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ghxstwrites · 2 months ago

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Forgive Me Father

Pairing: Priest! Yunho x GN! Reader

Summary: It’d been forever since you stepped into a church, but after one too many life altering events, a friend suggested confessing as a last resort, and it turns out you got more than you prayed for.

WC: 2.6k

AU: Religion! Au

Genre: smidgen of Angst, Smutty smut smut smut, porn with plot

Warning(s): Smut! MDNI! priest kink went brrrrr with this man, dacryphilia, impact play, lotttsss of degradation, lil bit of praise, discussion of religion and blasphemous acts, reader can be a bit of a smartass, unprotected sex (that's not very holy… wrap it up) - sorry if i'm missing anything!

A/N: Well, I wont ever see Heaven after this. Thank you to @bunnliix for the proofread and help on this one, also @skzdust for you Catholicism knowledge, big shout out to @kpop---scenarios for the title!

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Tag List: @bethelighthalazia @a---shura @kpop---scenarios @autieofthevalley @wisejudgedragonhairdo (send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

Kinktober & Flufftober Masterlist

It felt like one thing after another, your fiancé ran away with their co-worker and work had eliminated your position, and you’d lost what was supposed to be a lifelong friend in the process, it felt like something was out to get you. You’d tried everything to help clear any negative thoughts with every feasible solution you’d been recommended when searching the internet.

Journaling? Didn’t work - after you’d nearly jammed the pen through one of the books writing all the warning signs down after your fiancé left, and ruined another with tears talking about your friend.

Yoga and Meditation? Nope, after 3 sessions you decided being alone with your thoughts was definitely not the route you wanted to take.

Blasting your favorite songs? It worked… until the song you were going to use as your first dance at your wedding came on. Your speaker went through the open window right before you cried yourself to sleep that night.

Which brings you to today, a group of your friends had decided to invite you out to lunch, the first time you’d really seen the world had set its sights on you.

“Oh sweetheart…,” your friend cooed at you across the table, it sounded like she was mocking you at first, despite you knowing she wasn’t, you weren’t convinced she had an evil bone in her body. “Listen… I know it isn’t usually your thing, but.. Have you thought about church? Or even going to confessionals? They don’t really talk to you, the priest just listens…. Once you're done he offers solutions and if you use them, great. If not, no harm no foul?” she shrugs her shoulders unsure of her own words to you.

You contemplated for a minute “You’re right it isn’t my thing, I don't really get how sitting next to a stranger who’s whole personality is religious context, talking to him like you’re talking to air…but if it works for you, that's great… for you,” You, admittedly a little harsh, reply back to her.

Late one night you’d sat on your bed looking for jobs on your laptop, and with every passing one you’d grown more frustrated, you either didn’t have matching qualifications, they wanted a better degree or they weren’t even paying a livable wage.

“Fuck this,” you huff out as you close your laptop, shoving it off your lap and fall back in bed. You’d pull your hoodie over your face as you listen to the sound of rainfall hit your apartment window and your friends' words ring back in your brain, what else did you really have to lose? Talking to a stranger who knows nothing about you and would likely never see you again, huffing you get dressed and head over to your local church.

Walking in, you take note of the admittedly beautiful surroundings, stained glass windows, marble statues, all of it was cloaked in darkness as night had fallen, but the moon light cascaded through the windows beautifully.

You took a moment to look around, familiarizing yourself with your surroundings as it had been years since you’d entered a church. Wooden pews, rich velvet red floors, as dated as it may look, it was beautiful.

It wasn’t long before your eyes fell on the confessional, a wooden box in the far corner of the room, sighing to yourself, you walked toward it. You slowly reach for the handle and open the door, you sit down in the booth as the silence is suddenly so loud.

“What brings you here, Child?” A male voice spoke from the otherside of the grate.

Startled, you respond as calmly as you can. “I-I’m down on my luck and a friend suggested this… I’m hoping you can listen or help?”

The man spoke up once again “Very well, you may proceed.”

With a heavy sigh you proceed to recount the last few months of troubles to the man, feeling yourself getting angry and the tone shift slightly. You feel like you can dig your nails into the laminated wood you sat on, that same grit showing up in the way you speak.

“Easy child...” the man lulls out at you “There's no need to speak with such venom.”

The tone of his voice admittedly going straight to your core, but why? You don’t know anything about the young priest on the other side, other than exactly that, a young man who has devoted his life to the church, are you really that insane?

“Sorry sir -”

“Please, refer to me as father, Father Yunho,” He cuts you off.

“Sorry Father…” you manage to say back, a calmness washing over your voice as you try to push those thoughts to the back of your mind.

“Father, please help.” you whine out, feeling frustrated “I am at the end of my rope and nothing seems to be working,” you admit.

“I see… is that all you’d like to confess, child? I have a feeling there is more,” he all but whispers.

The way his words fall from his mouth has you pushing your thighs together, his voice was as velvety as the floors of his church, delicate yet demanding.

“N-no father,” you say, barely above a whisper, when you hear a small chuckle on the other side.

“Very well, I sense that you need to reflect on yourself and perhaps your relationship with our savior, putting your faith in him may guide you to the path you are seeking,” he retorts back at you.

“Thank you Father.. For listening and.. Helping,” you sound pitiful, you felt as if you were about to cry

“If you feel the need to come back to confess anything further, I’m always here child.” he said back to you, his tone calm but with a hidden undertone to it that you couldn’t quite discern.

It had been a few weeks since you’d gone to visit Yunho, and out of everything you confessed that night, the one thing that stuck with you was the sound of his voice.

The way it flowed like warm honey wouldn’t leave your head, what would your name sound like falling from those lips, the noises he’d make, maybe even… No, stop, he's a priest, he was there to listen and guide you and now all you can think about is the noises you could make him elicit.

You’d laid there, it’d been a rough day as several more rejection emails clogged your inbox, you think back to the young priest's words, full of encouragement - but the more they replayed the more you stirred, your hand guiding its way down your body, “Father please…” you’d softly moaned out as your hand dips into your shorts.

It had felt like the universe had given you a break, you’d been given a job offer, and a nice one at that, could this have been the divine intervention the young priest was talking about?

Despite the feeling of gratitude, and things looking up - there was still one thing in the back of your head.

Father Yunho.

You found yourself back in the walls of the church late one evening, you’d just come from your first day of work and since the church was on the way home you wanted to stop in, if nothing else to pay your respects and close this chapter of your life.

You’d sat down on the cold bench in the confessional. “Father Yunho? Are you there?”

“Oh it’s you again,” he speaks softly. He remembered me? “Is everything okay?”

That damn voice, the way it seeps out of his mouth, the way it makes you think the unholiest thoughts in the holiest of places.

“Y-yes… well yes and no,” you say to him “I was able to find a job, Today was my first day actually, I wanted to stop in and say thank you…’ you trailed off

“And?” the young priest smirks to himself, he knows something else has brought you back - no one comes to confess a warm hearted thank you. “I feel as if there is still something you are withholding, child.”

“Please, call me Y/N…” you muster, trying to change the subject.

“Very well, Y/n,” he says, “Please, I will not force you but how can I help you if you do not confess what is plaguing you?”

Damn it. He has you cornered, you can’t back out of this now.

“F-Father, please forgive me, but I.. I have sinned,” you whimper out. “Since the last time we spoke I.. I can’t stop thinking of you.” you confess to the young man sitting across the partition from you.

“Thinking of me? Thinking of me, how?” he asked you.

“I-” you choke on your own words, “Late at night.. When I replay your words, they start as encouragement and then I can’t help but think of what other sounds you can make.. I..” you look at the floor, embarrassed by your own confession, across the partition Yunho's face is getting hotter, and embarrassingly enough to him, his pants are getting tighter.

When Yunho took the oath to be a faithful leader for Christ on the altar in this very church he made many vows, including celibacy, which never affected him until now. You, a seemingly innocent individual, came to him for advice, advice he was happy to offer to you, and now sitting across from you as you recount the blasphemous things you’d done while thinking about him, had made him feel things he’d never felt before.

“Y/n, Pl-Please,” Yunho whined out

“I’m so sorry Father… I feel so ashamed at the amount of times I've gotten off to just the mere thought of your voice…” you feel the tears well up in your eyes.

Yunho is sat across from you and with every whimper and sob he feels it go straight to his dick, painfully aware of just how bad he’s affected you, as it’s now affecting him.

“Y-Y/n.. Please.. I…” he breathes out as his head tilts back against the confessional as he tries to push the thoughts out of his head, but now all he can think about is your tear stained face begging for forgiveness and he lets out a low moan.

“Father are you… are you okay,” you lift your head to look at the mesh partition as if it were him. “I’m sorry if I…If i said too much.”

“Such- ah- filth should be reprimanded,” Yunho says through gritted teeth.

