. From keeping the guys away from you to nudging them forward.

You used to count the minutes between interactions. Every word out of their mouths was another slice of evidence: they weren’t normal. They weren’t kind. They weren’t human.

Now you count the beats of silence where they try not to stare.

You count the seconds Romance goes without making a joke when you walk into the room, how long he watches before the cocky mask slips into something earnest. You count the times Jinu passes this and that, saying nothing, eyes too soft for a captor. You count the fucking accidental tenderness in Baby’s insults, how he calls you “brat” like he wants you to call him back. You count every time Abby gives you space… and then doesn’t. Even Mystery is gentler now, in his way. Not less feral, just targeted. Still jumps Romance at least once a day. Still growls like a dog you shouldn’t pet. But with you? It’s touch-without-warning. Steady presence. A rare nod. A soft noise in his throat when you leave the room too fast, like something he can’t not track.

You’re still resistant. Still watchful. Still technically their hostage.

But you’re not so sure where the lines are anymore.

You’re reaching for something on a high shelf? Bird swoops in and knocks it off, straight into Romance’s hands.

You’re walking across the living room? He dive-bombs your shoulder and oh no, you stumble directly into Abby’s chest.

You’re trying to stay in your room? The bird perches on your head and just vibrates until you give up and find Mystery.

Tiger’s method is simpler. Dumber. More endearing.

If you sit down, he sits beside you.

If you stand up, he walks behind you.

If you walk into a room, he lies down and points his whole tiger body toward the boy you like least that day.

So yeah.

From being your precious little babies who protected you, they’ve become your worst best allies. They love you. But they also ship the hell out of you.

You just wanted peace.

Now you’ve got five demon boys circling, a bird playing 4D chess with your sex life, and a tiger who thinks cuddling with the enemy is the only true path.

Honestly?

You’re starting to wonder if you even want to escape anymore.

THIS IS NOT CANON TO THE ORIGINAL STORY LINE OF THE ASSISTANT READER SERIES!

#kpdh #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #saja boys #saja boys x reader #kpdh x reader #kpdh x you #the saja boys #abby kpdh #abby kpop demon hunters #baby kpdh #baby kpop demon hunters #jinu kpop demon hunters #jinu kpdh #romance kpop demon hunters #romance kpdh #mystery kpop demon hunters #mystery kpdh

3K notes · View notes

ysaefinn · 4 months ago

Text

Pairing: Dilf!Satoru Gojo x gn!reader x Dilf!Suguru Geto

Synopsis: you try being sneaky behind your boyfriends' backs. But they're dead set on pampering you.

Good riddance.

You feel like ripping your hair out. The Zoom meeting has been going on for what feels like forever now. You've already told the interviewer everything he needed to know, your educational detaile, your degree, your previous experiences in the work force, and even your living arrangement for whatever fucking reason. So why on earth is he still running his mouth?? The ache in your cheeks from holding that tight smile makes you begin to regret applying for the job in the first place.

"You know you don't have to do this." And you do know,"we take care of you just fine, don't we?" And they do,"please, you stress yourself enough with school. You have enough on your plate already." And you do "Awe baby, just let us take care of you." and you should, but you just wouldn't fucking listen huh?

Your married boyfriends hate to see you like this. Don't get it twisted, they find it endearing the way you just don't seem to be able to sit still, how you just have to be doing something to contribute. But you just love taking it too far, working yourself to the bone, burning yourself out. Something the two middle aged men just can't have. And so, Suguru and Satoru have taken it as their mission to turn you into their spoiled little baby, a tiny little kitty in their palm, ever since they lured you into their marital home with charming smiles and hot meals.

The interviewer's words fade into the background as more and more doubt begins to cloud your mind. Realistically speaking, you really aren't in nee-

"Oh? what do we have here?"

You freeze.

But a pair of strong muscular arms wrap around your own, warming you right back up, you recognize that teasing tilt of tone anywhere. Lost in your own thoughts, you haven't been able to catch Satoru make his way into the room you swear you locked, and pull you into his embrace, your back pushed against hid soft plush chest.

"We talked about this didn't we? I can't believe you would go behind our backs like this? Im so disappointed~"

And usually, you'd laugh, kiss his cheek, tell him to stop being so dramatic, or even play along if he's lucky. But not when you've been caught red-handed, not when you've promised them time and time again that you'd take better care of yourself, and not when you've been pushing this interview around for when they both would be at work, and definitely not with your camera still on.

"U-uh satoru..." Said man responds with a hum against the back of your head in between gentle feather-light kisses.

"I'm uhm...in the middle of something....as you can see"

A second then two pass before he takes his face off of your hair. You can feel his piercing blue gaze burn the back of your head before he bursts into laughter. You shrink and curl back into him further.

"Awh sweets, the audaci-"

"Easy, Satoru. No use in being mean, you know our little angel just can't help it"

Your stomach drops to you ass once you register your other boyfriend (who's also your other boyfriend's husband)'s voice. Satoru rests his chin on your shoulder before pouting childishly.

Once again, your camera is very much still recording.

Suguru is leaning against the frame of the wide open door, a fond little smile on his face. And all hope is thrown to the wind. You may have had a chance at escape with Satoru, but definitely not with his husband. The feeling of hopelessness intensifies when the long haired man stands up straight and makes his way to you with purpose.

Suguru carries himself with the same elegance that caught your eye the first day you've met, a select few gray strands catch the sunlight making his black locks almost seem bejeweled. His hand comes down to ruffle his husband's hair and then to pinch your cheek affectionately before taking your unoccupied side. Effectively adding more fuel to the fire. Your hands fly to hide your flaming hot face, and your men share a look of amusement.

"Aww sweetie, come here." And of course. he wouldn't be Suguru if he didn't jump at the chance to coddle you in his own arms. "i know, i know... all of this work business must be stressing you out to no end," he noses at your temple, then moves to smear a long chast kiss on your cheek.

Maybe it's out of consideration for your rapidly beating heart. Maybe he thinks it's something only you should have the privilege to hear, either why you're thankful the next words came in the form of a whisper againt your cheek.

"But that's why you have us, right? We'll handle everything. You can just be our little one, wouldn't that be nice?"

And you nod, you actually nod. Can you believe that? That's all it took. Being sandwiched between the couple, a few kisses here and there a gentle whisper and you're once again swept off your feet.

"Why do you have to be this waaaayyy..." your muffled whining only serves to endear them, a big hand travels under your shirt to rub soothing circles on your back.

"It's for your own good" Suguru is yet to drop the soft cooing.

"And you do it to yourself!" Satoru is yet to drop the teasing.

You're reminded of two big happy cats when they start rubbing their cheeks on either side of your face, it's pretty impressive how synchronized they can be sometimes, yet again, you suppose it just comes naturally after a decade of marriage.

"..excuse m-" "You're excused!" Satoru quickly shuts your laptop. Effectively interrupting the interviewer, almost out of fear of an impromptu change of mind from your end, you can be quite stubborn, something they're working on correcting as well.

The embarrassment doesn't get a chance to sink in before Suguru scoops you up in his arms, eager to mother you as per usual.

