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tsuutarr · 3 months ago

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Rich! Yandere x Chill! Reader

Work is a drag – your supervisor expects mountains from you while allowing himself to pick pebbles. He expects you to be there before him and leave after him even though he allows himself to arrive late and leave on time. He expects you to respond to every email and ask questions but ignores emails sent his way. He condescendingly laughs at you and gets annoyed at you making mistakes even though he’s made plenty himself.

In conclusion, you’re about to lose it. Go absolutely bonkers.

Still, you gotta earn money somehow, so…

You really have no choice but to continue onwards.

But seriously, who thought a cycle of work and work and more work was a good idea? You have a few choice words for them. Especially since you’re forced to stay longer than you want to because your stupid supervisor decided to give you work at the last minute, two minutes before you clock out.

By the time you arrive home, you’re dead tired, absolutely unable to keep your eyes open. You tell yourself that you need to get changed, eat dinner, brush your teeth, catch up on your weekly show… but your body is too tired to obey any of that, so it’s lulled into a long, dreamless slumber.

When you come to, you wake up on a gorgeous bed in a gorgeous room. You’re disoriented, absolutely positive that you’re dreaming. But you don’t wake up even after pinching yourself so… this must be real?

Your thoughts are interrupted as the doors to the room open, showcasing a handsome man. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen him on the news somewhere. Probably. Anyway, the point is that he’s handsome.

“Are you feeling all right, Darling?” he asks, voice velvety smooth and deep like dark chocolate.

“I guess?” you say, feeling surprisingly calm. He blinks at you.

“Ah… are you not going to ask where you are…?”

“Oh, right.” You nod. “Where am I?”

“You’re at one of my mansions,” he responds, smoothing out his dress shirt. “I’ve selected the best one, just for you.”

“Oh wow.” Flashes of your dingy one bedroom apartment flash through your head. “That’s great.”

“And of course, you’ll have everything provided for you. If you need anything, just tell me – I can get you everything you desire.”

“That’s amazing,” you respond. “I’m in.”

“Wha–” he looks at you, shocked. “I knew you were in dire financial straits but… aren’t you going to be wary of me, Dear? I mean, I kidnapped you?”

“My guy, the economy is awful, I hate my job, and I really just want to enjoy life for once. I am not complaining.” Shrugging your shoulders, your gaze remains steady on him. “Besides, you’re easy on the eyes.”

A bright red blush splatters itself across his cheeks, forcing him to clear his throat. “W–well, I’m pleased that my appearance is desirable to you.”

“Yup,” you reply, before looking at him curiously. “So like… did you stalk me or something? Put trackers on me?”

“Wha–”

“Well, it kinda seems like you’ve been after me for a while, I guess. Sorry if I’m wrong?”

“Well, no, you’re not… incorrect. But does that not bother you?”

“I mean, social media already has all my info anyway, so…” you hum thoughtfully. “Hm. Anyway. Does kidnapping me mean that you won’t let me go out again? A lot of stories have the guy locking their love interest up.”

He blinks. “I… suppose so…?”

“I don’t entirely mind, but I feel like I’ll probably go nuts if I’m not allowed to go out at all. Can’t we compromise? Like… you can have your trackers on me or have someone follow me around. Actually, why don’t you come along?”

He blinks. “Pardon?”

“I mean, it’s a fair trade, isn’t it? I have friends and family that I gotta see so I don’t go insane, but like, I don’t mind spending most of my time here. And if I do go out, you can just keep track of that. Plus it’s not like I have money or power to actually run or something anyway.” You nod, certain.

“You… you’re certainly rather… receptive to this whole situation.”

“Again, the economy is trash and you’re hot.”

He clears his throat, looking embarrassed. “W–well, it isn’t the worst idea in the world, I suppose. However, the world at large is quite dangerous. You can’t fault me for wanting to keep you locked up. It’s the best way to keep you safe–”

“Oh, I know!” you snap your fingers. “Let’s get married.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I mean, that way you’ll legally be my family. Then you can be with me ‘til death do us apart. Or something.” Satisfied, you nod. “Good idea, don’t you think?”

Gears whir inside his head as he looks at you, completely flabbergasted by your proposal. He’s happy that you seem satisfied with the situation and want to marry him but… but…

“Good idea indeed,” he agrees, fully abandoning any notion of common sense (not that he had much to begin with).

Your willing acceptance of your situation wasn’t what he was expecting, but… who is he to complain?

It’s working in his favor, after all.

#okay but i just think it'd be so funny if the reader was 100% on board #i love serious yanderes but comedy yanderes are so fun too #yandere oc #male yandere #tsuuper ocs #yandere x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #male yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc #Anyway yeah ive been struggling with work lately LMAOOOO #this was born out of my own desire bc i just wanna take a break man #i won't guarantee that I'll be posting every day but I think I can post more frequently now lol #Zahavi Hwang Tsuu OC #anyway tysm for reading :)

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searchingforserendipity25 · 5 months ago

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conclave is a very good film made up of cardinal thomas lawrence having three horrible horrible days.

however the one thing it lacks is the consideration of how much worse they could have been if it lasted longer.

day four of conclave and the draw between tedesco and lawrence does not budge.

five days of conclave and at least one of the cardinals whose name got covered up in the trembley report backs lawrence against the wall and tries to threaten him with a kitchen knife before falling to weeping on his shoulder. day six of conclave and cardinal adeyemi and cardinal trembley nearly come to blows in the loggia. day seven of conclave and people start sneaking wine bottles into the sistine chapel.