The sound goes straight to your core, causing you to press your thighs together in response.

“Father I -” Your words were cut short by the confessional door swinging open, leaving you face to face with the young priest.

“You come into the house of Christ with such a perverted mouth and expect me to let you walk away?” He spat at you.”You are beyond saving Child,” as he pulls you out of the confessional and pushes you onto a nearby pew, leaving you shocked.

“The likes of you should be punished” he sits next to you and pulls you over his lap eliciting a yelp from you. His large hand comes down on your ass, the sound echoing through the church, causing you to cry out.

“Quiet, you’ll take the punishment as penance for your sins, understood?” You let out a muffled sob “Now, Count.”

“One..” spank “T-Two,” spank “Th-Three,” you cry out as Yunho's broad hand comes down on your ass, tears rolling down your face.

“Such a waste of obedience in such a disobedient slut,” he says to you, gently massaging your asscheek from the smacks.

“On your Knees,” you quickly move to place yourself on the ground. “Years ago, I vowed to Christ I would serve him in all his glory, I vowed obedience, poverty and celibacy.. And then my only thanks is to be sent a filthy slut to break me of those vows.” he spits as he removes his robe, and makes quick work of his belt. You sat back watching his every move, eyes eventually finding the tent that had been forming in his slacks.

“Father.. Please… please forgive me,” you sob up at him. “Quiet, you’ll speak when spoken too, understand?” he looks down at you. “Yes, Father” you squeak out as he smirks. “That’s better…” he reaches out to cup your face, wiping the stray tear away. ‘Now, why don’t you put this pretty mouth to good use?” he coos at you, tracing your lower lip with his thumb.

Leaning back, he pulls out his aching cock, you lean forward and give him and give him a couple experimental pumps, which draws a beautiful noise out of the taller man before taking him completely in your mouth.

The warm wet feeling has him in shambles, he’s putting all of his focus into not cumming down your throat immediately as you expertly work his length, his hand finding your hair as he attempts to take control of the situation.

“There you go…” He lulls out, as his mouth drops open, as an unfamiliar pit starts forming in the pit of his stomach. He can feel it building as you bob your head up and down his cock, his grip on your hair tightening as he feels himself getting close, he pulls you away from him, using the hand in your hair to make you look up at him. Drool trailing out of your mouth as you look at him with slightly glassy eyes.

Looking at you, a switch flips in his mind, “So pretty, so obedient for me,” he says barely above a whisper as a smirk forms on his face. “Up, I’m not finished with you,” he pulls you to your feet as he stands up, leading you up to the altar, he forces you over it as he kicks your feet apart, he reaches for your hair, pulling it forcing it to look up. In front of you is a large marble statue of Christ.

“To make sure you know just what you’ve done, I want you to see him,” he says sternly as tears well in your eyes again, before you can form a reply you feel Yunho’s cock slide into you, bottoming out rather quickly. The young priest throws his head back as his fingertips dig into your hip, causing you both to moan. Yunho pulls out slowly before ramming himself back into you, setting a rough pace.

“Father.. P-Please” you beg as his grip on your hair tightens. “F-uck please.. I can’t last much longer like this, Father please,” tears stream down your face as you stare at the marble statue in front of you.

“Not my favorite sinner begging for forgiveness now” he quips at you, his pace slowing down “Tell me exactly why I should forgive you for the sin you’ve brought into this church? Before our Lord and savior?” He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust. “How pathetic, now you’re crying?” he smirks as he pulls you back, body flush with his “Go on, let go.. Show me how much you really are sorry,” He coos in your ear.

“Father - I.. I” your mind goes blank, your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks with one final thrust from Yunho, his name falling from your lips like hymns on a Sunday morning, he lets go of your hair, causing you to fall forward onto the altar as he pulls out of you, painting your back in his seed. The feeling of his seed on your back makes you shudder, the aftershocks of your orgasm pulling the energy out of you as you lay on the altar. Catching his breath, Yunho looks down at you, covered in his release and smirks.

”Whoever conceals their sins, does not prosper,” He breathes out “but one who confesses it finds mercy.”

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nadvs · 3 months ago

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out of bounds (part two)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» part one

» masterlist

Your footsteps fall in and out of rhythm with Zach’s as you walk over the soccer field.

Even under the inky night sky, you can easily make out the sharp white lines spray-painted on the pitch as he stands across from you, your back to the net.

As a center back, this is where you spend most of your time in a game, defending directly in front of the goal. You used to love the nerves you’d feel before a match, but by the final month of the school year, you’d start every game already waiting for it to end.

You hope you can fix that this summer. And Zach is the perfect person to practice against since his main objective in his position is scoring.

He picked up a soccer ball from a storage shed on the way over, tossing it in his hands. You wonder if he offers to help all the newbies work on their game or if it’s just you.

“I don’t know if you know this,” you say, “but the ball’s supposed to be on the ground.”

“Most people say thank you when someone does them a favor,” he jokes, dropping the ball and dribbling it between his feet.

“I think you need to actually do the favor first,” you reply.

Zach smirks. He’s always been the type to chase the feeling of fun, and right now, he enjoys how easy things are with you.

He kicks the ball to you, and you stop it under your foot.

“Don’t go easy on me,” you say. “I’m serious.”

Zach sighs with a smile.

“What?”

“Nothing, just… my sister says that to me all the time,” he says. The memory makes his chest pinch. This is the hardest part of being at camp for seven weeks. It’s only been one day and he misses his family already.

At least when he’s at college, he can visit whenever he wants, but at camp, it’s a no go.

“Does she play soccer, too?” you ask. The ball scruffs over the grass when you kick it back to him.

“No, Avery hates sports,” he says. “It’s when we play video games. She kicks my ass and she tells me to stop letting her win when I’m genuinely trying my hardest. It’s embarrassing.”

“How old is she?”

“Ten.”

You smile. It’s sweet that he spends time with his kid sister.

“And she beats you? That is embarrassing.”

He kicks the ball to you with a chuckle.

“So, she’s not interested in coming here?” you ask, considering Camp Summit is for kids in her age range.

“No chance,” he says. He asks about your family and you continue to chat about your home life while kicking the ball back and forth until you eventually decide to do what you came out here for.

“You ready?” he asks, heading backwards a few steps.

“Give me your worst.”

Zach jogs towards you, expertly kicking the ball with every stride, approaching you quickly. You keep your eyes trained on his movements and the ball, reading the opponent’s body like you always do.

You shift between your feet quickly, trying to gain possession. He side-steps and fakes right, but you notice it in the way he’s positioned, and you take the window of opportunity to steal the ball.

You succeed and rush past him, then turn to smile at him, locking the ball under your foot.

“Jeez,” Zach says, hands on his hips. “Nice one.”

“Stop,” you laugh, convinced he’s just trying to flatter you.

“How’d you catch my fake-out?”

“It’s all in your body language,” you say. You kick the ball to him.

“So, you’re looking at my body,” he says, his tone sarcastically suggestive.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you laugh, heading to where you were standing originally to reset.

“Too late.” He rushes back to the center of the field.

Your cheeks go warm. He wouldn’t risk dating at work. It’s against the rules. You could both lose your jobs.

But what’s the harm in flirting? He seems to like to do it with you just as much as you do it with him.

Zach jogs towards you again and you turn with him slightly, closing the distance once he comes close enough, mirroring him as he darts over the grass.

“It’s good that you don’t dive in right away,” he says between breaths. “I always get past defenders when they rush me.”

“Are you trying to distract me with flattery?” you ask.

“If it’s working, yeah,” he replies.

You laugh and continue to jockey, both of you moving with sharp, fast movements as he shuffles with the ball.

It’s a struggle, but eventually, he gets past you, sending the ball flying in the net.

“One-one,” he says. “You really made me work for it, though, huh?”

As you watch Zach run to grab the ball out of the net, you’re taken by how kind he is. Even after he gets a ball past you, he compliments you.

You refocus when he resets and jogs down the field towards you again. As the night goes on, you start to feel comfortable enough to make contact with each other, brushing arms and legs.

You stop keeping score, but it feels pretty equal by the time you’re huffing from all the exercise.

“You good to call it?” he asks, looking down at you as he pants after you steal the ball from him yet again.

“Yeah. I think that was more than ten minutes.”

His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he smiles. He completely forgot he was out here with you, under a time limit, all because he was waiting for his friend to escort yours out of his cabin.

“I noticed something you do,” he says as you walk off the field together, taking turns kicking the ball far ahead of you. “You kind of give up when you think you won’t win the ball.”

“Why waste the energy?” you respond with a tired laugh. You check your phone to see that it’s almost 10:30.

“My coach always tells us that you have to believe that you’ll win every tackle,” Zach says. “It seems like you tell yourself you might as well stop trying.”