"You've barely eaten anything for breakfast, you must be starving.. our poor baby..."

And your brain is melting again.

Maybe another day of unemployment wouldn't kill you.

2K notes · View notes

eveningcherryblossoms · 15 days ago

Text

It's A Beta Life, Not A Better Life | Part 2

A platonic yandere Batfam x neglected beta reader story

Betas were inferior beings.

It used to be that the world was composed entirely of betas. Their predecessors, anyway: Normal humans. Then came the first superior beings–alphas and omegas. Alphas, with their superior physique, the born leaders, providers and protectors of the pack. Omegas, with their superior charisma, the inspirers, homemakers and nurturers of the pack. Each other's equal, with fangs and mating glands that could bind them tighter than any marriage, with rut and heat cycles allowing them to have children far more easily than regular humans. The result–within a century, the world was overrun with alphas and omegas. They became the new standard, degrading poor betas as inferior.

For a time that was that. Many even predicted betas would eventually die out, and none of them were concerned. Then problems began to arise: Alphas constantly bristling with anger, omegas brimming with sensitivity, so-called fated mates snarling at one another over their respective differences and unwillingness to yield, pups left vulnerable when their alpha-omega parents' cycles synced in and caused them to forget the world outside their dens and nests.

On the brink of implosion, the truth was finally discovered: Betas, despite being inferior, were nevertheless integral to the pack. A community would either ruin itself through infighting or be ruined by the enemies while distracted, should there be no betas to smooth ruffled feathers and keep watch over the alphas and omegas. A pack had to be miniscule and its members had to be constantly considering and communicating with each other if it wanted to stand without a beta's soothing neutrality.

That truth doomed betas even further. Betas were inferior beings, regardless of their also being integral to the pack. Thus a beta's life in the pack became not unlike that of a pet.

A treasured, beloved pet–but a pet nonetheless. Collared and caged in the pack beta's suite that was open to all members of the pack, brought to whatever activities the pack members decided on, touched and scented and bitten regardless of the beta's own wishes.

And you just had to present as a beta.

When you woke up, your first thought was I have to escape.

Your second thought was no, there must be a mistake.

It wasn't really a denial. It was true that there were exceptions to the norm, but as a rule, one's secondary gender would follow one's parents. An alpha-beta or an omega-beta couple could have their child present as a beta. A beta-beta couple would have a beta child, no doubt. But you? It was just a 'professional arrangement'–you could perfectly recall your mother laughingly explain it to you back when she was alive, when it was the two of you as a pack away from this manor that had no place for you but physically. Still you were the child borne of Bruce Wayne, alpha and your mother, omega. How could you have presented as a beta? It made no sense!

Then you remembered your mother wasn't only an omega but a prime omega. In this world where alphas and omegas were the standard, primes were the new superior beings. Your mother had never boasted about it, seldom alluded to it even, that you forgot until now. With a chill running down your spine, you thought of Bruce, of the bulging muscles and sharp mind he for some reason hid under the vapid smiling mask of Brucie, and wondered–

Could Bruce be a prime alpha?

Think prime alphas as AA, prime omegas as OO, and betas as AO. Cross the primes and the result would invariably be betas.

The chill in your spine turned to numbness of your whole body. You kept sitting on your bed, on the morning of your sixteenth birthday, not plagued by heat or rut or the ache from being ignored by those who should have been your pack mates. You didn't know how long you just sat there stupidly staring at nothing, but at last your mind cleared.

Running away was out of question. Sure, there was a not slim chance of your escape being undetected for some time, but you were still only sixteen. If you were caught by authority, if they found out and registered you as the beta you were, whether the Waynes found you or not your life as you knew it would still come to an end.

Joining the Wayne pack was even more out of the question. Perhaps you would've thought differently had you presented as an alpha or an omega, but you hadn't, had you? Being a beta, the thought of being a glorified pet of the family filled you with nothing but disgust.

You had to hide in plain sight, keep your head down, wait until you were of age then flee. You could do it. You would do it.

You had to do it or die trying.

It's a beta life, not a better life–so you better give it your all and make it better with your own two hands.

A/N: Thank you very much for your kind support!! I really appreciate it 💕 I'm afraid this story will go slow, here's hoping I'll get to write reader's interaction with the Batfam on the next part 🙏

Forgot to add on the first part, I actually had this betaverse originally sent as an ask to the lovely and talented @fallen-angel2470. I didn't want to bother her with more ideas that are overflowing in my brain so I just made my own 😗

Taglist: @randomlyappearingartist @bellethesleepypotato @nirvanaxx1942 @tenswife @galaxypurplerose @shycreatorreview @cupid73 @time-shardz @mikusamsan @simpingpandas

Is this how you make a taglist?? Help I never made one before 😭

#platonic yandere #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #x reader #x neglected reader #neglected reader #gender neutral reader #beta reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #betaverse #batman #bruce wayne

635 notes · View notes

monstersholygrail · 10 months ago

Text

Imagine an entire bird colony of all male Bird Hybrids where you are their dancing instructor.

Every bird in the colony is absolutely feral over you. They desire you so much to the point where they started taking your class to learn how to woo possible mates but now they only wanna use what they learn on you.

They’ll do the steps wrong on purpose so that they can feel your soft hands on them when you correct it. Wishing you’d slip your hands further down till your thick fingers wrap around their aching cocks. You just smell so good and consume all their senses. Their adorable chirps fill the air whenever you give them any attention, their minds spinning with you.

Sometimes they’ll act like they aren’t getting it no matter what. You all know what’s going on and you’re not too shy to admit you love the attention they give you back. Your panties gushing with arousal as their eyes are trained on your every move.

So you tease them further. Inviting them to grab your hips and feel the way you move into the step, grinding against them every now and then. Loving the way their faces always drop, staring down at your wide hips and round bottom. Their feathers ruffling and wings flapping as they get more turned on. They try not to make it obvious but it makes you so hot to see how deeply you affect them.

By the end of every class all the bird hybrid’s cocks are rock hard and they’re in desperate need of you. They try anything they can think of to get you to stay after class with them. Showering you in affection they now want to drown in you in unimaginable pleasure. Stuffing your tight cunt over and over again with their cocks. Filling you up with all their cum till your belly bulges with it.

You always look so pretty underneath them. Especially as a handful of them always seemed to get you to agree to stay after. One after the other they take you hard, each of them coming inside of you until you’re all fucked out and cum is leaking into a puddle between your thick thighs. Of course they take the best care of you after.

After months of this you had realized that this colony was the only one you were teaching. And the bird hybrids make sure to keep it that way as they fill up all your available slots. Anyone can be competition and they don’t want your attention on another colony. Not that it ever would. You’re more than happy with the affection they constantly show you.

You always have more mating gifts than you know what to do with. Sometimes they give you pretty pebbles or other brightly covered objects. Other times they give you adorable little twigs and materials for a nest you don’t have. But they wanna help take care of you anyway. Then some give you food, wanting to keep your plump body healthy by making sure you’re eating good.