day eight and they're passing them around covertly during the interminable voting process. day nine and three separate white collar crimes come to light because the guilty parties are sweating in their cassocks thinking lawrence has the dirt on them and they can't take the pressure anymore, they just can't.

day ten and vincent benítez is doing quiet prayer catechism hour in the garden after lunch.

day eleven and sabbadin is snorting someone's vicodin in the bathroom.

day twelve and the cardinals for warsaw and budapest are having a terrible breakup everyone is trying to pretend not to notice. day thirteen and lawrence stays in his room the whole day pretending he has a stomach ache and keeps having his nap dreams interrupted by dreams of turtles.

day fourteen and aldo bellini has brought his copy of giovanni's room to reread, half-heatedly hidden behind a bible cover.

day fifteen and vincent benítez has lead by example a number of cardinals into helping out in the kitchen at least once a week to frankly terrible culinary results and growing camaraderie.

sixteen days of conclave and lawrence has to sit down ray o'malley and actively beg him not to tell him anything else, please, no more info, no more digging into old scandals, no nothing.tedesco's tax audits may be suspiciously clean but lawrence is a man of god not a forensic attorney and he will not dig deeper.

day seventeen and lawence tracks o'malley down and asks him to look into tedesco's brother's recent real estate acquisitions.

day eighteen and the new whisper campaign to discredit lawrence keeps trying to bring up his most controversial progressive views but he keeps answering impatiently back with well-thought of biblical references as he did in the homily and accidentally causes a reprise of his canon law school lecture debates. which temporarily brings everyone together and opens the stage for a fierce ideological debate.

wherein lawrence gets accused, not entirely inaccurately, by trembley and adeyemi, united once more in offense, of being the last figurehead for the complacent liberal establishment/a judgemental prig and/or treating the college of cardinals like a group of jumped-up seminarians.

aldo bellini implies very loudly that tedesco is ugly, a fascist and too stupid to ever be invited to lecture at the sourbonne even once, and cardinal vincent benítez speaks up with great dignity and strength against american imperialism.

day nineteen and someone actively tries to murder the patriarch of venice. day twenty and it is revealed via sister agnes ex machina and cardinal benítez's disconcerting familiarity with very real and more successful murder attempts that tedesco was trying to frame bellini for it.

the proof is circumstantial and so are any accusations lawrence or anyone could make against him of corruption, but this does prompt him to go on a long speech about how the leftist agenda has thoroughly ruined not only the church but society at least and made any possible unity among men a sham.

day twenty-one and someone actually dies, unrelated to the tedesco fake-plot.

day twenty-two and they elect vincent benítez. lawrence hides in the room of tears having an anxiety attack of relief.

vincent benítez holds his hand tenderly through it and immediately accepts his resignation as dean but not before telling him his secret and having his hands held back tightly, and being told very earnestly that, short of actual unreasonable harm to other people and an extraordinary amount of bribery, he could be made by god's will in any possible variation and still have lawrence's trust. and most importantly, lawrence's papacy.

day one of innocentius xiv's papacy and lawrence finds him in the gardens feeding the turtles instead of taking the next train to a nice monastery in liège and offers himself as secretary of state. and this is why netflix should hire me.

#conclave 2024 #conclave spoilers #thomas lawrence #vincent benitez #aldo bellini #cardinal tedesco #sister agnes

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gigiwritess · 2 months ago

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LIKE THE STAR? BRIGHTER.

dr. jack abbott x f!resident!reader "vega" aka "wildcard"

wc: 2,205 synopsis: just another normal day at the pitt—except it's not. for the first time in a long time, jack might have found an equal in every sense. tl;dr: dr. abbott meets a new resident for the first time.

contents: 20-year age gap (vega is 26, jack is 46), usual pitt dynamics. probably lots of medical inaccuracies that im not gonna apologize for. very quick mentions of mental health issues. this is totally self-inserted and vega is totally based in lots of aspects of myself. gonna probably update this list when i have more creativity.

gigi's note: this man and the pitt have been consuming my every waking thought so of course it culminated in the fastest fic i've ever written. i have a whole little series planned for these two, but im gonna try to write at least some of them in a manner where you dont necessarily need to read the others. read the end notes for more info!!! enjoy!!!!

PLAYLIST | NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST

It had already become a habit—more often than not, Jack’s days off ended up being spent at the Pitt. Not that he minded; the Pitt’s chaos was better than the chaos inside his head that ran free when he was alone at home. At home, the silence was suffocating—he had too much time to think. Here, every beep and shout gave him a reason not to listen to the thoughts clawing at the inside of his skull. Here, he knew exactly what he was doing. And he was damn good at it.

To Vega, being in the Pitt made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt. She didn’t mind the chaos—she thrived in it. Being surrounded by it sharpened her focus, made everything else—the endless voice in her head, the black monster inside her chest threatening day by day to swallow her whole—fade into nothing but background static.

Today was no different. The Pitt was, like usual, a chaotic hellscape; machines humming, monitors beeping, medical staff shouting orders, the scent of antiseptic filling everyone’s nostrils. The kind of place that felt both alive and dead at the same time. Jack had just arrived after a few hours of sleep after his night shift, clutching a cup of coffee in his hand, when he first spotted her across the ER in trauma two—a woman who didn’t seem to belong here, but did. Jack had barely any time to take a proper look at her before she was on the move again.

She moved fast, braid whipping against her back as she called for suction, adjusting doses, her hands slick with blood. The Pitt demanded everything and she gladly gave it. Without hesitation, without pause. It was what she lived for.