You consider his words. It’s true. It’s a bad habit you’ve picked up in the past year, a result of your dwindling confidence. And he’s a sharp player for catching that weakness.

Zach watches you, afraid he might have offended you.

“I hope I didn’t - that wasn’t out of line, was it?”

“No, no,” you say. “You’re totally right. Thanks. It’s helpful.”

You reach the dirt path, approaching the storage shed. He puts the ball away and joins you again as you make your way towards the staff cabins in the humid night.

“Gotta be honest,” he says, thinking back to what you said by the fire, “I’m surprised you’re not confident in your game.”

“My team doesn’t do that well,” you admit. It feels like you’re constantly ruminating over last season’s win/loss ratio.

“And what, that’s your fault?” he asks.

“I am usually the last one the other team crosses before scoring,” you say with a shrug.

“Actually, the goalie is.”

“No, she’s great,” you reply. “It’s not on her.”

Zach snorts.

“What?”

“You don’t blame her, but you blame yourself,” he says. “Makes sense.”

You nudge his firm shoulder. The contact is brief and playful and you’re comfortable doing it now considering you got so close on the field.

Zach nudges you back, touching you as if he always does. As if you didn’t just meet today.

“You mad I’m right?” he says.

“A little,” you reply with a small smile.

You reach your cabins. The shirt on his door is gone. It seems like your cabin-mates are back to their respective beds.

“Yeah, I’m still knocking very loudly just in case,” Zach says.

“Good call,” you laugh, heading towards your cabin. “Thanks again for the help.”

“Any time,” he says. You hope he means it.

Ami’s sitting up in her bed when you come through the door.

“Hey,” she says, “I’m surprised the bonfire went that long.”

“It didn’t,” you reply. “I was out practicing defense with Zach. Because his cabin was occupied.”

Ami grins. After she gives you a recap of her time with Malcolm, which she says went no further than heavy making out, she turns the attention back to you.

“How was practice?” she says. “If that’s what actually happened.”

“It is,” you laugh. “Great. He’s really good.”

“At what?” she asks suggestively.

“At soccer,” you laugh again. “We honestly just practiced. And even if he’s into me like that, he seems serious about the no dating rule. I wouldn’t risk it, either. I don’t know what you’re planning with Malcolm but apparently they’re actually strict about it, so be careful.”

“I will, but I’m not worried. We talked about how we’ll only be casual. And discreet. You be careful, too, okay?”

“Nothing to be careful about,” you say with a shrug.

“So, if Zach asked you out, you wouldn’t be down?”

Truthfully, you’re not sure you’d be able to resist dating him, even if it had to be in secret. Zach is impossible not to like.

“It’s not happening,” you simply reply.

Just like every other year, welcoming campers the next morning is havoc. Zach feels a sense of pride when he sees a familiar face, another kid who loved this place so much that they wanted to come back.

After the campers are directed to their cabins, orientation is held at the dining hall, followed by breakfast.

Voices bounce loudly around the hall as kids dig into their food, every counselor sitting at the head of the table with their cohorts.

He makes conversation, asking his boys questions to encourage them to talk with each other. His eyes flit up to you every so often, hoping he doesn’t get caught staring.

You’re sitting a few tables away, smiling as you chat. He almost can’t believe how much fun he had with you on the pitch under the stars last night.

Things are just so simple with you. He doesn’t have to think about what to say, because he knows you’ll play along or just laugh at his dorky joke. He likes you. A lot.

The rest of the day is dedicated to games across the campground, with training scheduled to start tomorrow. At one point, you ask over the walkie-talkies if anyone knows where extra flags for a game are kept.

Zach replies to check the top shelf of one of the storage sheds. You thank him and even though all he does is say You got it, newbie over the radio, you think about the way he said it for much longer than you would if it were anyone else.

Lunch goes by quickly, followed by more games. Throughout the day, Zach has noticed that one of his new campers, Oliver, has kept to himself. He tried to talk with him every so often, but he just got one-word answers.

So, when Oliver approaches him before Zach blows his whistle to signal the start of the last game of the day, he’s hopeful that he’ll ask about the game and finally show some interest in camp.

“I don’t want to do this game,” the little boy says. “I’m tired.”

It’s disappointing, but Zach doesn’t want to push him. Some kids just need time.

“That’s okay,” Zach says. “You can go sit in the shade. No pressure.”

Half an hour later, everyone goes to the dining hall for dinner.

While he eats, Zach is already exhausted and regrets volunteering to do one of the overnight shifts the first day. Every night, four counselors are scheduled to sleep in one of the four camper cabins, so that campers aren’t ever left without supervision.

It’s a guarantee of a bad sleep. Kids are always way too excited to do anything but talk to each other in their bunks on the first night, having to be reminded over and over that yes, even whispering counts as talking.

But Zach has always hated disappointing people, so he couldn’t risk letting down his aunt and uncle by not volunteering. He has the longest tenure of any other counselor here. He needs to set a good example.

After dinner, the kids are given free time before lights out, free to either hang out in their cabins or by the campfire. This gives some of the staff a moment to congregate by the dock, offering the perfect spot to keep an eye on campers without being heard by them.

It’s just past dusk as you stand by the boarded walkway leading into the shallow waters, looking out to your cohort of campers around the fire. You hear Zach ask about how the first day has been.

You look over to see him chatting with a couple of other counselors, a big smile on his face. It’s a good reminder that he’s simply a friendly guy and might not even be into you like that.

But when his eyes land on you and his smile gets a little wider, your heart refuses to agree with your mind. He must feel something, too.

Zach shifts closer to you, crossing his arms. His biceps bulge under his t-shirt. You quickly tear your gaze off of his muscles and up to his blue eyes.

“You surviving?” he asks.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Don’t know. Some people just don’t have what it takes.”

“You’re so much nicer to the other counselors,” you tease, looking down and shaking your head.

Zach feels himself blush, tense that you’re calling him out for brazenly flirting with you. But when your eyes flitter back to his, he can tell by your innocent smile that you don’t have any intention to embarrass him.

“It’s all an act,” he says. You laugh and cross your arms, mirroring him. “Your kids getting along?”

“I think so,” you say. “They already have their little cliques.”

“Yeah, that happens,” Zach says. He looks out to the campfire and you catch his smile slowly fade, his strong jaw tensing.

“How about yours?” you ask.

“Got one who seems like he really doesn’t want to be here at all,” he admits.

You follow his eye-line to the boy sitting on the steps of a camper cabin, staring down at the book in his hands as he reads under the porch light.

“Usually with those kids, it just takes a few hours and they settle in,” he says, “but I don’t know. I’ll give it another try.”

Sure enough, when Zach crosses the distance and asks Oliver what he’s reading, he answers with the title, then ducks his head to quickly back to reading.

You notice from far away, confident that if you were close enough, you would see disappointment on Zach’s face.

The next morning, Zach is even more tired than he expected. The overnight shift was full of interruptions. He’s sure he’ll sleep like a rock tonight.

As everyone sits in the dining hall for breakfast, you dig into your food, listening to your campers talk to each other.

Then, your eyes drift over to Zach. You realize he was already looking at you. It makes your stomach go numb. He quickly glances away.

You notice that the same kid he talked about last night is sitting at the end of the table, alone, picking at his food. Considering how helpful Zach has been, and simply because you like him, you decide to see what you can do.

Near the end of breakfast, campers begin to clear off and put away their plates, and you walk over and crouch at the end of Zach’s table.

The boy looks up at you with an unreadable expression. You introduce yourself, pointing to your name-tag, asking him his name.

“Oliver,” he says, looking back down. You notice he hardly ate anything.

“How are you liking camp?” you ask quietly. Your eyes dart up to look at Zach at the other end of the table. His lips quirk into a hint of a smile.

“I’m not,” he answers.

“Is there anything that would make you feel better?” you offer.

“Leaving,” he says. You stifle your frown.

“Besides that,” you reply. “And you can be totally honest.”

“The food here sucks,” he mumbles. You look down at the uneaten pancake he’s pushing around with his fork.

“What if we got better pancakes?” you ask.

“I don’t want pancakes,” he replies. “I want waffles.”

“Waffles,” you say with a smile, glad you at least got an answer. You stand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Oliver looks up at you with surprised eyes. Something tells you that he isn’t used to being asked what he wants and actually getting it.

You head back to your table to rally your girls, but you find Zach before counselors start leading their groups outside.

“You said you had connections, right?”

Zach turns to see you standing behind him, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach flips when he makes eye contact with you.

“Yeah,” he says. Campers rush around you as you stand by the front door of the dining hall.

“If you can sneak in some waffles, I think Oliver might like it a little better here,” you say.

“He told you that?” he asks.

“No, I’m a mindreader,” you tease. “Yes, he told me that.”

Zach smirks as you turn away to rush back to your group. He can’t stop smiling even after you’re gone.