But the feathers that fall off their wings throughout class are your favorite. You put them up on the walls for decoration. The bird hybrids preen whenever they see their feather on the wall, viewing it as their claim on you. They boast to the other birds but then others point out that their feather is up there too and they turn playful as they try and say their feather is longer or fluffier.

Eventually they go to you, thinking that if they can’t prove they’re the better mate through their feathers, they can see which one can make you cum harder. It takes hours for them to come to any sort of agreement as they each use their fingers, tongues, and cocks to make you explode around them long past till you’re seeing stars.

They come from a place of love above all. Wanting to please you, their mate, more than anything. They’d do whatever they could to make that happen as caring for you is what they enjoy most.

I will literally beg for asks about them!! They’ve been a brainrot for me just about all week now. I’d love to see others expand on them and the idea. Or even just to join in the freak out and gush about the fluffy guys together!

3K notes · View notes

pomegranate-eater · 4 months ago

Text

RUFFLING THE WRONG FEATHERS / Yandere Phainon

Summary: Phainon, tired of your constant rejections, tries to provoke you into being more appreciative of his efforts… if that doesn’t go an unexpected direction.

cw: gender neutral reader, slightly manipulative Phainon but he hates himself for it, codependency, angst/comfort. word count: 1.9k

Phainon was late. Your body was trained to anticipate his return around the usual hour by spreading your nerves with trepidation, in wait of what farce he’d put you through today.

It’s not that you were missing him or anything… it was the getaway from the regular routine that has worried you, with you having been made to not enjoy surprises from his side — in case he’d come up with something you wouldn’t find exactly pleasant.

You walked in circles near the front door, occasionally peeking through the curtain of the window, until the door finally opened and revealed your ‘lover.’

Your ears were ready to hear the familiar chirp and happiness of the voice’s owner’s return, but instead, you were met with unusual calmness. “I’m back. I hope you didn’t miss me too much,” he announced serenely, taking off his shoes without giving you much of a glance.

The lack of acknowledgement of his late return surprised you; however, the fact he sounded almost impassive was more shocking, Phainon-wise. If he had sounded tired (though even tired Phainon was a nice person), you would not think much of it. If Phainon were to be angry at you… well, he still wouldn’t sound indifferent.

In any case, he was late, wasn’t he? He’s been home usually earlier, and if one day he late, he still had admitted his fault. You couldn’t tell if you perhaps were wrong about how much you knew about him.

“Yeah… I’m glad to see you back,” you muttered like a petulant child, already annoyed at the hug and kiss that was surely coming. And when you were given the affection, something felt off about it. Phainon held you, but he let go absurdly for him quickly. He pecked your lips, but there was no plead to draw it out.

Confusion forced into you twice in a row, you were starting to get worried he was perhaps mad at you. Worry not in a traditional sense that you necessarily cared about his opinion; but worry as in if you’re in trouble. He hasn’t hurt you per se, yet even he had his own limits, right?

“Phainon,” you started, “Are you doing alright?” you mentally cursed yourself for the question coming out too soft, sounding as if you were actually worried. You were right as something yearning entered his eyes for a mere second; yet it was erased by previous expression as quickly.

“Whatever you mean, my love,” he patted your head, the gesture taken condescendingly by you when the dismissive answer hit you… in an unfamiliar to you way, at that, akin to a disappointment. You didn’t nor could you experience emotions like this, as if it’d imply you’re still somehow attached to him. Once you give Phainon an inch, a mile might be stolen; the thief starved of affection — willing, please — from you.

Suddenly, his approval became a new importance for you, motivated to bring back the Phainon-typical state. Unknown was bad. Known was bad too, but with known at least you knew what to expect, sailing through your relationship with him in less stressing waters if its dangers were familiar to you.

“Never mind. I’ve made dinner, so you better eat, as it’s already too cold,” you scolded, anticipating the given chuckle you’d receive any time you were bossy like this. Bossy meant caring, no matter the context to a man desperate.

Phainon further threw you into the deep waters, “Oh, but I’ve already eaten in the city.”

The words punched you in the stomach. It wasn’t the fact he’d wasted your time and effort you’ve spent cooking that provoked the amorphous anxiety. It was the implication of him eating with someone else, as you doubted he’d choose to eat outside alone if he could eat with you at home — domesticated, praising your cooking skills, pleading for another portion.

Your mouth parted, as an unfamiliar, unpleasant sensation gnawed at your chest. Jealousy, anger, hurt — Phainon somehow has managed to affect you this way, contradicting your so far prayers to let another person have him so he lets you go back to your free willed-engined life.

“If you were planning to meet with someone, you should have told me before leaving the house! You have the cheek to make me waste my afternoon cooking for you!” you accused, biting down tears shameful in your experience to have been built up, and you stomped away as if throwing a tantrum — not circumspect in restraining your own emotions that could be used against you anymore. Whether it fit the definition of the tantrum, the mind has formed his confession as a betrayal, heartbreaking one for the most maddening part.

To make all worse, Phainon didn’t stop you. The one you knew would have already apologized, profusely, and tried to console you. Sequence of thoughts rendered itself into bigger, unchewable paranoia — he’s been getting bored of you, having found someone much better, if he meets with them and doesn’t even take your feelings into consideration anymore.

Being freed of the burden of being the object of his affection should have made you feel relieved, blessed to be soon no longer to be stuck with an overprotective and clingy man; only for the juxtaposition of the heartbreak to come into the play. When has the point of you (subconsciously) craving his affection and attention began? You’ve long buried yourself into a yearn for that man, and now as if taken granted of him and what he’s been trying to give. Yes, you’ve been rejecting him for so long, always denying him when he’s trying to be affectionate and take care of you, and now you had to reap what you sow — him getting tired of you, exhausted by your coldness while he’s been feeding you with unconditional love. Your protests were no longer tenable.

When you locked yourself in your room, makeshift in your mind only as there has never been any lock to separate you both from the beginning, you could have only thrown yourself at bed to weep like a child.

Phainon was going to leave you- no, he was going to throw you out, and replace you with someone else to take your spot. You’ve hurt him, before it bit you back.

Wallowing in your own sadness took you a few good hours, each passage of hour amplifying the stress from the possibility. The scenario of him leaving truly terrified you, so you were rapidly finding yourself back on your feet as you exited the room in search of him. You had to fix things, grasp onto the last chance to beg for forgiveness.

You’ve found him in his study, looming over some documents you didn’t bother reading — instead, you grabbed onto him from behind and clung to him for a dear life. His body went rigid, taken aback by your sudden attack, and you spilled pleading into his ears. “Phainon, I’m very sorry, please don’t leave me!” The man’s body tensed up further at your words, before he had to turn around to face the sudden crisis.

He was perhaps startled as strongly as you were, “W-wait, what’s going on, my dear?” he quickly stood up to hold onto your face, looking at the face so distressed you’d soon be hyperventilating.

“I can tell you’re tired of me, tired of me being so ungrateful, I’m sorry I’ve realized it so late!” you exclaimed among your sobs.

His eyes widened impossibly, until the understanding filled them. He has been too careless with the conversation after coming home… which didn’t mean there wasn’t something exhilarating in your fear — his hope wasn’t fueled by sadism, only the desperate need for your reciprocal.