“Push another 20 of epi. I need suction—no, hold it, go with 50 cc,” she called out, her voice cutting through the chaos as she worked. Controlled. Sharp. The team moved, almost grateful for the authority in her voice. She didn’t miss the way Santos’ hands trembled, or how Whitaker clung to her words like a lifeline.

Jack hadn’t seen her before—not that he was keeping track; new faces came and went. But something about this one made him look twice. He caught sight of her again—tall, dark hair, sharp, moving fast between patients. She was a calm center, a fixed point in the storm. She worked with precision, her hands a blur as she gave orders, her focus unwavering as she moved around and directed the team with an ease that made it look effortless, a mixture of experienced residents and interns following her every instruction without hesitation. She moved around the room like she owned it. She was focused.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked, voice neutral.

“That is my star resident,” Robby said with a hint of amusement in his voice, noticing his curious gaze. “Wildcard.”

Then, still working on the patient, she felt it. His stare. She was used to people’s eyes on her all the time in this place—curious glances, usually directed at her tattoos whenever they poked out; interns sizing her up, sometimes with grudging respect, sometimes openly doubting her abilities to handle the weight of the Pitt. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t the usual ER gawkers or old surgeons with smug superiority. This was different. Something else.

Jack raised an eyebrow. He had seen his fair share of capable residents, but something about the way she moved—almost like she was born for this—caught his attention. She was completely in her element, cutting through the chaos with a level of focus that suggested she’d been there before. Not that Jack expected anything less, but there was something about her that piqued his interest.

She felt the weight of his gaze, analyzing, unapologetic. She recognized that old, instinctive prickle at the back of her neck—the kind of awareness she only felt around people who could do damage. Not the loud, blustering types, no. The quiet ones. The wolves pretending to be men.

But she was no sheep.

Vega didn’t look up, focused solely on the person in front of her. She let him look. Let him think he was unnoticed, but she felt the scrape of it against her nerves.

“Wildcard?” Jack asked, nodding toward the scene, his tone cool but intrigued.

Robby grinned, stepping back slightly to give Jack a better view. “Yeah. Earned it on her first shift. Handled a mass casualty like it was nothing. Nerves of steel.”

Jack didn’t reply. Instead, he just watched her as she worked. There was a quiet intensity to the way she moved. She wasn’t loud or flashy, didn’t seek attention; instead, she commanded the room with a quiet authority, in a way that spoke volumes about her ability to take charge when things went south. It was a quality Jack respected, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it out loud. She wasn’t just surviving in the chaos—she was thriving in it. Something he did, too.

When the patient was finally stable, able to wait for the OR, Robby called her name. She peeled the paper gown off and turned towards them, tugging off the gloves with a sharp pull, and met Jack’s gaze head-on.

“Wildcard,” Robby said, “this is Dr. Jack Abbott. Jack, this is Dr. Vega, also known as Wildcard.”

She barely heard his voice—she already knew who he was.

Dr. Jack Abbott. The ER’s storm cloud, a man with a reputation for being as sharp as he was reckless. She’d heard plenty—everyone had. Stories traded in break rooms, warnings half-uttered with a mixture of respect and almost fear. A doctor built out of sharp things and bad habits, all jagged edges and rough temper. A man people either followed or avoided. And now here he was, giving her that look like he was trying to decide if she was worth his time.

Their gazes locked—not an awkward glance. She didn’t look away as most people did when meeting him for the first time, usually too nervous to look him in the eye. No. There was a beat of silence, a brief exchange of recognition, as if both of them could feel something shift in the air between them. Subtle, but undeniable. She sized him up in a fraction of a second, eyes sharp and unreadable, but he knew what that look was. For the first time in months, Jack felt something in his chest unclench, some flicker of recognition that made the blood in his veins hum with something dangerously close to life.

None of the stories she’d heard did him justice. He wasn’t the washed-up, better-than-everyone asshole she expected. For a second, the ER didn’t exist; the screaming monitors, the sharp tang of blood and bleach—gone. It was just him. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, slight tilt of his head, the heavy kind of presence you could feel in your teeth. The way he looked at her—not polite, not exactly curious. He looked at her like a man who was curious to see what would happen if he pushed. Good. She was tired of polite. She was tired of fake pleasantries.

She looked younger than he expected. But there was something else in her eyes that made her feel older than she probably was. Experienced.

Her lips twitched—barely a smile, but the kind that dared him to make the first move.

“Dr. Vega.” His voice was low, neutral, but her stomach did a dangerous twist.

There was a familiarity in the way he looked at her—not exactly recognition, but that kind of animal instinct of like recognizes like. The people who knew what it was to thrive in the places others avoided. The people who thrived in the chaos.

She couldn’t help the slight curve of her mouth, barely there, but enough to be noticed by him.

“Heard things about you, Dr. Abbott,” she said, her voice even, threading a fine line between professional and personal. “Thought you’d be scarier.”

Her words were like a soft challenge, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and it was Jack’s time to quirk an eyebrow, his eyes darkening, a flicker of something dangerous and amused sliding into place. Was she mocking him? Or was she just testing the waters? He couldn’t quite decide.

Jack tilted his head slightly, a slow, crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She met his eyes head-on, unblinking. No one held her gaze for long—too sharp, too cold—but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze dropped, assessing. Not leering. Calculating. Like a predator working out if she was worth the risk.

“Stick around, Doc,” he replied. “You’ll get there.”

Oh, she fucking liked that.