It’s a long, hot day. You were disappointed when you saw the schedule this morning, because while you like all the vets, you had hoped Zach would be one of the counselors you’d be paired with for drills today. Maybe tomorrow.

All afternoon, your walkie kept crackling and losing signal. You mention it to one of the directors, Ruby, when you see her by the main office and she promises to get you a new one soon.

After the campers go to bed, you head back to your cabin, expecting to see Ami. But her bed is empty. You double-check the schedule in the staff group chat to confirm she isn’t one of the overnight shifts tonight.

You figure she’s hanging out somewhere else on the campground. You settle in for the evening with a shower, then get into your pajamas and decide to do some skincare and self-pampering.

Zach lets out a tired, heavy sigh when he sees Malcolm’s text. He exits the dining hall and steps into the thick night air, rereading the message from his cabin-mate.

Ami’s over. I’ll text when she’s gone.

He just came back from the closest grocery store specifically to buy as many boxes of frozen waffles as he could carry after he got the okay from his aunt. He used up all the freezer space he could find in the dining hall kitchen and now, he just wants to lie in his bed.

He’s not sure what to do. He’s never been that confrontational at work, preferring to keep the peace, but if this becomes a habit of Malcolm’s this summer, he’ll have to say something to him.

He heads towards his cabin, just in case his best friend texts in the meantime. He doesn’t.

Before he can turn around to go sit by the lake to kill time, he notices the light spilling out from behind the edges of the blinds on your cabin window.

Maybe you’d like to keep him company like you did the other night. Without much more thought, he knocks on your door.

When you open it, you’re in pajamas, your hair wet from the shower, pink gel strips under your eyes.

Zach smiles, thinking you look adorable and wishing he could say it out loud.

“Hey,” you say. You notice he’s still in his work clothes, even though lights out for campers was over an hour ago. “What’s up?”

“I was, um… I was gonna see if you wanted to hang out,” he says, holding up his phone. “I just got the text version of the shirt on the doorknob.”

You laugh and quickly clue in that Ami is with Malcolm next door.

“So, that’s where she is,” you say. “Come in. We can hang out here.”

When the door shuts behind Zach, you wonder if he also feels the weight of the privacy you two have now. This is different from being out on the pitch the day you met. There’s no chance of anyone seeing you behind your closed cabin door. It’s intimate. Almost risky.

“How was your day?” you ask, sitting on your bed as Zach settles on the chair tucked under your desk.

You’re trying to act casual and relaxed, but it’s hard to when you meet his eyes. He’s too cute not to get shy around.

“Well, I just went into town to buy like, ten boxes of Eggos,” he tells you. “That’s a first.”

“Did you really?”

“I thought it’d only be fair if I got enough for my whole group,” he explains. “Turns out we don’t have a waffle maker, but we do have toasters, so it was the best I could do.”

“Nice,” you say. “I’m glad the kitchen staff were cool with it.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “I’m actually sneaking in the kitchen tomorrow morning to make them. The cooks have more than enough work, so as long as I don’t get in their way, I think I’m good.”

You still for a second, endeared. You knew he’d make an effort to help Oliver feel welcome, but he’s going to all these lengths just to make a kid happy?

“Anyway, my point is, thanks for the intel,” he says, realizing he’s tiredly rambling. “I appreciate you talking to him.”

You bashfully glance away. He tries not to stare at you. It feels like trying not to stare at you is all he does when he’s around you.

He’s damn near enamored. He likes the smell of your shampoo, the way you look in your pajamas, how sweet your smile is. He hopes his nervousness isn’t obvious.

“No problem,” you say. “So, you haven’t been in your cabin at all since lights out?”

Zach shakes his head, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. He’s clearly tired and bothered by his cabin-mate kicking him out of his room. You wonder if he’ll say anything to Malcolm, but for his sake, you decide to keep the atmosphere light.

“I have a lot of these,” you offer, pointing to the under-eye strips on your face. “You wanna try? It’ll help you relax.”

“Is it that obvious that I need to relax?” he says.

You only smile in response and stand to pick up a stack of multi-colored packets of gel strips from the basket on your dresser and hold them out to him.

Zach’s eyes travel over the colorful array, sitting still as you stand over him. You’re not surprised that he’s actually going along with it.

Some guys would be tense, acting like skin-care is feminine, and therefore, embarrassing, but he’s relaxed and nothing but green flags, like usual.

“Lots of options here,” he says pensively.

“Are you always this indecisive?” you tease after a long moment of quiet.

Zach looks up and pretends to glare, but the dimples framing his stifled smirk give him away.

“You mad I’m right?” you echo his words from last night.

“A little,” he says, just like you did. You got him pegged. He’s always been bad at making choices, especially under pressure.

“I can pick for you.”

“Bossy,” he replies. “But, yeah. Pick. Please.”

You laugh and randomly choose a packet, opening the purple packaging for him and holding out the film. He takes it in his hand, looking at it with furrowed brows.

You decide to help him out. It’s what a friend would do.

“Here,” you say softly, pushing down your nerves. Warm eyes meet yours and you try to act composed. You peel off one of the strips, pressing it up just above his cheekbone. His skin is hot, his stare strong.

You step a little closer, focus etched onto your face, the corners of your lips slightly turned up. As you apply the other strip, your legs brush against his knees and he imagines how nice it’d feel to drag his hands up the backs of your thighs.

You’re so close and so pretty that it almost hurts not to touch you how he’d like to. You’re just as flirty with him and he’s sure you’d want his hands on you like that, but he’d ask before doing it. That is, if you weren’t coworkers.

You can’t help but giggle when you step back to look at him.

“What, is purple not my color?” Zach asks.

“No, it totally is,” you reply. “Keep them on until they feel dry.”

You settle in your bed again, your back pressed against the wall, legs stretched out.

“How was your day?” he says, having to clear his throat. “I never asked.”

“Yeah, you didn’t. Rude.” Zach smiles at your joke. “It was good. My first overnight shift is tomorrow. How was it last night? Did you actually get any sleep?”

“Not really,” he admits. “But the first night is always the roughest. You’ll be fine.”

He fails to stifle a yawn. You figure that after a bad sleep, a busy day, and running an errand in town, he must be exhausted. Once again, like it always does with Zach, your curiosity is too strong to ignore.

“Does this bother you?” you ask, vaguely motioning in the direction of his cabin.

Right now, Zach doesn’t mind Malcolm keeping him out because it means time with you. And while he’d normally say something like that openly, never having been one to shy away from sharing thoughts like these with a girl he likes, the stakes are so much higher right now.

Because dating is against the rules. Because you might reject him. Because he’s actually never been this nervous around a girl before.

“It’s okay,” he simply says. You wonder if he’s just not one to stand up to people.

“I can talk to Ami if it becomes a problem,” you tell him. “I won’t say you said anything, but let me know if you want me to mention it.”

Before he can reply, there’s a knock on your door. You answer it to see Ruby standing at your front step holding out a new walkie.

“Hey,” she says. “Sorry you had tech issues today. We can swap.”

“Oh, perfect,” you say. “It’s no problem. Thank you.”

Zach freezes when he sees his aunt. This looks like… well, it could simply look like two friends hanging out. But it might look like more.

As you take the new walkie and cross your small cabin to exchange it for your malfunctioning one, Ruby catches Zach’s gaze and offers him a genuine but confused smile.

He decides to try to act normal, even though he feels like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

“She’s not going to get in trouble for breaking it?” Zach jokes, pointing to you.

“I didn’t break it,” you reply with a laugh as you hand the old walkie to your boss. “I’m not in trouble, though, am I?”

“Nope,” Ruby says lightheartedly. Zach nervously chews the inside of his cheek. Her tone could mean that while you’re not in hot water, he is.

He watches you shut the door. It’s not like you got caught hooking up. But he wouldn’t even be able to explain what he’s doing here. It would mean snitching on his best friend for breaking one of the major rules staff need to follow.

A rule that it looks like he’s breaking. His stomach twists. He always hated disappointing authority figures, especially ones he so badly wants to impress.

When you settle on your bed again, you notice Zach peeling off the gel strips, his lips in a firm line.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Thanks for these.”

“Sure. Doesn’t seem like they relaxed you, though.”

Zach tosses the patches in the wastebasket and stands. Your heart sinks when you realize he’s leaving.

“They did. I just wanna lie down,” he says with a soft chuckle, hoping he’s not being terse. “I’m beat.”

“You can rest here while you wait for-”

“No, it’s alright,” he interrupts, heading for the door. You realize his whole demeanor has shifted after Ruby popped by.

Zach looks over his shoulder to see your features drawn in confusion and sadness. He opens his mouth before the words come to him seconds later.

“Sorry,” he says. “It was fun hanging out with you.”

“You, too,” you reply, your smile erasing the hurt on your face. You want to tell him he’s welcome any time, but he leaves in a rush.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking or maybe he’s simply a nice person, but you’re sure you both feel the magnetism between you.