“No, listen,” he said gently, stroking your face. “I’m not leaving you. Why do you think that way?”

“You, you- you were late, and you had a dinner with someone else, and you were so cold with me today! You just shrugged me off, and then left me alone!”

The more complains you spilled, the more he realized how his plan has backfired; somewhat. He was meant to make you a tad bit jealous with his actions done today, so you appreciate him just a little more; and instead, he received an entire scared breakdown from your side — for better or worse. He’s realized the extent of your attachment to him that must have built up, involuntarily to you, to quite a big extent, only today. He’s either been a fool, too self-conscious, or you were that good at hiding your growing attachment.

The guilt was eating him for having put you through such a terrifying ordeal, inspiring a fear of abandonment in you or arising a ridiculous notion he’d ever leave you (an entire Chrysos Heirs’ formation would have to drag him away from you); likewise was it useful for him, if your frighten finally meant less hesitation in making his feelings mutual.

He was scared for you, not willing to end up breaking or hurting you, furthermore ashamed of himself for ever coming up with something so rotten even if the assumed impact was much smaller than actual one; however, once the damage was done, he had to play smart and taste the fruit of his labor — in safe amounts, curating only the morsels of it to give you that gentle shove into his arms. He’d never take such a risky gamble willingly, but now that you have provided him with that…

He could only feel sorry for the hurt he could make up for anyway, next to happy about the new beginning — the latter making him feel like a worst man alive, if he didn’t deem it as somewhat necessary. Phainon was now sure he’d never repeat such childish moves ever again; no matter if there’s some chance of success like this — he’ll take what he’s been given, and put it into motion smartly.

“My deepest apologies. I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose, only… I’ve been stressed out, needing some space. And for the meeting… I was merely accompanying Tribbie,” he said quietly, not derived of guilt especially when giving you a lie about the first matter, and brought you tight-knit against him.

The words worked its wonders as they implemented relief from the given to you scenario; still, you shook in his arms, scared like a small bird. That’s why Phainon gently rocked you in his arms, sitting back in his chair and pulling you onto his lap.

He brought you back to a more composed state with reassurance spilled into your ears, and comforting rubs on your back.

“So you’re not leaving me?” you had to ask once more, to close this scary chapter.

“Of course. I could never bring myself to leave a precious soulmate of mine. Hear that? A soulmate, not something to be swayed and taken away by the winds,” he spoke, a tone slightly shy in case you find the words too cliche or perhaps desperate.

To his delight, you became flustered yourself, and buried your face in his chest.

“Did I make you feel that joyful, huh?” he teased and kissed the top of your head, now swarms of conflicting feelings — wanting to be away from him, but much more scared about it and being stripped of his love.

That’s why Phainon was here to chase away any hesitation until it’s just the two of you.

#yandere phainon x reader #yandere phainon #phainon x reader #phainon x you #haniaistic—works.#yandere hsr x reader #hsr yandere #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail

475 notes · View notes

undercvrfan444 · 5 months ago

Text

Shy!reader who wears a different uniform skirt in order to get Bully!Satoru’s attention and it works a little too well. He starts flipping up the back of her skirt when he walks past her to ruffle her feathers a bit. (he might have snuck a picture of two of what you looked like under that fabric.)

Bully!Satoru who continues to write you small notes and slip them in your bag but they’ve become nastier than before. Having things written on them like

“What a shame it would be for those pretty panties to be torn open with my cock stuffing your pussy to the brim.”

“Don’t you know prancing around in short skirts is just an invitation for me to do whatever I want to you?”

Bully!Satoru who continues tripping you when walking in the halls. This time though, it’s because he wants to press his hard erection into the plush feeling of your ass. He’ll lean down innocently so people don’t suspect him, “been thinkin’ of that gooey cunt all day bunny.”

Bully!Satoru who comes over occasionally to “help with homework” and always starts the session off with bruising the back of your throat so you can barely speak the next day.

This way he can purr nasty nothings into your ear and all you’re able to do is listen and take it.

Bully!Satoru who steals your lunch forcing you to come crying to him. “Beg me real nicely bunny, and i’ll give your lunch back.” But when you embarrass yourself by begging him kindly he gives you the box back to find it’s been eaten leaving you hungry and disappointed.

Bully!Satoru who is called out all the time for somehow finding a way to talk about you to his friends. Suguru teases you about it too when he can!

“So you’re the pretty little thing Satoru is hung up on?”

Two dark eyes rake over the little uniform that adorned your body. “He wasn’t lying about you.” And with that Suguru walked off, simply leaving you with a dumbfounded look.

Shy!Reader who stops Satoru in the hallway the next time you see him with an aggravated expression on your face. Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you pushed a hard finger into the man’s chest. “What did you say about me to Suguru?”

Satoru’s shocked face pulls into a coy smile, eyes narrowing so he can lean into your space. “Why? I didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t true.”

“What did you say Satoru!”

Hearing his name on your lips sends shivers down his spine, loving how upset you were. His voice dropped lower, seeing how many people were turning heads to see where the commotion sourced from.

His lips graze the thin skin of your ear. “I told him how good your pussy feels around my dick. Told him about the way your face would scrunch up when you were about to c-“

A sharp *Slap!* echoed between you. Tears pour from your eyes at the embarrassment, angry at the misogynistic things Satoru said about you. It was hard to think of all the things you’ve done with Satoru knowing he must’ve told Suguru at some point. It felt invasive.

Bully!Satoru who felt like shit after you left. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from your back as you hurried out of school, away from the staring eyes. He knew he fucked up bad when you refused to answer his texts over the next few days, leaving him either on read or delivered.

He couldn’t stand the distance any longer. Saturday finally rolled around after you missed two days of school. The two days that you were gone felt like hell to him, whispers about what might’ve happened to make you slap him caused a certain edge to stick around. Satoru made his way to your house, knocking softly on the front door hoping you would listen to what he had to say. He could hear your feet pad up to the door watching the knob turn softly.

“Satoru?”

“Hi bunny,” his words are sugary sweet. You’ve never seen such an apologetic expression on Satoru’s face and honestly it was shocking to see him so flustered.

Shy!Reader who lets the Satoru into your house, reluctant yet willing to hear what he has to say. Truthfully you miss the handsome boy more than you’d like to admit despite him embarrassing you.

Bully!Satoru who follows you up to your room, pulling you against his chest with an “ompf!” the second he heard your door close. He’d never tell anyone this, but seeing you so angry with him ate him alive. At first he thought it was cute! The little attitude you wore was adorable until it morphed into stomach-churning disappointment aimed towards Satoru.

“I’m so sorry bunny, I had no idea it would bother you so much that I said those things to Suguru about us. The last thing I want is for you to think all I want you for is some stupid shit, let me make it up to you.” Softly his fingers curl into the smooth fabric of your shirt attempting to squish you further into him.

Silence fills the room like a thick blanket. Your heart beat rapidly against Satoru’s own; thoughts running wild while his expensive cologne wafted in your senses.

“It’s okay ‘toru.” slivers off of your lips before you can think.