Robby snorted, glancing between them with an amused look in his eyes. Jack wasn’t the type to be rattled easily, but there was a palpable tension now between the two of them, something that felt familiar yet almost… uncomfortable. Different. Jack didn’t show it, of course, but Robby knew him better than everyone.

Vega had had a lot of first meetings since walking into this ER not more than four weeks ago. Most were forgettable, most faded by the next shift. But there was weight to this one. The air around them felt tight, stretched thin in a way she recognized from old fights and late-night emergencies. The kind of moment where you either stepped up or stepped aside, where you either fought the wave headfirst or let it wash over you, carry you with it.

“How’s day shift treating you?” Abbott asked, and Robby’s eyebrow went up, already seeing where Jack’s head was going.

Vega realized—these two men knew each other better than everyone else.

“The coffee could be better,” she replied, finishing what she was typing on the computer.

Jack’s lips quirked, a flicker of dry amusement in his otherwise unreadable expression. “Night shift coffee’s better,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup, the steam rising from it like he was making a point of something, just for her.

Robby’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched the interaction with newfound interest, like a new TV show that was starting to catch his attention. He shook his head. “Don’t you even think about stealing her from me, Abbott.”

Jack’s eyes found hers again, and neither looked away. “Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But the way he said it—quiet, edged—suggested otherwise.

Robby drifted off to take care of another matter, and she half-expected him to do the same, say something smug or look away. He didn’t. Neither did she. She raised her eyebrows and smirked at him, almost as if she was daring him to do something about it.

“You’re welcome to try, Dr. Abbott,” Vega said, her voice smooth, low, carrying a spark of challenge that showed itself in the way his jaw tightened slightly.

It was brief, but it was there. The smallest tell that he was just a little thrown by her, caught off guard. She liked that. She liked that a lot. Probably more than she should’ve.

He wasn’t used to being challenged quite like that. There was something about her—something too familiar in the way she carried herself that made him pause, that made him stop in his tracks.

“Noted,” he replied, five simple letters carrying more weight than normal. It felt like a promise. Or a threat—she couldn’t tell.

Both excited her, both made her heart skip a beat and made her skin prickle with something she couldn’t decipher yet. The air between them tightened, thickened. That kind of electric stillness you only get before a bad decision—the kind you’d make twice just to feel something. The kind she was built for.

He held her gaze, and she held his, never once faltering, up until she turned her back to see another patient. Jack was rattled—it’d been a while since someone managed to do that. She pulled a chart off the rack and moved on to the next patient with effortless grace. As he stared at her back, he felt an inexplicable pull, one he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel. For the first time in a long time, something in Jack’s chest pulled tight. Not enough to show, but enough for him to feel it.

Even as she walked away, she still felt it—a tug in her chest, his gaze burning between her shoulder blades, the awareness of his eyes on her as she crossed the room.

Jack didn’t move. Not yet. As she was about to disappear behind a curtain, his voice called after her.

“Vega,” he said.

Not Wildcard. Not yet. He said her name like a question. Or a challenge—she couldn’t decide. She paused. A beat. Half a heartbeat. Let the silence hang there, heavy and thick and hungry. Then she turned her head, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Like the star?” he asked, voice low, rough, unreadable, his eyes full of things she couldn’t decipher.

For the first time since clocking in that morning, a real smile spread across her face.

“Brighter,” she said softly and went back on her way.

She didn’t need to look back to know he was still watching her.

Good.

gigi's note: PLEASE tell me your opinions on this and what you think of the series!!!! the future pieces are gonna dive deep into vega's mental issues (which are my own). not gonna be exactly a slow burn because i hate slow burns, i just prefer the burning head-on lol comments and reblogs are most welcome!!!

my inbox is always open and i would loooooooove to yap about this man. xoxo <3

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hmsthunderchild · 14 days ago

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DELTARUNE: REDROOT.

An alternative take on the Weird/Snowgrave route, where Noelle's spell is stronger than she thought.

NOTE: Although this is an AU and non-canon, there are spoilers for the normal and weird route incorporated. Also, sorry this is so long!

STORY AND ADDITIONAL IMAGES BELOW:

The weird route starts the same and remains so up until the Berdly fight. When Noelle finally casts Snowgrave, it overwhelms her and casts everything around in ice. Unlike the canon weird route, Kris is frozen in the chaos. Their soul is ejected.

Now Noelle faces the Player, the one who's really been calling the shots. She's petrified after what she's done, professing she'd do anything to fix it - to make things right. Without a host, and the Player being as cruelly curious as they are, they take her up on this offer. In her daze, she wouldn't realise that the Player is a dangerous force before it's too late.

Being a monster, she's able to absorb the Human soul to some extent (assuming the soul functions the same in Deltarune as it does in Undertale). Her original soul and most of her bodily agency remains, but The Player is highly compelling and tormenting (not to mention the Thorn Ring still has her in a trance).

Unfortunately, in her escape from Cyber City, she bumps into the worst guy you'd want to see your mental breakdown. Spamton. He'd catch on to what happened to Kris (seeing as he knows what the Player made Noelle do in the canon route). With Noelle all alone, he leverages the opportunity. He can be bigger than big. With her new strength and the Player's help, he can share his influence to as many dark worlds as she can open.

Basically, Noelle's life sucks. She takes the Dealmaker with her, and has to battle the constant commands inside her head.

Since the soul can seal the fountain without Kris, the Player guides Noelle through Cyber City, with additional help from Spamton in finding a covert route underground to the fountain. You would miss all of the fun, lighthearted story and misadventures from the normal route. Noelle goes along with this, being told that both Berdly and Kris will wake up from the nightmare.