And he must be really freaked out at the thought of you doing something about it, based on how stiff he got after Ruby came by, possibly suspecting that things are more than friendly between you.

The more time you spend together, the thinner the ice you’re skating on gets. You don’t want to risk the fall and cost you both your jobs.

So, as you get up to brush your teeth, you promise yourself that no matter what, you’ll keep things strictly professional. For your sake and Zach’s.

(part three)

divider credit

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#zach maclaren and reader #zach maclaren and you #zach maclaren and y/n #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren x reader

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doomdoomofdoom · 7 months ago

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If you've been boycotting Eurovision, you may have missed out on how bad it truly was, so here are a few events in no particular order:

The opening act of the semi-finals was Eric Saade, a swedish-palestinian singer who participated in Eurovision 2011. He wore a keffiyeh, a palestinian headdress, around his arm like a wristband.

Despite not making any political statements or drawing attention to his accessory, he was reprimanded by the EBU for "compromising the non-political nature of the event".

During their semi-final performance, the Irish contestant had the word "ceasefire" in old irish runes painted on their face. They were ordered to change it for the final, as it was deemed too political.

The contestant from Israel was not allowed to mingle with the other contestants, due to supposed security risks.

During an Interview, she was asked if she felt any concerns over her participation potentially endangering the event and the people present. The host told her she did not have to answer this question. Dutch contestant 'Joost' asked "why not?"

Joost, while not openly antagonizing the Israeli contestant, has made covert critical remarks about the EBUs decision to allow Israel to participate.

On Friday, the day before the Finale, Joost was investigated by the swedish police for a supposed incident where he threatened an EBU crew member. Thursday, a female camera operator had followed him off-stage to continue filming, even though there was an agreement not to film him off-stage. After she ignored his requests to stop, he threatened her with some sort of gesture.

Joost was disqualified mere hours before the finale. He was slotted to perform just before Israel and considered a favorite and potential winner.

The show itself did not address his disqualification. The dutch entry was simply skipped with no further comment.

Israeli broadcaster KAN was confirmed to have broken EBU rules during their coverage of the Irish act in the Semifinal. The commentator spoke negatively about their act, condemning the very scary goth aesthetic, and noting their willingness to criticize Israel's actions.

Despite Irish contestant Bambie Thug lodging a complaint with the EBU, there was no penalty or other repercussion.

If you were hoping that the event itself would turn into some sort of protest, I have to disappoint you:

Despite rumors of other contestants dropping out over Joost's disqualification, all of them performed.

There was audible booing every time Israel was on-screen, including their performance, announcement of points, and every time they received points. There was equally audible cheering.

No contestant or spokesperson directly addressed the ""controversy"" (read: ongoing genocide being artwashed), although very few made covert remarks about peace, love, dignity, and equality.

The most explicit it got was the Austrian spokesperson, saying something along the lines of "It's hard to find only positive words in a time where heartlessness prevails. But we hope everyone can unite through music and show that everyone deserves to be treated equally"

No one stormed on stage or held up a palestinian flag or anything, if you were hoping for that. I certainly was.

Israel gave its 12 points (both Jury and public) to Luxembourg. The singer is half-israeli and born in Jerusalem.

Jury votes mostly ignored Israel, netting them a total of 52 points through jury votes, which put them somewhere in the middle of the scoreboard. Norway, Cyprus, and Germany awarded them 8 points each, making them the main contributors.

In contrast, Israel received 323 points from the public voting. They were second only to Croatia with 337. 15 public votings, including "rest of the world" awarded Israel their 12 points, more than any other country would receive. The only countries not to award any points to Israel in the public vote were Croatia and Ukraine.

Israel thereby placed 5th out of 25.

But hey, at least the winner (Switzerland) was nonbinary, diversity win amirite. Notably, they had to smuggle in their pride flag, since EBU guidelines only allow flags of participating countries and the rainbow flag. (This is also why palestinian flags were not allowed. It's not a new rule, but they certainly weren't going to start bending it now.)

If there's one thing to take away from this: Do not ever think the rest of the world is on your side, just because your social media is. The rest of the world has shown their allegiance, and it lies with Israel and Genocide.

Do not stop fighting for what is right.

#esc 2024 #eurovision #boycott eurovision #joost klein #boycott israel #palestine #long post #political #bambie thug #ceasefire #what a world we live in that asking for a ceasefire is considered hateful and political #“stop killing each other” should not be a controversial take #also im not interested in any discourse about it #this is a retelling and some numbers on it #go bother someone else if you must

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helplesslypurple77 · 2 months ago

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Day 3-Threesome-Chrollo/Reader/HIisoka

Notes: i've actually never written Chrollo, i hope this doesn't turn out ooc. Something about him is so vague, he's difficult to write, lol. Also I looked up poker hands for your welcome. I play poker with my family sometimes, but we prefer blackjack for whatever reason lol. Also i've never played the strip variety lol

It was raining. Drops fell through the jagged holes in the ceiling of the abandoned building, wetting the floor in uneven patches. It was dusk, a gloomy gray light cut with the golden candlelight coming from the candles scattered across the floor. You wished your colleagues had shelled out for a nice hotel. Heck, you would take a motel, anything with four walls, a roof, and wifi. But alas, the members of the Phantom troupe who were assigned to find shelter were the most dramatic ones(Chrollo, Feitan, and Nobunaga) and not any of the ones with common sense.

And so here you were, hunched over your laptop. Gloomily watching the battery slowly tick down the hours until you would need to charge it at a net cafe, and occasionally moving to dodge raindrops. The sound of your fingers hitting the keys fills the large cavernous room, interspersed with the turning of pages and the occasional fluttering of cards to the ground.

There wasn't much to do, in the random abandoned lot the spiders had decided to hunker down in. You could sleep, you supposed. But the only other two people occupying the room would probably sabotage that. You would wake up with clown makeup(the actual clown makeup, not the stuff Hisoka wore) and a card tower balancing precariously on your stomach. And you would know, it had happened before. Your only other option was taking the forty-minute trek into town. Through the rain, which actually sounded more unpleasant than the clown makeup. At least that stuff came off.

The sounds of Hisoka’s cards falling to the ground punctuate the formerly peaceful silence, and you sigh, watching your battery move to ten percent. Maybe it would take pity on you and that ten percent would last the rest of the night. A card wizzes by your ear. You don't even flinch.

“I'm busy, Hisoka.” You say, not even turning. He's probably where he was when the rest of the phantom troupe members left earlier, sitting cross-legged on the rock floor, making card towers.

“You don't look busy~” Hisoka says, from behind you. Another card lands beside you, this one a foot away from your thigh. You lay stretched out on the floor, propped up uncomfortably on your arms, occasionally typing on your computer. Every couple of minutes you obsessively switched positions. You got antsy after sitting for too long.

“I'm working.” You say in return. Hisoka hums, and you imagine him tilting his head in confusion like a cat. Actually, you're watching a show. Muted with subtitles, because you forgot your headphones and you don't want to venture into the storm to get them. But that's none of his business.

Your battery ticks down to seven percent. Chrollo, sitting dramatically up on a rock at the front of the building, turns a page of his book. Another card wizzes by you, this one hitting an inch or two away from your computer keypad. You roll your eyes.

“Stop that.” You say, annoyance leaking into your voice. Hisoka chuckles.

“But I'm bored~” He whines, sounding closer than before. You roll your eyes.

“Build another card tower.”

“I'd rather not,” Hisoka returns, and another card flies by, this one dangerously close to your computer screen. “Bothering you is much more entertaining.”

“Careful!” You grumble. Your computer battery blinks, five percent taunting you. “If you break my computer you have to buy me a new one.”

Hisoka's response comes in the form of another card, this one landing a centimeter from your keyboard. Fed up you turn, glaring at the clown sitting behind you.

“Fuck you Hisoka,” You grumble, “just let me waste the rest of my battery in peace.”

He doesn't respond, just smiles at you. You hate to admit you find him attractive. He’s definitely moved closer and now sits perched above you on a rock, leaning back casually, hands lazily flicking cards about the hideout.

You wished desperately that you had just taken a normal job, maybe as a receptionist or a waitress, and not decided to join the spiders of all things. You blamed it on your terrible taste in men. And your sister's ex-boyfriend. Because maybe, after your sister had come crying to you, telling you that John had cheated, you had immediately gone to beat him up. You had ended up beating him up pretty bad and went home and that was the end of it.

Until you woke up the next morning, saw the spiders sitting in your living room, and dropped your coffee. After you cleaned up the mess, they informed you in various volumes, that because you had defeated one of their members you had to become a member. You had initially declined, and then you saw certain handsome men in spirit Halloween costumes and you folded like wet paper. So here you are, kind of deeply regretting your rash decisions.