Bully!Satoru who spends the rest of his day with you. First going to watch whatever movie you want to, buying every snack he could possibly think of even if you didn’t eat it just because he can.

You wanted to walk in the park? done.

Go browse a book store? he bought everything you touched.

Tired of being social? Satoru walked you home as he listened to you talk passionately about the description of your new books.

Bully!Satoru who begs for forgiveness through pulling your panties to the side and pressing sloppy kisses to your pretty cunt. Respectful pecks turn into haughty thrusts of his tongue, pushing your sticky walls apart. His moans tickle your thighs fervently while you squeeze his shoulders attempting to ease the building pressure in your lower belly. Satoru was a man after all, and he knew the cherry on top to his apology would be eating your pussy until slick dripped down his face.

Shy!Reader whose head was so fuzzy from the multiple orgasms, you let Satoru guide you into bed as the sun set. Once he’d finally cleaned up there was no stopping the rain of smooth kisses on your face. “I love you, bunny.”

“I love you to ‘toru.”

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo fluff #school boy gojo #bully gojo #bully gojo satoru

791 notes · View notes

comatosebunny09 · 9 months ago

Text

preface [ deux ] | sylus

summary: in his haste to find you before the auction begins, sylus uncovers something much more harrowing. and he curses himself for agreeing to let you be bait in the first place.

warnings: violence, minor character deaths, human/sex trafficking, mentions of underaged girls, profanity, allusions to reader’s past as a kidnappee, reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, sylus is mad murderous & an emotional wreck

tagging: @world-of-hearts, @athanasia-day, @falon-fen, @queen-serena88, @karespocketboyfriends, @mrswanel, @readerxyourfave, @sunsets-and-crows, @antonneva

notes: a continuation of this. thank you so much for reading! part 3 can be found here.

now playing: mozart - requiem - lacrimosa

The docks are deceptively quiet tonight.

Nothing seems amiss between the creeks of old wood and the slosh of waves breaking on the pier.

Sylus isn’t convinced of its purity.

Not when the tracker dwarfed in his palm blinks a steady red, signaling to your whereabouts.

He’d followed the signal here after it grew stagnant following an hour of movement away from the city. He waited another 45 agonizing minutes to make his move. Had to be sure he wasn’t being led into a trap and that wherever Fate’s men whisked you off to was where he’d find the others.

He stands on the edge of a weathered connex, the wind ominously ruffling his coat.

He studies the device in his hand. Paints a shadowy figure amid the bokeh of distant city lights glittering behind him. With one hand in his pocket, the composure adorning his features contrasts with the hushed maelstrom brewing beneath his skin.

He holds out his unoccupied hand for Mephisto to perch on, the crow materializing on his wrist as if summoned from thought. Mephisto preens himself, iridescent feathers gleaming in the moonlight. When he’s done, he fixes Sylus with a lifeless, scarlet stare before a holographic image emerges from his eyesight.

It’s a detailed layout of the docks. Metal containers, small, worn ships. For a second, nothing looks abnormal. Yet something stark white and rectangular piques Sylus’ intrigue.

Sylus scrutinizes the shape further before he makes out what it is. A semi-truck inconspicuously parked between stacked connexes. Three dark figures circle around it like wolves. Guards, more than likely armed. Whatever they’re protecting, it must be big.

“Well, that doesn’t look very suspicious at all,” Sylus drawls, scratching Mephisto’s head with appreciative fingers. The crow bows out of existence in a flurry of inky shadows and feathers, having served Sylus well.

He spares another glance at the tracker. The blip of your signal aligns with where the truck resides.

It is then that he decides to make his move.

A smirk tugs on the corner of his lips. It’s been a while since he’s gotten his hands dirty. Had you and the twins for that. The prospect of a good fight makes his fingers twitch, the tips of them sparking with dark red electricity.

In superhero fashion, he pitches himself forward, swallowed by the misty vines of his Evol, as he ascends from the connex at breakneck speed.

You’d make fun of him for being so dramatic; he’s sure of it. He’ll tell you all about his heroic feats when you’re safely tucked back in his penthouse with this night shoved into the furthest reaches of your minds.

He lands on sturdy feet. Insufferably cool as he maneuvers through the maze of cargo containers. The click of his shoes reverberates off damaged metal until he spots what he’s looking for.

The guards have yet to see him. Two of them pace back and forth at the truck’s rear. Another circles its perimeter, two hands on a rifle.

Such meager security for whatever’s housed in that trailer.

He breathes deeply. Fades into obscurity, drawn into the shadows of his Evol, preparing for a sneak attack. He doesn’t need to. Could effortlessly eviscerate the guards with a snap of his fingers. But where’s the fun in that?

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” sighs a disgruntled guard all by his lonesome in the driver seat, hands wrapped around the steering wheel. “What am I, a fuckin’ babysitter?” So caught up in his head, he’s none the wiser to Sylus’ appearance on the passenger side, amused, crimson eyes boring into his skull.

“You’re right,” Sylus replies, his voice abrasive yet cocky. “You don’t get paid enough.”

The driver doesn’t get the luxury of a scream before wispy, handlike tendrils snake around his neck. Bone snaps, followed by a sigh of life drained from cold lips. He dies with terror twisting his features, shepherded into the afterlife by The Boogeyman himself. His head slumps onto his shoulder as his energy flows into Sylus’ body.

“Now, what exactly are you babysitting,” Sylus ponders. The kingpin blinks out of existence again, readying himself to dispatch the other three henchmen.

Sylus doesn’t make a sound as he takes out the guard who’d wandered to the nose of the semi to ensure his cohort was still on the job. The other two, he snuffs out similarly, their blood gurgling in their throats and their bones crackling, music to his ears.

He rolls out the kinks in his neck and shoulders to ward off the stiffness as their life force seeps into his body. It’s been too long since he’s had some fun. Hopefully, this is the most action he’ll see for the night.

His eyes grow intense with concentration when he stares at the worn handles of the truck’s trailer. He burns with anticipation. With something of wariness nestled between. Your signal stops here, steadily buzzing on the tracker in his pocket. He clings to the notion that you’re inside, unscathed and none the worse for wear.

He shuts his eyes, focusing a stretch of energy on the handles. The doors fly off with a deafening screech of metal, sure to draw some unwarranted attention.

Nevertheless, with his hands in his pockets, he waits for the dust to settle. Leaps into the truck trailer with practiced ease, eliciting screams and gasps of varying pitches from within.

None of which sound like yours.

Red emergency lights flicker in the space inside. It reeks of mildew and sweat. Fear. Revulsion.

When the grime completely clears, Sylus makes out dozens of sets of eyes fixed on him. He stiffens. His blood turns ice cold.

Girls of diverse creeds, colors, sizes, and ages cower against the back of the trailer. All from him. He makes out at least 30 of them, crammed in the trailer like cattle awaiting slaughter.

Something in his chest pulls. His lips twitch with the threat of a grimace.

Those sick fucks.

Sylus is no saint. He’s done horrible things to equally deplorable people to increase his reign. To strike fear into those who would oppose him. Challenge his title as Onychinus’ ruler. But he’s never dreamt of doing something as vile as this.