So, uh, how are the other two doing? Not great! Ralsei wouldn't know the full extent of what happened, but he would sense a powerful shift in the future. He knows that, whatever's occurred, he won't be needed anymore. He'd try to keep composure for Susie's sake and remains hopeful he can bring it back on track somehow.

Susie would notice Kris has been missing a while, but would have Ralsei ease her worries. Once the fountain suddenly closes without her knowledge and she's ejected out of the dark world, she'd be confused but there'd be a sense of relief. Y'know, since she assumes only Kris can seal the fountains. She wouldn't notice for a moment that Kris isn't waking up since they're prone to long naps in class.

Of course, Noelle shuffles right out with the Dealmaker in her pocket, unable to bear facing Susie with the realisation their nightmare isn't over.

Susie would stay behind and try shaking both of them up. Yet, she can feel how cold they are. She'd lug both to the hospital herself where she'd stay the night. Susie wouldn't suspect anything of Noelle yet since her mind's preoccupied with concern. Both Toriel and Asgore would be notified, both of whom are heartbroken and confused. Asriel would be heading home sooner.

Once everyone else is gone, Susie would open a dark world in the hospital, to try and fix things the only way she knows how. All they need is a little healing, right? Ralsei will know what to do.

TO BE CONTINUED .... WHEN I THINK OF THE REST!

Alas, this DOES mean Mr. Ant Tenna doesn't appear in this AU since Kris can't open the fountain. I know. I'm sorry too. Maybe I'll find a way. Also, I am not an expert on all the Deltarune mechanics, lore and tidbits so forgive me if I got any info wrong!

Anyways, if you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Let me know your thoughts and I'm hopeful to make more content soon!

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syoddeye · 3 months ago

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For some reason, the thought of reader being a werewolf too in the Soap neighbor thing seems like an ironic/funny idea. Like, maybe reader was bit and changed, but has no idea how to navigate the wolf world. I mean, you can't exactly google correct info on something that "isn't real". Plus, it's such a big world reader had never actually run into another wolf. It seemed safer for the reader to keep their secret werewolf existence hidden. Maybe reader's never seen another wolf before and likes their safe solitary little world. Only to then be confronted by Soap when they finally open their door.

ohhh. i like this twist. imagine you’re minding your business, living your recently upturned life, dealing with your new circumstances on your own. you’ve never seen another wolf before, other than the bastard who bit you, so you’re just figuring things out as you go. maybe keeping a journal or something like, “note to self: raw steak cravings = normal, do not eat neighbor’s cat.”

but then you smell them. someone like you. you catch whiffs of them at the building’s entrance. by the post boxes. on warm days when everyone’s windows are open. that’s the kind of day it is when you spot him on his balcony for the first time, and the thick scent of his sweat carries across the gap. there’s a certain doggish undertone to it.

the staring problem begins.

and it is humiliating.

it makes your instincts go haywire. you jot down feverish notes about what it does to you. how you keep finding yourself creeping through the blinds. it isn’t normal. none of it is normal. but you have no idea what to do. you can’t just outright ask, can you? hey, i smelled you from across the building and i really dig your musk.

of course, then you’re caught peeping, and he winds up at your door. you have to open it. what other choice do you have? you get the feeling it will open with or without your permission. you throw the deadbolt but keep the chain hooked out of some remaining shred of self-preservation. then you crack the door open.

it is pungent, to say the least. he didn’t even bother to throw a shirt on. looks like he ran here, too, judging by his heaving, hairy chest. he stares down at you, unblinking, his mouth set in a line. you go tongue-tied. he must be furious.

after a beat, he plants a hand on the door and gives it a push. just a nudge. but it’s enough—the flimsy chain strains, pops out of its track, and snaps into pieces. you don’t look down when it lands on your feet. you’re too busy watching the slow curl of his smile. his nostrils flaring.

“...yer jokin’. a pretty she-wolf? right under my nose?”

#sy asks #i am a werewolf enjoyer not a werewolf writer so go easy on me #something about soap + scents feels so right #soap x reader

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skzdarlings · 1 year ago

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lady-like ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: ❛ i'd say you need someone to put you in your place. ❜ W CHAN I BEG OF YOU + original ask: requested by anonymous: “You want gentle? Wrong fucking address”+ Chan <3

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: enemies to lovers, established lovers. criminal!chan, masked!chan. dom!chan, sub!reader (background mentions of switching). choking, floor sex, rough sex, dirty talk. brief mention of some sexism in the workplace. word count: 2050 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

It is the middle of the night and you are patrolling the art gallery yourself. You do not trust your colleagues or the security team tonight. No one believes there is any way to track the SKZ gang but you have found an undoubted pattern. That motley band of thieves have struck this gallery more than once, making off with paintings and artifacts alike, but tonight you will catch them.

Tonight you will catch him.

Your thought conjures him like a devil. You turn a corner and a gloved hand escapes the shadows, covering your mouth. You are yanked backwards, right into his chest, your back to his front.

You feel a moment of satisfaction because ha, you were right. No one believed you but you knew SKZ would strike tonight.

Then you are furious because those rotten thugs are probably making off with a priceless artifact while their leader holds you hostage.

“Hey there,” Bang Chan says in that too-friendly drawl. “How’s my favourite girl tonight?”

You try biting his hand but the leather of his glove is quite thick. Probably on purpose. You have left more than one bite mark on him in past encounters.