Chrollo turns another page. Water drips from the ceiling and hits your nose. You jerk back, turning back to your computer. Which is dead. Or course.

Grumbling, you slam the computer closed and lay back on the ground, letting the stone cool you down, and listening to the rain as it hits the building around you. It's peaceful, the smell of fresh rain, intermixed slightly with two different types of cologne and the faint smell of mildew. The rain calms you down from your annoyance, the cold sinking into your skin and putting a damper on your annoyance.

If only you could find it in yourself to truly hate Hisoka. He was a nuisance, constantly inconveniencing you on a daily basis, and jokingly flirting with you because he knew it annoyed you. And you would get so fed up and upset and then he would smirk and you would see his stupid handsome face and you just couldn't bring yourself to truly hate him.

His joke flirting actually kind of hurts you, because you know he's only doing it as a joke. You know he doesn't actually think you're attractive. Neither does Chrollo, now that you think about it, but at least he didn't give you false hope. He was straightforward in his dismissiveness.

You sigh, and turn onto your side, already antsy. A breeze gusts across your face. A warm breeze.

The smell of flowers and blood hits your nose. How odd.

You knew there were patches of greenery outside of the building, and there were probably a few inside as well, but blood? As far as you knew no one had died here yet. You sniff harder, your brow furrowed in confusion. And then a hand lands on your side. Your eyes fly open in shock, and Hisoka grins at you from his position mirroring you on the floor, about a foot away. You shriek in shock, as Hisokas hand strokes up and down your waist and hips.

“You're loud.” He says, his mouth curving in a smirk. It sounds suggestive, but everything he says sounds suggestive. Unfortunately, he looks even more handsome up close.

“You scared the crap out of me,” You grumble. “The hell Hisoka.”

“Oops, sorry.” He says. He doesn't look sorry and his hand is still stroking your side as you lie side by side on the cold stone of the floor. You hate how much that hand makes your stomach flutter. Rolling over you purposely trying to ram him onto his back. Maybe his stupid hair will get crushed.

But alas, his body is a brick wall, and of course you only succeed in crushing your front into his muscled chest. Your face flushes, hidden where it is in his pecs, and you try to pull away. But an iron arm is holding you against him. Against all reason, you can hear his heart beating evenly in his chest. Your own skips around, propped up by the butterflies in your stomach. You wiggle, trying to escape but only managing to free your arms from his iron embrace.

“My my, how eager.” Hisoka coos, probably about to say something equal parts annoying and mortifying. “You could have just asked.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, trying to unsuccessfully pry yourself away from his body. Hisoka only chuckles.

“Fuck you,” You say against his chest.

“Mm, maybe later.” Hisoka hums. You sigh.

“Chrollo? Your subordinate is suffocating me.” You grumble. You can't see him from here, but you assume he's still sitting on his big boss rock. He chuckles, and you hear a page turn.

“Let her go, Hisoka.” He says, sounding way too amused for your liking. Hisoka obliges, but not before his hand finds its way onto your ass. You kick his leg, and hold back the urge to ask him to do it again. Chrollo has put his book down, and is now watching the two of you curiously, illuminated by the candle sitting a few inches from his weird leather coat. Why both of the men in the room with you dress like absolute weirdos, you’ll never know.

“You just let me squirm for a while, huh.” You grumble at him. He smiles

“You seemed like you were enjoying it, I didn't want to interrupt.” He replies, the candlelight flicking on the pale skin of his abs. You always wondered why he chose a leather jacket without a shirt, but you weren't going to ask and embarrassed yourself. He's snarky tonight for some reason.

You flush, hiding it with a glare.

“I was not enjoying anything!” You say, at the same time Hisoka unhelpfully chimes in with, “aww, don't be jealous Chrollo.”

You shoot Hisoka a weird look, but Chrollo only laughs. The sound echoes in the like twenty feet of space between you and Hisoka, and Chrollo on his big boss rock.

“Stop looming over us like that.” You say, flopping into a cross-legged position across from Hisoka. He's pulled himself up from the ground and is shuffling his cards in his hand. “If you're gonna talk you have to come down.”

Chrollo laughs. “Sure dear.” He says, and you watch him jump gracefully down from his perch and join the two of you on the ground in a little circle.

Hisoka hums quietly, playing some weird nonsensical card game. Chrollo has opened his book again. You're the only one with nothing to do.

“What are you reading anyway?” You ask the man beside you. Chrollo, sitting a foot away from you, looks up.

“The Divine Comedy.” He says, flipping the heavy cover to show you. You roll your eyes so far back into your head they just might get stuck there.

“How dull,” Hisoka says, and for once, you find yourself in complete agreement.

“I shouldn't have asked, huh.” You mutter, settling back against a rock with a sigh. Chrollo raises an eyebrow.

“I take it you aren't a fan?” He asks, closing Dantes' glorified fanfic and placing it beside him. You roll your eyes with a sigh.

“Too long. Boring. Would rather read Crime and Punishment, at least that has a romance plotline.” You say, picking dirt from under your nails. “Do you even read, Hisoka?”

“Of course,” Hisoka replies, gathering all of his cards from their nonsensical placements. Cautiously, but too curious for your own good, you raise an eyebrow. He smiles at your silence, shuffling the cards in his hands. “Aren't you curious?”

“No,” You lie, watching him shuffle. You are curious, but for once you decide to hold your tongue.

Hisoka starts dealing three piles of cards. You eye him suspiciously.

“What are we playing?” You ask cautiously. It's always a good idea to air on the side of caution with Hisoka. The man just oozes sketchy vibes.

“Strip poker,” Hisoka replies. Your mouth drops open.

“Hell no.” You say. Hisoka pouts, looking almost harmless. Almost.

“You scared?”

“Fuck you.” You return. “No way in hell am I betting against you.”

It seems like an extremely unwise idea to play any games that have anything at all to do with lying or gambling against Hisoka of all people. You were totally going to lose.

Hisoka tilts his head. “I'm disappointed by your cowardness” He coos, setting his deck of cards on the ground gingerly. “You're just as dull as him.”

He's goading you. You know it, you can feel the smart voice in your brain telling you to ignore him and turn around. But he gets you.

“Fine, whatever.” You say, picking up your cards with a sigh. “This is a terrible idea.”

Out of the corner of your vision, you see Chrollo also pick up his cards. You raise your eyebrows.

“You're joining us in this tomfoolery?” You ask, genuinely pretty surprised. Chrollo smiles.

“Seems fun,” he says, a faint light behind his eyes that you can't place. You sigh, watching as Hisoka finishes dealing.

“This kind of thing seems pretty on brand for him,” You say, gesturing at Hisoka. “But you Chrollo?”

Hisoka makes a fake offended noise, and you roll your eyes. Chrollo simply smiles.

“Maybe I have ulterior motives,” He says. Turning his attention to Hisoka, he continues, “Five card draw?”

You catch on to that sentence, but you hurriedly move along when Hisoka nods.

“Yes, the person with the lowest hand gets to strip,” he says.

Maybe you're imagining it, but you swear he's just looking at you when he says that last bit. Perhaps a prelude of things to come. You sigh, taking a look at your cards. This is going to be a long night.

○○○

“Gimme three cards,” You say, fiddling with your necklace. Hisoka takes a large swig of beer and tosses three cards your way with a grin. So far, nothing too bad has happened. Hisoka had lost the first round, betting on nothing while you escaped with two pairs and Chrollo won with three of a kind. Hisoka had taken off one arm badly, the other one still sitting unevenly on his arm.

You had lost the next round, and taken off your earrings.

Chrollo had followed with two losses, losing his weird earrings that looked like Christmas tree ornaments, and the useless belt hanging from his coat. You had just lost a round, taking off your white kitten heels.

So far you were sitting pretty, although you were wearing the least of the two men, with a zip-up hoodie over a sky-blue tank top and jeans. So far Hisoka was the one with the least losses, but you doubted anyone was surprised about that anyway. If you were ever gonna go to Vegas you would take Hisoka with you, and the two of you would be walking out bathing in ritches.

You have a good hand this round. A straight is pretty hard to beat, and even if you didn't win you would probably get at least second. Privately, you hoped Hisoka would take off his other armband. It was starting to annoy you.

“Four cards please Hisoka,” Chrollo asks. You hide your grin behind your cards. You can taste victory on your tongue, along with cheap beer. Hisoka trades out two cards, grinning inscrutable in your direction.

“You have a good hand, right Name?” He asks, crumpling up his empty beer can and tossing into the small pile the three of you had been adding two. You roll your eyes.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don't.” You say, holding your cards reflexively against your chest. “I'm not gonna tell you.”

Hisoka carries on, smiling a little too much to be friendly.

“Your face, although very pretty, tells me everything I need to know.” He coos, leaning towards you with a smile. “You really should work on that poker face.”