There’s no telling how long Fate had them—these young women, these girls. How long they’ve been emaciated, deprived of food, water, and sunlight.

Sylus bristles as an image of you forms in his mind. A flash of a girl, young like these ones. Terrified yet burning with fury. Revenge rotting your mind, anger warping your tear-stricken features.

Speaking of you, he scans through the girls’ faces in search of yours. He doesn’t find you through their varying degrees of fright. Sucks in a breath through parted lips, his blood running cold.

He cautiously steps further into the trailer, and the girls inside shy away. He holds out a placating hand. Sure, he’s despicable. Terrifying, and the red light highlighting his imposing figure as he nears them doesn’t help matters. But he has to be sure you’re not nestled between them. Playing a cruel joke on him after he spent all this time hunting you down.

The tracker in his pocket vibrates violently. The group of women parts, cowering away from him like he’s something of a sickness. He stops in front of a girl who looks no older than sixteen. Peers down at her, and she shivers, swallowed by your coat. She ducks into the fur, shrouding herself from Sylus’ penetrating gaze.

There’s no mistaking this jacket. Pristine lynx fur.

One of the first he’d bought you when you joined his entourage. A peace offering, a sign of his unyielding protection.

You wore it faithfully like it was your most prized possession. No matter how many more Sylus stocked you with, you never let this particular coat go.

He smooths shaky fingers down the collar. Suddenly sees red when he tugs on the lapel, snatching the girl up, and she shrieks, her feet dangling above the floor. The other women yelp in terror, shrinking away from Sylus’ ire. He must look like a monster to them. As beastly as the men who ripped them from their homes. From freedom. But he doesn’t care as anguish drives him into rage.

It’s rare he loses his cool. But when it comes to you, things just hit differently.

“Where did you get this?” Sylus demands. He’s breathy. There's a manic look in his eyes. He’s desperate. Running out of time. For all he knows, they could’ve already sold you off to the highest bidder.

Or worse.

The girl donning your coat says nothing. Too shell-shocked, her voice corked in her throat. He recognizes the look in her eyes all too quickly. Well acquainted with it, having seen it too often in his enemies before he extinguished them like a candle’s flame.

Gravity comes sinking back in. Sylus scans the space around, the fear in the dank space palpable.

He peers at the girl, at his hand fisted in the coat, disgusted with himself. They’ve already endured so much, and he’s only exacerbating their torment. Gently, he sets the girl down. After her feet return to the floor, something clanks on the wooden boards, and she scurries away. Sylus kneels to retrieve it, the telltale gleam of a crimson gem causing his muscles to tense.

The brooch.

Your brooch.

The tracker.

The fucking—

Fuck!

A tidal wave of grief crashes into him. He squeezes the pendant in his hand, its intricate carvings biting into his fingers. Anguish mars his features. He pinches his eyes shut, curling into himself. The girls cling to the lining of the truck, scared witless.

He tamps down an impulse to scream. Instead punches the wooden floor. Punches and punches until the skin of his knuckles split, and his fist is raw, bleeding red.

You wanted him to find them first. These girls who’d been snatched away from their families, their livelihoods. Sold to deplorable men to do revolting things. To suffer. To die.

To you, this was personal. Sylus fought against using you as bait to draw out the ringleader of this trafficking act. But you wore him down, citing that he owed you this moment of redemption. Why you sought him out all those years ago.

You fucking martyr.

The trailer grows silent. Sylus feels numb as he stands, chest heaving. His fist has already mended itself when he dismounts the truck in a daze, leaving the girls cowering in his wake.

Luke and Kieran, as if sensing their boss’s shock, call him back to the present in his earpiece.

“Boss?” cautions Luke, the radio silence alarming.

“I’ve found them,” Sylus states, his tone grim. Detached. Dejected.

“And the little boss?” Kieran queries, optimism breaking through the static.

Sylus’ silence serves as their answer.

There’s a pause before Luke cryptically disrupts it. “On the way, boss,” he promises before the line cuts dead.

Sylus stares at the ground. Dissociates, starting away from the truck before the sound of merriment catches his ears.

His attention’s drawn to a sizable ship on the opposite side of the pier. It cuts a sleek outline against the horizon, bordered by smaller passenger boats.

He narrows his eyes. Homes in on the ship, exhaling slowly. If he were an auctioneer, he would hold it somewhere in plain sight. Somewhere seemingly innocent that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. What better guise than a party?

Hope spumes through him. Adrenaline. You’re so crafty sometimes, it hurts. The brooch was merely a marker. You knew he’d assemble the pieces the moment you found the others and left your brooch where he could track it.

You could very well be aboard that ship, waiting to be sold off. Waiting to be returned to a life you fled from years ago. He could only hope he was right in his deduction.

Sylus sinks into the vantablack abyss of his Evol, setting course for the cruise ship at the pier's edge. He clings to the idea that you’re onboard, safe and sound, waiting to cuss him out for taking so long to find you.

—

He needed a distraction.

There were too many innocents onboard. Or, so they seemed. He couldn’t glean the difference when he landed on the deck. He had a one-track mind.

A few partygoers eyed him suspiciously. Perhaps he didn’t blend in with his wind-swept hair, harrowed features, and suit stained dark with blood.

Regardless of their intrigued looks, he wended through the crowd. Scanned the scenery, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Anything to signal nefarious dealings taking place aboard the cruise ship. Anything that could lead him to you.

He’d heard whisperings as he descended to the mid-levels of the ship. Hushed tones speaking of meetings for the elite taking place on the lower decks.

He clung to the bits of information he extracted. Pieced them together. Found his way to the kitchen. The staff was clueless to his presence—or they ignored him, too busy whipping up meals for the ship’s guests.

Sylus grabbed who he assumed was the sous chef by the collar. Pinned him with a stare that promised pain if he wasn’t compliant.

The man cowered in his hold. The remaining cooks caught wind of it, shrinking away from Sylus’ imposing, blood-speckled figure. From the malevolence pouring in waves off his skin.

“There’s a fire in the galley,” Sylus stated between the man’s eyes. The sous chef looked at him with pinched brows. Confusion showed through his fear, as nothing was amiss.

Sylus would soon change that.

“I would advise you to start clearing out your staff. Now.” He punctuated his sentence with a growl, tossing the chef back a few paces until he stumbled into his coworkers.

They weren’t moving quick enough for Sylus, so he set his plan in motion. Turned a few knobs with a flicker of his Evol, a fire sparking on the stove. It erupted into something more menacing, the flames licking the ceiling, triggering the sprinkler system.

The kitchen staff finally sprung into action. Hurriedly poured out of the room as the shrill cry of the fire alarm pervaded the air.

With his hair matted to his face and his mouth drawn into a rigid line, Sylus moved further through the kitchen. Descended to the lower floors as people rushed past him, all seeking refuge from the fire.

At least this way, he could wheedle out the scum who’d taken you while sparing the innocent a horrible fate.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus qin #sylus #sylus angst #lads x reader #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #limerence series #lnds x reader #lnds x you #l&ds x reader #lnds fanfic #lads fanfic

732 notes · View notes

mikkies · 1 month ago

Text

「 I LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU SO MUCH THAT I COULD CRY. 」

Taph x GN! Reader

Warnings: none!