“Ah-nah-nah,” he says, steadying you when you wriggle. “Stop that. We both know how this ends. Let’s play nice this time instead, yeah?”

You answer by stomping on his foot and throwing your head back. The smack surprises him and he stumbles, giving you an opportunity to turn and brace yourself in a more defensible stance. You face him, hands up, adrenaline thundering through your body.

Chan is wearing all black, including a beanie and mask. He removes the hat, revealing hair just as black, but keeps the mask while rubbing his jaw. The half-hidden face somehow makes the dark intensity of his eyes look even more severe.

You and Chan have a played a long game of cat-and-mouse. You are so used to his teasing that you almost forget he is dangerously competent man. A criminal. A criminal you despise. A criminal who is undoubtedly grinning at you under that mask, given the way his eyes crinkle with mirth. It should not make your heart race.

“Ouch,” he says. He takes a step towards you, inching out of the shadows. “You’ve been training. Impressive.”

“Not like I had a choice,” you snap. “Some no good criminal keeps attacking my art gallery.”

“Criminal, yeah,” Chan says. “But no good? Really?” He flicks a hand your way, not so much striking as testing your reflexes. You bat it successfully and his eyebrows lift, showing he is moderately impressed.

“You’re a dirty thief,” you say, taking a swing of your own. Yours is much more deliberate, swinging at his head, but he dodges just as easily.

You scamper backwards, his booted steps following swiftly. You keep your hands up in defense. He is still smirking under that mask.

“Thief, yeah,” he continues to tease. “But dirty? Well… I suppose you’d know…”

Heat pulses under your skin.

This cat-and-mouse game has crossed many lines. You cannot even remember how it first happened. It feels like Bang Chan has always been in the shadows, stealing paintings and kisses alike. One moment you were snarking at the infuriating cat burglar, then your hands were in his hair and his mouth was on yours.

Sometimes he wins, distracting you or holding you, giving his team time to make off with something. Sometimes you win, trapping him or his men and only letting them go if they relinquish their prize. Weirdly, Chan seems to like it when you outsmart him. It quite literally puts him on his knees.

Flustered, your next swing is more emotional than strategic. He catches your arm and spins you again, trapping you against his body. You grunt and struggle in his arms.

“That’s not very polite, you know,” he says. “I thought you said you were a lady.”

Yes, you have made such an insistence in the past, reminding him you are a lady of class, an educated woman, an intelligent academic. He did not argue. He did pin you to the wall and choke you in that infuriatingly delicious way, the way that gets you coming all over his hand in a second. That’s it, he said, with a hand around your throat and another under your skirt. Tell me what a lady you are. Letting a criminal like me make you come. Tsk, what would your co-workers say?

You stamp the memory down because it is getting you hot. He is holding you differently than before, so you cannot swing your head back again. You writhe uselessly.

“I didn’t just say I was a lady,” you snap. “I am a lady. I am a respected professional, unlike you—”

“I’m respected and professional, thank you,” he says, his tone still bright like he is having fun.

It is fun. You hate to admit it, but it is. Before he started breaking into your galleries, every day was the same. Your life was such a monotony and you dread returning to it. There is a reason you never call the authorities on him. There would be no triumph in that demise. You would lament his absence and forever feel like business went unfinished.

You are satisfied when you can face this dangerous man and win, when you can push him on his back and put him in his place, when all that danger and power and skill surrenders to you and you alone. Because Bang Chan has a notorious reputation for a lot of things, but fraternizing with civilians is not one of them.

Except you.

Except right now.

“You know what I say, little miss lady?” he asks.

He gives you no time to answer. Your breath catches when he circles that gloved hand around your throat and squeezes. It softens every part of you immediately, like a kitten grabbed by the scruff, instinctively and animalistically submissive in the claws of something powerful.

You whimper, your knees going weak. You know you are wet. You know he knows.

He pulls you against him. You can feel every hard plane of his body, his bulky body armour, his weapons. You feel either a buckle or his bulge against your body, but either way it is irrevocably suggestive. When you wriggle, he squeezes your throat, and you go pliant again.

“I’d say,” he whispers, “you need someone to put you in your place.”

Oh, he has talked about your place many times before. It’s with me, he will insist, fucking you within an inch of your life, making you come again and again, putting you on your knees and bringing out all the hidden dark and dirty parts of yourself. Come on, he will say, we’re perfect for each other, yeah? You know it. Join my team. Come with me.

You do admit, he respects your keen eye and talent, and he acknowledges your expertise far more than the other people at your gallery. It took a year to even be allowed to do substantial tasks, relegated to fetching everyone’s coffee, getting spoken down to because you were a woman whose ambition was considered a nuisance.

That is not enough to resort to a criminal life. Surely?

But for a moment, you can imagine giving into the darkness permanently. Tonight, it is you that surrenders as he drags you both into the shadows and onto the floor. He takes off his jacket and lays it out, pushing you down face-first onto it. You take a dizzying gulp of air while his hands are occupied, removing his gloves, unbuckling his utility belt.

You wait for the moment he lifts your skirt. His breath catches when he realizes you are not wearing anything underneath.

You yelp because he smacks your ass. You look back at him with as much fury as you can muster in your haze of lust.

“A lady,” he says, grabbing your hips and tugging you back. “Sure.”

“I am,” you say, but your voice is rough, your breathing heavy just from his bare fingers gliding down your wet pussy, the evidence of your desire betraying your claims of propriety.