You roll your eyes. Hisoka just smiles. Chrollo ignores both of you.

“Done?” You ask. “Let's reveal our hands already.”

Hisoka is just trying to shake you up, it's obvious. It's all the man does for god's sake.

“Turn on three.” Chrollo says. Your eyes come to him, catching on the small drinking flush on his cheekbones. His hair is drooping from its gelled place, a few strands falling over his forehead. Hisoka, on your other side, also looks a little unhinged. More than usual anyway, with a feral light in his eyes. He never looks away from you, even as Chrollo speaks.

“One, two, three.”

The three of you flip your cards and your heart sinks. Your straight is the lowest hand on the table. Hisoka smirks, a royal flush sitting proudly in front of him. Chrollo has four of a kind. Your jaw drops in disbelief. The odds of that are absolutely insane.

“What the hell,” You say in shock. “I cant fucking believe it. I thought I was set.”

Chrollo chuckles quietly. “You must have gotten unlucky my dear.” He says, taking a small sip of beer. Hisoka smiles.

“Don't be too sad Name.” He says, gathering the cards back into his hand. “Now put on a show for us, okay?”

You roll your eyes, shrugging your sweatshirt off and onto the pile of your already discarded clothes.

“That's good enough for you, creep?” You ask, rolling your eyes again. You've been doing that a lot lately.

“I suppose it'll do for now,” Hisoka sighs, dealing the cards out again. Chrollo chuckles.

“A rather lacking show, don't you think?” he says, picking up his cards. You shoot him a confused look.

“Your acting weird today, Chrollo.” You say, eyeing your hand. Nothing good.

“Am i?” Chrollo says vaguely. “Whatever you say dear. Another beer, Hisoka.”

Hisoka chuckles, lobbing a beer at Chrollo, who catches it in his free hand.

Hisoka loses the next few rounds, discarding his arm band and both of his shoes. Chrollo then has to discard a few of his weird bobbles and chains, and then his shoes. You're all dangerously close to losing an important piece of clothing now. The tension in the room is rising, along with the intoxication level.

You sigh, feeling not drunk but pleasantly buzzed. You can tell Hisoka and Chrollo feel the same.

And then it happens. You lose the next round.

Staring sadly at the shitty hand in front of you, you calculate your options.

You can take your shirt off, leaving you in your bra, pants and underwear. Or you could take your pants off.

“Come on now, move along.” Hisoka coos, words somehow sounding more suggestive than normal. You roll your eyes, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it into the pile of your discarded clothes with a frown. You hope they assume the flush of your cheeks is from alcohol.

Chrollo coughs a little, tossing Hisoka his hand and averting his eyes almost politely. Hisoka just stares shamelessly, at your boobs, cupped in your light pink lacy bra. You flush.

“Stop staring, creep.” You toss your cards his way. His smirks, dealing three hands again.

Hisoka loses the next round. You giggle, shouting payback until he takes off his shirt. You swear you're not looking at his chest or anything. Chrollo loses his jacket next, and you swear the universe is taunting you as you sit there, almost bare next too to really attractive shirtless men.

You lose the next round, leaving you on the cold stone floor in your matching underwear and bra, trying to hide your embarrassment.

The stone is cold, but it doesn't nothing to cool the heat you feel running through your veins, gathering in your gut as Hisokas pale hand deals out the fateful cards.

The air is filled with an odd tension, something simmering under the surface. For once, everyone is silent, the only sound is the cards hitting the floor crisply. You find yourself mesmerized by the movement, the muscles of Hisokas arms as they ripple, as the cards hit the floor. You kinda wanna kiss his muscled arms.

“See something you like?” Hisoka coos. You flinch, looking in the opposite direction. It isn't any better, now all you can see is Chrollos bare chest. You choose to look down at your cards. The room sinks into silence again, Chrollos pants rustling as he shifts positions slightly, flicking three cards down onto the ground.

You choose to trade two, hoping for a full house. And miraculously, you actually get it. Hope fills your chest as Hisoka and Chrollo trade their cards. Maybe you're safe after all.

Candlelight flickers, the moonlight pouring in through the large windows onto the three of you, sitting in your circle, clothes littered around you. Your body thrums with head and suppressed arousal, and your nipples stand in the cold night air. You wonder if they think you're pretty. You wish they did. A breeze blows through the building and you shiver.

“Reveal your hands on three.” Chrollo says, his voice hushed. Hisoka nods, for once not saying anything.

“One,” Chrollo counts. Hisoka shifts, hands rearranging his baggy pants. His eyes burn into yours, the rare yellow color clouded with something you can't place. He looks feral, his hair falling slightly from its usual style,a few strands brushing his forehead and the tips of his ears. You feel breathless.

“Two,” Chrollo says. You jerk your eyes away from Hisoka, looking at Chrollo. It's not much better over there, but at least he isn't looking at you. Eye contact is too much for your sanity. He's just as strong as Hisoka, but his build is more lean. While Hisokas shoulders taper into his small waist, Chrollo's body is more of a straight line. You resist the urge to stroke down his visible abs. The air feels hot suddenly, as Chrolllo opens his mouth one final time.

“Three.”

Time seems to slow down, as each person reveals their hand. A full house, sitting in front of your bare knees.

A straight flush, sitting in front of Chrollo.

And a royal flush, sitting in front of Hisoka.

Time seems to still for a moment as each person takes stock of the hands, takes stock of who lost. And then they turn to you.

“I don't have anything left.” You say, your voice pitched soft.

“You sure?” Hisoka coos, sliding along the floor slowly. Closing in on you. You laugh nervously, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Was this all a ploy to get me naked?” You joke, avoiding eye contact. Hisoka chuckles. Chrollo remains silent. You can feel their eyes on you, tracing your body, catching on the lace hiding your privates from view.

“Wasn't it obvious?” Chrollo says, a slight tremor in his voice. Your jaw drops open.

“What are you talking about?” You ask. The tension still lingers in the air as you look up at Chrollo, taking in his appearance. He looks slightly disheveled, an almost invisible flush sitting high on his cheekbones, a flush on his neck. You trace it down until it disappears, and then find your eyes dropping down farther and farther until they land on the bulge in his loose pants. You swallow your shock.

“What,” You start, and then jump a little as a warm clawed hand traces your shoulder. Hisoka has crept behind you, his bare chest a few inches from your back, his hands tracing your shoulders. He bends down, and pressing a light kiss to your neck.

“What's gotten into you guys,” You ask, voice shaking as Chrollo moves forward, crouching in front of your body. His hands stroke up and down your legs, stopping just shy of your thighs. Hisoka chuckles in your ear.

“You're quite naive, you know.” He coos, one hand reaching down to flick the clasp of your bra. It comes apart seamlessly, and Hisokas hands tease the straps, the only thing shielding your boobs from hungry fingers and eyes.

“He's so obvious, too.” Chrollo remarks, fairly casual as he presses a kiss high on your thigh. You muffle a whimper, biting your lip. He was quite physical with you. But you always brushed that off as Hisoka being Hisoka, and nothing more. Maybe you were a bit too hard on yourself.

“Why didn't you just ask,” You whimper, as Hisokas teeth scrape your neck. He leaves a hickey under your ear.

“Already tried that.” Hisoka hums. Chrollo chuckles, hands smoothing over the delicate skin of your thighs.

“You're always so eager to reject me,” Hisoka teases, pulling your bra off with a flourish. “So mean.”

His hands whined around, nails scratching your nipples as your boobs are exposed to the cold air.

You whimper, back arching and hands scrambling to grab something, anything. You land on Chrollo’s hair, yanking it a bit as Hisoka teases your nipples. Arousal is running through your body, and you accidentally shove Chrollo’s face into your thigh as one clawed hand grips your hair, pulling your head back.

Chrollo’s hands grip your hips, studying himself as your hands lessen slightly, allowing him to pull away from your thigh. His hair is a mess, black strands knotted in your hands. He looks a bit desperate.

“Look at you,” Hisoka coos, clawed hand tracing slowly between your boobs, tracing up the pulse point of your neck, thumb smoothing over your lips.

“So pretty and eager for us.”

You grumble, trying to protest, but HIsoka silences that by shoving two fingers down your throat. You give in, sucking with a whimper.

“She likes that,” Chrollo says, tossing the words upwards at the clown behind you. “She's soaked through her panties.”

You whimper in mortification, as shamefully your pussy pulses with heat. Chrollo's hands work your underwear down, pulling them off your legs and bearing your wet pussy to the cold air and Chrollo's gaze.

The cold air hits your clit and you tense up, about to protest. And then he slips two fingers inside of you.

It's embarrassing how easy they go in, the squelch that echoes in the air. Chrollo hums in appreciation.

“She's so pretty like this.” He says, fingers fucking you open gently. You whimper in response. Hisoka chuckles in agreement.