Note: I was just watching tiktok then saw this one video of Taph giving people he cares about his feather or something like that. I got so many ideas so I wanted to write it down.

THE SOFT GLOW of a lantern filled the room, its golden light flickering gently over the worn wood and stone walls. The bed creaked slightly as Taph shifted, his robed figure perched cross-legged near the edge. His smaller ear-wings fluttered now and then, catching faint drafts in the still air. His larger wings, usually hidden beneath his robes, peeked out slightly tonight, the golden-tipped feathers ruffled from a long day.

You sat behind him, hands delicately working through his feathers. Preening his wings had become a quiet ritual between you two—a moment of peace after whatever chaos the round had brought. Taph wasn’t great at keeping his feathers tidy; his pigeon-like tendency to hop into places he didn’t belong and his subspace trip mines often left them dusty, painted pink, bent, or even slightly frayed.

“You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?” you teased as you gently straightened a stubborn feather.

Taph turned his hooded head just enough to look at you—or at least you thought he was looking. His hood’s shadow concealed his face, but the tilt of his head was unmistakably playful. His smaller wings flitted briefly, like a bird puffing up in mock indignation.

"🫵🙄❓" (Me? Impossible?)

“Yes, you,” you said with a chuckle, smoothing the feather back into place. “You run around like you own the place, dive into things you shouldn’t, and somehow still expect me to clean this mess up afterward.”

Taph let out a low hum that sounded suspiciously like a coo, leaning forward just enough to make his point. "😇🕊️" (I’m innocent!)

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sure you are.”

Despite his antics, he was unusually still as you worked, the weight of his wings relaxing into your hands. You reached a cluster of feathers near the base of his wing that was particularly knotted. His shoulders tensed at the gentle tug, and his ear-wings gave a quick flutter of surprise.

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmured. “Almost got it.”

Taph hummed again, this time softer, like an apology wrapped in a sound. He leaned his head forward, giving you better access to the trouble spot. His trust made you smile, and you worked carefully, smoothing out each feather until they glowed faintly in the lantern light.

After a while, you felt him fidgeting. His hands disappeared into his robes, and you paused, curious about what he was doing. “Taph?”

He didn’t respond immediately, instead pulling something from the folds of his robes. When he finally turned toward you, he was holding a single feather—small, with a radiant golden tip.

Before you could ask, Taph leaned closer, the motion deliberate but shy. His hooded face tilted, and with careful fingers, he tucked the feather behind your ear.

You blinked, startled by the gesture. His gloved hand brushed your cheek as he adjusted it, making sure it wouldn’t fall. Then he pulled back, his ear-wings fluttering rapidly, almost nervously.

"🫵🪶✨" (For you.)

“Oh, Taph...” you whispered, reaching up to touch the feather. It was soft and warm, and it carried the faintest glow, like it held a piece of him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shook his head quickly, his wings flapping in little bursts as if to say, "Don’t argue with me."

"🙅🫵❤️" (I wanted to.)

You smiled, your heart swelling with warmth. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Taph nodded, his movements slower now, more at ease. He turned back around, folding his hands in his lap as you resumed preening his wings. The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft rustle of feathers and the occasional coo-like hum from him.

After a while, you couldn’t help but tease him. “You know, this feather is nice, but it doesn’t exactly make up for the trouble you got us into earlier.”

Taph’s ear-wings flapped indignantly, and he twisted slightly to face you again. "😠🕊️➡️😌" (Hey! I’m innocent.)

“Innocent, huh? Is that what you call sneaking into the kitchen and stealing pizza crusts?”

He froze, his whole body stiffening like a child caught red-handed. Then, slowly, he reached up and scratched the back of his hood. "😅➡️🙊" (Oops... Can we not talk about that?)

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

At that, Taph puffed up his chest proudly, his smaller wings fluttering in triumph. He twisted his head in a full circle, mimicking the dramatic flair of a preening bird.

"🫵😊❤️➡️👑" (You’re the best. My favorite person.)

You smiled, leaning forward to rest your chin lightly on his shoulder. “And you’re my favorite birdbrain.”

Taph let out another cooing hum, and you swore you saw his hood dip slightly, as though he was hiding a smile.

The lantern’s light flickered softly, casting the room in a warm, golden glow. For a while, there was nothing but quiet companionship as you finished tending to his wings. Moments like this reminded you why you cared for him so deeply—beneath the silliness and the antics, Taph had a heart as golden as the feather he gave.

Might've been OOC, but it's okay I guess hope you enjoy though. 🤷‍♀️

#* ∙ ✰ ◞ 미키 ✗ posts.#forsaken #forsaken x reader #taph x reader #x reader #I love pigeon boy sm #I got level 79 Taph #I think that makes me a taph main #taph #forsaken taph #forsaken roblox

277 notes · View notes

fushiguro-megloomy · 7 months ago

Text

The Dean's Assistant

request: “may I request something where viktor is eating out needy reader (established relationship) 👉👈” tags: afab!reader, oral (f receiving), humiliation kink if you really squint, miláčku = honey wc: 1.9k notes: iiiiii got carried away with this LMAO-

dividers from cafekitsune

You had always been a particularly persistent person, some might even say bordering on arrogance. At least, that’s how others might describe you. Admittedly, it has served you well over the years, helping you climb the academic ladder and often pushing back against regulations in the name of scientific pursuit. You liked to think you simply knew how to charm people—professors, lab partners, anyone who could help you get ahead.

That was, of course, until you met your match. A brilliant mind, quickly flying through the ranks and overtaking you in academic seniority. It ruffled your feathers, to say the least. It didn’t help that he had a way of turning your own tactics against you, leaving you flustered and, on rare occasions, at a complete loss for words.

Even after you’d started dating, it felt like a never-ending game of cat and mouse—though you were never quite sure which of you was the cat and which was the mouse.

You leaned against the doorframe of Heimerdinger’s lab, your arms crossed and an exaggerated pout on your lips. Your boyfriend in question was in a familiar haunch, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbled along his reports.

“Viktor,” you called out, your tone bordering on a whine.

“Mm,” he hummed absently, not looking up.

“I’m bored,” you said, stepping closer.

“Then perhaps you should find a hobby,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice dry but laced with a hint of teasing.

“Oh, I have one.” You rounded the workbench, slowly until you were hovering near him. “You.”

That earned you a glance, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm.” You leaned against the edge of the bench, letting your fingers trail over the scattered papers. “And you’ve been very bad at entertaining me lately.”

“I've been busy,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the stack of notes in front of him. “Some of us have responsibilities, you know.”

You scoffed. “I’m just saying you could take a break once in a while. I mean, when’s the last time we…” You trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

He gave you a sideways look, his expression equal parts amused and exasperated. “You are incorrigible.”

“And you are stubborn,” you shot back, your fingers curling around the edge of the bench as you leaned in. “Don’t you miss me?”

His lips parted as if to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. Instead, you slipped closer, your hand brushing against his thigh. “Come on,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a softer, more coaxing tone. “Just a little break. For me?”