“Sure, baby girl,” he says, because he knows it annoys you even while it makes you clench. He can see the evidence of that too, swearing as he looks at you, making you feel even more exposed and flustered. “You’re made for me, you know that, sweetheart? Always feel so good on my dick. God.”

“You’re taking your time tonight,” you say dryly. “Getting sentimental? Turning into the slow and gentle type?”

He laughs. Then he grabs you by the neck, pinning you to the floor as he sidles up behind you. The head of his cock presses at your entrance, wet with anticipation.

“You want gentle?” he asks. He is inside you with one deep thrust. “Wrong fucking address.”

The truth is, even when rough, he is careful. Your face never leaves his jacket and he knows where to squeeze and hit and press properly. Bizarrely, ridiculously, you are safe in this criminal’s dangerous hands. The biggest threat they pose are just how skilled and deft they are, making you forget about all of those details as he manhandles you and fucks your worries away.

He wraps a hand around your throat and lifts you. He is still in his mask, still almost entirely clothed except his undone fly. Your skirt is up, your shirt in disarray, your chest and throat exposed to his hands. You can hear him panting into his mask, your own breath as wild until he steals it. You clench around him, making a weak, ragged sound as he chokes you and pounds into you.

“You’re not gonna come like this, are ya?” he taunts, because he knows your body well, can feel you are the on verge just from his angles and rhythm. “Tsk,” he says. “That’s not very lady-like.”

You would tell him to shut up, but you can only manage a weepy moan as he drives you over the edge of a mind-numbing orgasm. You feel drenched, dripping down your thighs, and he still doesn’t relent, pushing you back down and holding your hips as he drills through every sensitive nerve.

“Fuck,” you say, twisting your fingers around his jacket. Your knees will probably be bruised after this. No short skirts or everyone will know something happened. Would they guess you let the most notorious burglar in the country arch your back and fuck you on the floor? Probably not. You have always been a stickler for rules.

Until this. Until him.

“Chan,” you say, breathless, rasping. “Chan.”

“Fuck,” he says. Then the weight of him is on your back, his hips grinding into yours. His masked face brushes your ear and he speaks in a low voice, “Guess where I’m coming tonight, baby girl.”

Your walls are still fluttering with aftershocks, pulling him deeper at his words. It is not the first time, no. God only knows how long ago that conversation first happened, telling him it was safe, how much you wanted it. Letting him do things you never let anyone else do. Breaking all your rules for him.

“Fuck, Chan,” you say.

“Yeah, baby,” he rasps. “That’s who’s fucking you. No one fucks you like I do. God. You can take it. So good.”

You can feel when he comes, his chest vibrating with his groan, the warmth inside you. You slump in his arms, ravaged and sore and not the least bit sorry for it.

You should be. He won this round. You should be furious at him. You should be threatening him. Your usual rapport.

His mask comes off. You hear it hit the floor. Then he is grabbing your jaw and turning your face and kissing you deeply. He holds your throat, not threateningly but possessively. He is kissing you for so long, you almost forget who you are. Then you surface. You look at each other.

“Come with me,” he says.

The haze of lust has vanished. You should be thinking clearly. You fear, for the first time, you are.

You suppose he has stolen everything else, why not you too?

You put your hand in his.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan smut #chan smut #bang chan x you #chan x you #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz smut #stray kids smut #valentinesdaystories

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loveroffemmes · 29 days ago

Text

Spoiled Kisses | Pre-Crash Lottie Matthews x Fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, face-sitting, bitchy! spoiled! Lottie, banter, v slight enemies to lovers?, slight degrading?, reader is kind of persuaded into it?

Summary: You don't like Lottie, she's everything you aren't; spoiled, a bit condescending, and irresistible. Everything changes when you hit her car in the school parking lot. You fuck up Lottie's car and then you fuck Lottie.

Spoiled. That's the one word I would use to describe Lottie.

It was infuriating knowing she had everything handed to her, how she never had to worry about a single thing because Mr. Matthews would always provide. I didn't have that same luxury.

That's how I knew I was fucked when I hit Lottie's car after practice.

"That's a pretty big dent." Lottie called out to me, stepping out of her car.

"I-I know." I ran my hand through my hair, I was so fucked.

Lottie smiled, acting as if this was no big deal, "My car's custom." She added, "My dad bought it for me for my last birthday." Fuck.

"Yeah, let's just exchange info and I can hope a Genie comes and grants me three wishes to pay for this."

Lottie laughs, it's light and it makes my knees weak.

It makes my knees weak?

"Come to my house, my dad has a good mechanic, you can get an estimate and pay me from there. No reason to up your insurance or anything." Some hope for my empty wallet, "I'll lead the way, (Y/n), follow my car." Lottie said, getting back into her newly dented car. I got into mine and drove behind her.

Where she led me to the massive Matthews' estate. Fuck.

She parked in her driveway and instructed me to do the same, "It'll be a few hours before we can get an estimate, do you want to wait inside?"

"Nothing better to do." I reply, following Lottie inside her house. There's a massive staircase in the middle of her house. I follow her upstairs to her bedroom. It's just as big as I would have imagined, except her decorations aren't as glamorous as the rest of the house. It's plain, but comfortable. She has team photos plastered around her room, an organized vanity, and not much else. It makes the big room feel quaint. Less snobby rich girl and more girl whose parents happen to be rich. There's also a weird amount of clothes from TJ Maxx in here...

"We never get to chat much outside of practice." Lottie says, "I always thought that was for the best, but who knows? Maybe I'm wrong."

Spoiled.

"For the best? I should be the one saying that. I could have gone all year without having to listen to perfect miss Matthews--"

"You could have if you didn't hit my car." Lottie smirks and god is it infuriating and god does it make my heart pound.

It makes my heart pound?

"Whatever, you're the one who can't park."

"So, this is my fault?" Lottie asks, her eyebrow raised, clearly amused.

"Yeah! If you actually parked inside the lines, then I wouldn't have side swept your stupid car." Lottie doesn't respond, she just keeps that dumb, hot smirk on her face.

Lottie sits down on her bed, we sit in silence for a bit as I awkwardly stand in her room, not sure of where to sit, "Are you done whining?" I feel my jaw fall open, who does she think she is? Before I could fire off an insult, Lottie starts laughing, "It's fun how worked up you get, (Y/n)."

I roll my eyes, "I'm going to wait outside." I say, heading for Lottie's bedroom door.

"Aren't you worried?" Lottie asks and I stop in my tracks.

"About?"

"How you'll pay for it all?" Lottie stands up and makes her way towards me, her tone low, "I mean, you're not very well off, are you?"

"That's my problem to figure out."

Lottie's standing in front of me now, leaning down slightly to whisper in my ear, "It doesn't have to be your problem."

"H-Huh?" I can feel the temperature rising to my ears as Lottie's breath hits it.

"You cannot be that dumb." I don't have a chance to reply before Lottie shoves me back onto her bed, I catch myself and I sit up.

Lottie climbed over me, straddling me. Her knees sank into the mattress on either side of me. Her hands moved to my shoulders as a way to keep her situated.

"What are you doing, Lottie?" My words come out airy, I don't mean to sound so unsure, but my brain can't seem to focus on anything other than how good Lottie's legs feel against my thighs or how close her face is to mine or how good her perfume smells or --

Before another thought could pop into my head, Lottie's lips were on mine. It was raw, it was desperate, it contrasted the poised Lottie I had always kind of known.

"You think too much." Lottie mumbled against my lips. Her hands ran through my hair, entangling themselves in it before pulling my head back. I groaned and I could feel Lottie smirking. I opened my eyes and saw Lottie lick her lips as if I were her prey and she had caught me. She kept my head tilted back, her hands in her hair ensured that I could not protest. Her lips found my neck, her kisses were soft at first and I could feel the wet stain of her lipstick on my neck. Then, she bit down. I groaned again, shutting my eyes. I could feel her smile against my neck. Her tongue darted out, licking the slight indentation on my neck her teeth had left.

She pulled back, her hands leaving my hair and she stood up. Before I could stop myself, I whined from the lack of contact. Lottie laughed and I felt my heart skip a beat.

She lifted her shirt over her head, throwing it to wherever. In another swift motion, she pulled her skirt down and stepped out of it.

"L-Lottie, what--"

"I'm helping you pay back your debt." She replied as if all of this was normal.

My eyes raked over her body, trying to commit every curve of hers to memory. In another second, Lottie had dropped her panties to the ground. I felt my mouth go dry. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her.

"You're staring." Lottie hummed, the smirk never leaving her face. She pushed me back onto the bed fully this time and climbed on top of me. Her tone was low, her voice barely above a whisper, "Do you know how to repay your debt?" I shook my head and Lottie laughed, her dark brown eyes locking with mine, "Have you ever eaten a girl out?" The bluntness of her question almost made me choke on nothing. She didn't need an actual answer from me because it didn't take her long before her knees were on either side of my head and she was holding herself above me. Her hands reached for the headboard in front of me and she grabbed onto it to help keep herself upright.

I wrapped my arms around her thighs, locking her into place before pulling her down closer to my face. She was soaked. I tilted my head slightly, my tongue poking out and running through her folds cautiously. Lottie instantly bucked her hips, a soft moan escaping from her lips. It was all I needed. I pulled her down even more, barely any space between my lips and her skin. I slid my tongue through her folds again, slowly. Lottie bucked her lips every time without fail, grinding against my face without another thought. One of her hands moved from the headboard to my hair, gripping it and holding my head in place as she moved her hips against my tongue. All she cared about was using me to get off.

Spoiled.

I dug my nails into her thighs, I could feel her trembling. Her breathing was ragged, her knuckles were white from how hard she was gripping the headboard, and every movement of hers was desperate. One long lick and then I took her clit into my mouth, sucking hard. Her whole body jerked and I didn't stop, I only got rougher. I wanted her to come on my tongue. I wanted to be the reason that Lottie Matthews unfolded. One last buck of her hips and I could feel her thighs clamp around my head.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." A string of curse words fell from her lips as I licked every last drop of hers.

Lottie's grip on my hair loosened and she swung one knee to the other side of me, flopping down next to me on the bed.

"Fuck..." Lottie murmured, clearly fucked out. It was my turn to smirk.

I pulled Lottie's blanket up over the both of us and pulled her against me. Lottie's arm wrapped protectively around my waist and I placed a kiss on her sweaty forehead.

Lottie's voice was quiet, worn out from how loud she was, "If only you put that much effort into practicing, we would have gone to nationals a lot easier." Anddddd Lottie's back.

"Shut up, Matthews."

"Plotting on how to hit my car again, (L/n)?" Lottie fired back and I rolled my eyes. She smirked and pulled me flush against her chest. Even though Lottie never let ups on her stupid banter, her body couldn't hide how she really felt. I could feel Lottie's heart racing when she pulled me into her. I made her nervous and that thought made me smile.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Lottie?"

"Maybe I would."

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