Viktor let out a sigh, his head tilting slightly as he finally set the pen down. “You do not play fair,” he said, his voice tinged with mock disapproval.

“I never claimed to,” you countered, your grin widening as you stepped fully into his space.

He rose to meet you, quick to pull you flush against him. The action caught you off guard, and you let out a surprised squeak as a hand settled firmly on your hip.

“Careful what you wish for, miláčku,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his eyes locked onto yours. “What exactly do you expect me to do? Push you up against the workbench and have my way with you here, in the lab?”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it. “Maybe,” you said, your voice coming out more breathless than you intended.

He chuckled. “Unbelievable.”

“You like it,” you quipped, your hands sliding up to his chest.

He hummed, eyes flickering to your lips. “You’re lucky I do.”

Your hands quickly found their way around the white fabric of his tie, practically yanking him in for the kiss. Whatever lingering sense of responsibility he had was quickly tossed out the window, cold fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt leaving goosebumps in their wake. You responded by letting your own touch wander, fingers carding into his hair and giving a light tug, earning a small grunt from deep in his throat.

“You are a menace.” He grumbled, voice low, though his lips barely left yours long enough for it to carry any weight.

A giggle escaped you when his hand met the underside of your thigh and squeezed, you didn't hesitate to let him guide you up onto the workbench. The movement sent loose parts and sheets of paper tumbling to the floor, but neither of you paid them much mind as he moved to nip along your jaw.

“Me?” You countered. “What about you? This is what the Dean's assistant gets up to when nobody is looking?”

He froze for a moment, pulling back to meet your gaze. His expression was half amused, half threatening as one dark brow cocked.

“Do you want me to stop?” He challenged, hands finding purchase on your thighs giving them a squeeze.

“No—” it left your mouth too quickly, too eager, and heat crawled its way up your neck. “Not even a little bit.”

He pursed his lips in an attempt to hide the shit eating grin breaking across his face before he dipped back towards your neck. You could already feel yourself growing weaker at his touch, heat pulsing low in your belly, moaning meekly when his mouth bruised your neck.

As he pressed himself between your legs your hips bucked involuntarily to meet him, drawing a low sound from his throat. Your lips crashed together in another heated kiss, quickly growing desperate as his tongue swept across yours. Sensing your impatience Viktors grip shifted, pushing you down until you were flat against the benchtop. His teeth scraped your collarbone before he descended lower, leaving wet, hot kisses across your skin. His hands moved down your body, one roaming the curve of your hip while the other hooked into your waistband. His fingers hooked beneath the fabric, pulling at it with enough force to leave your heart hammering with anticipation.

His lips ghosted their way down, knowing just where to press to have you crumbling beneath him, hot breath tickling your skin. When he reached your hips you instinctively arched towards him, lifting just enough for him to slip your bottoms off in one quick motion. Despite the warm room your skin prickled, especially as his fingers traced idle patterns over your bare legs.

When he lowered to his knees in front of you a needy whine escaped your mouth, fingers already gripping the edge of the table. He smirked in response, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin where your thigh met your pelvis.

“Patience” he murmured, but the teasing edge to his tone only made you tremble.

Moving more deliberately he nipped at the skin of your inner thighs, leaving small marks in his wake. Lanky hands gripped your legs, keeping them firmly parted as he inched his way closer and it took everything in you not to squirm. Finally he flattened his tongue against you, licking a lazy strip over your clit. Your body tensed, a grunt spilling from your throat. He was growing a bit hazy already himself, dragging his thumb experimentally through your folds. His breath audibly hitched when your arousal coated his skin, and he began slow circles on your puffy clit.

“Look at you,” his voice was gravelly now, slightly strained. “So eager.”

You whimpered in response, hips now bucking towards his touch. Your reaction seemed to pull a quiet, almost dazed chuckle from him before his lips found your thigh again.

“Who knew you were so desperate for the Dean's assistant.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he threw your own words back at you.

“Viktor-” you breathed, a mixture of frustration and need clawing its way out of you.

Before you could protest further two long fingers slid inside of you, the sudden fullness stealing the words from your mouth and replacing them with a keening moan. His thumb continued its maddeningly slow assault of your clit and he watched you with a hungry gaze. He leaned in closer again, breathing out against your skin as he kissed back towards your center. His movements were unhurried despite the way you writhed under him.

“Say my name again.” His voice was low, and you barely processed his words, your focus splintering when his fingers started moving faster. Still, you managed to respond, his name tumbling weakly past your lips. It seemed to satisfy him, a quiet hum vibrating across your skin as his mouth replaced his thumb. The first pull of his lips against your clit had you reeling, crying out as your head fell back against the table.

His name slipped from your mouth again, more fervently this time and he rewarded you by suckling gently, tongue teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs trembled around him, his free hand now pressing against your hip to steady you, though you could feel his grip tightened each time you squirmed.

Your fingers found their way back to the brown threads of his hair, pulling lightly as you grind your hips into his mouth. His fingers curled inside of you at just the right angle, sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you and your walls clenching around him. This time, though, it was Viktor who moaned. It was muffled and low but it reverberated right into your aching cunt, the sensation making your eyes roll back into your head as your grip on his hair tightened.

He was practically drunk on you now, lapping you up as his own arousal burned hot and insistent, cock straining in his pants. The way you pulled him in, every moan only spurred him on.

“That's it-” he cooed in a low condescending tone, breaking between teasing licks and soft kisses to your clit. “So desperate, aren't you miláčku?” He purred, words dripping with such mocking sweetness that it made you shiver.

You couldn't answer, couldn't do anything but whine and curl against him, not with his fingers bullying into you,spreading you just right while his lips brushed against you over and over. You were unraveling, quickly.

“Making such a mess,” he teased. “and on my boss's desk, no less.” a small tisk left him and he smiled against you. “What would Heimerdinger think if he walked in right now?”

It only made you burn hotter, eyes pinching shut as a strangled moan ripped its way out of you, the coil in you snapping violently. He was quick to latch back onto your clit, tongue flicking as your orgasm rolled over you. It was so overwhelming your body twisted and writhed in an attempt to escape, your voice cracked as you wailed his name. Yet he was nothing if not stubborn. His arm tightened around your thigh, pinning you in place. He refused to let up until he had you on the brink of overstimulation, cunt drooling against his hand, tears pricking your eyes as your entire body convulsed under him.

Only once he was satisfied he'd drawn every last tremor did he finally relent. He slowed, pressing a few more soft kisses along your thighs. You were an utter mess, panting, boneless body thrumming from the aftershock while your head lulled. Viktor lifted himself from the floor, hands smoothing over your thighs as his gaze raked over you. A smug grin pulled at his swollen lips, hair disheveled, and heat rose to your cheeks again.

“You're stunning like this.” His tone was thick with satisfaction.

You huffed in response, a sheepish smile forming on your face. Forcing your tired body up from the bench your hands found his collar again, pulling him in for another kiss. He gladly accepted, the taste of yourself lingering on his lips. Quietly you pushed him back towards his chair, a playful glint in your eye.

“Your turn.”

910 notes · View notes