“Indeed,” He says, the words almost a moan. “Irresistible.”

His fingers fall from your mouth, a trail of spit following as he pulls away. He pinches a nipple, drawing a moan out of your throat.

“Wait,” You murmur, reaching back to grip Hisokas vibrant red hair. “Want you to fuck me.”

They both pause, tension hanging in the air as you tremble, your pussy throbbing. Chrollo pulls his fingers from you, the sound echoing in the silence.

And then, your world spins. You're on your hands and knees, the stone digging into you. The cold leaks into your skin, not able to dampen the fire of arousal running through your body.

“Fuck thats hot,” You groan, looking up at Hisoka, who kneels before you. He chuckles, hand caressing your blissed out face.

“You're a little whore, aren't you.” He purrs, gripping the side of your face. You get the full view from here, able to take in his pale abs, the large bulge in his pants, and his disheveled appearance. He looks radiant.

“Mmm,” You murmur, not agreeing or disagreeing.

“Condoms?” Chrollo asks from behind you, hands smoothing over your bare ass. You giggle. How gentlemanly, but at this moment all you want is to be fucked out of your mind.

“Dont care,” You grunt, taking a moment to suck Hisokas thumb. His pornographic moan is a reward. “You guys clean?”

“Yes,” Chrollo says, and you hear the clink of a belt behind you. You whimper, your pussy throbbing desperately. Hisoka chuckles.

“Yes,” he coos, and you watch eagerly as he pulls himself out of his pants. “Now put that pretty mouth to use.”

You whimper, obliging him and wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock. He's big, thick, stretching your throat out as you do your best to take him in as deep as you can. He winds a clawed hand in your hair, gripping your head and pushing you farther onto him. Your so distracted you forget about Chrollo, until he abruptly shoves his cock into you pussy.

Your back arches in response, a gargled moan muffled by Hisokas cock shoved down your throat. Hisoka yanks your hair and you moan.

“She liked that,” Chrollo grunts, his voice as controlled as ever. If you pay close attention you can hear a roughness in his voice, a sign that hes trying to disguise how affected he really is. But your too busy moaning like a whore to pay close attention.

“Did she?” Hisoka grunts, his breath coming in ragged pants as he grips your head, fucking your throat like a toy. “You like being fucked like a whore Name?”

“Oh god yes!” you moan, back arching. You can feel an orgasm on the horizon, looming as you get controlled from both ends.

Chrollo winds a hand around, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“Gonna cum,” You moan shakily, hands scrabbling at the stone ground. Hisoka chuckles dangerously, hips stuttering into your mouth.

“Already?” He almost laughs, sweat wetting his hairline. Chrollo speeds up, timing his thrusts with Hisoka. They drive you insane.

“Can i cum?” You beg. Chrollo lands a slap on your ass and you clench around him.

“Hmm, I don't know.” Hisoka teases. “Should we?”

Chrollo chuckles roughly, hips stuttering slightly in between steady thrusts.

“I think she deserves it.” He says. “She’s been so good.”

You whimper, holding back your orgasm as they speak over you. It's arousing, and you hate that. Hisoka chuckles, gripping the back of your head and abruptly shoving you deep onto his cock.

“Fine then,” He teases, “go ahead. Cum.”

You obey, your orgasm overwhelming you. Stars bounce in your vision, your body trembling as you cry their names and nonsensical words onto Hisoka’s cock.

Faintly, you hear groans, and Hisioka cums down your throat, the salty liquid flowing down your throat in spurts. You do your best to swallow it all, orgasm still hitting you as Chrollo cums into your poor pussy.

When your orgasm finally subsides, you find yourself laying on your back between them, cum dripping from your abused pussy. You sigh.

“Where am i supposed to clean up?” You ask, voice still raspy from moaning. Hisoka chuckles, running a hand through your messy hair.

“Oh dear,” He purrs. “Did you think we were done with you?”

You look at them, watching as arousal floods their bodies, as that light comes back into their eyes, and sigh.

Its going to be a long, long night.

....

Endnotes: hope you enjoyed it, it's like three am and i'm gonna put this up and go to beddddd. Oh also you might have noticed that the Kinktober list changes. If you have anything you're particularly excited about feel free to dm me and i'll make sure to keep it in!! Feel free to leave a comment <3

#helplesslypurple77kinktober #mariannacrxss #hisoka morow #hunter x hunter #hxh chrollo #hxh x reader #hxh smut #chrollo x reader #hisoka x reader x chrollo #chrollo lucilfer

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goodfish-bowl · 5 months ago

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Bunker in White

Danny Phantom x Supernatural Crossover

Masterpost

DP Crossover Angst Week Day 1 - GIW Experimentation

Summary: Sam and Dean take up a job to go investigate a government base that had been attacked by vampires.

Warnings: vague descriptions of blood and gore

Notes: hmmm, I have never written anything for Supernatural before, but I've seen a good portion of it (years ago). Probably takes place earlier in the show.

Word Count: 2044

AO3 Link

Sam and Dean had gotten this particular lead from Bobby, who in turn got it passed onto him from someone else, so it wasn’t a surprise this particular job was a mess.

Apparently, a group of vampire’s had decided a weird, underground, government bunker would be the perfect hideout, resulting in a bloodbath between the government goons and the vamps. It was a large group too, which was a point of concern among the hunter’s who turned down the job. No one really knew who’d won inside between the vampires and the government, but Dean had placed his money on the vampires. He honestly doubted that some government agency with an obsession for the color white had any idea what they were up against, much less the correct tools for the job. Dean got proved wrong when they came across the first dead vampire.

The bunker’s fluorescent lights were harsh against the darkness outside. The entire base still seemed to have power despite not being connected to any sort of power grid or system. It had made it an absolute pain in the ass to find, but at least that meant Sam and Dean didn’t have to wander around in the dark. The harsh lighting and bleached interior revealed a slaughter inside, staining the white walls with both vampire and human blood, leaving very little to imagination. The humans, all agents in once-white suits, looked to have been mauled by the vamps, while the dead vampires had holes blasted through them and were covered in green-tinged burns. Dean kicked one, trying to make sure it was actually dead. Yep, dead vamp, the whole place unfortunately smelled like it too.

Sam had found one of the more physically intact agents with a large bazooka-like weapon next to him at the back of the hallway. Rummaging through the agency's pocket’s Sam tossed the ID card over for Dean to read over, while Sam picked up the weapon.

Dean flipped open the wallet, and huffed when the agent was only referred to by a letter and position. No personal information whatsoever.

“This asshole is apparently ‘Agent B, senior heavy weapon specialist of the Ghost Investigation Ward’, which means shit to me,” Dean complained.

“‘Ghost Investigation Ward’? Is that supposed to be some sort of knockoff hunter’s group? Because points for vampire killing, less points for dying,” Sam added. “Either way, they were messing around with something supernatural, and had weapons that could blast straight through a vampire. Think we could find something here?”

Dean shrugged, “I’m down to take their weapons at the least. New tactics are always appreciated.”

Sam took the bazooka, and Dean picked up any other weapons of interest, from weighted nets, to more guns, storing them in piles to collect and ferry to the car later. The ID got them access to a couple more rooms, including a security camera and file room, which Sam said he was going back to later. The deeper they descended into the base, the more spaced out the bodies were, and the more violently the agents had seemed to fight, like they were protecting something.

“Do you think they actually managed to catch a ghost here?” Sam tossed out.

Dean snorted, “Doubt it. Sure, you can blast a hole through a vamp, but you can’t blast a hole through a ghost. Just trapping one is a pain, let alone moving it to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Illinois.”

Hydraulic doors hissed as the brothers entered the next level, only to pause from the sudden change in pattern. This one opened up into a laboratory, partitioned off by thick glass walls, rather than the collection of offices and storage the upper floors had been.

Dean’s eyes narrowed at the carnage inside the laboratories.

“What the hell were they taking apart that bleed fucking green?” Dean cursed.

Dean completely ignored the bodies of who he assumed had been the scientists. There were tons of vials of various liquids, most of them being that same saturated, radioactive green. There were also jars, lots of jars, of what he assumed were the bits and pieces of whatever creature bled green.

“Doesn’t look like whatever they were dissecting was dead while they were taking apart,” Sam commented, pointing out the restraints on the bloodied autopsy table.

“Fuck, that’s sick. At least kill whatever you're taking apart first.”

Dean watched as Sam went over to a stack of papers, filing through them quickly with a grimace on his face.

“Well, they seem to believe they caught a ghost, at least. They definitely caught something before the vampires wiped them out. The reports refer to it as Subject P-1.”

“Think it’s still here?” Dean asked.

“Maybe. This report is a few days old, and we know the vampires attacked within that same time frame, so it’s possible that ‘P-1’ is either still here, dead here, or managed to escape in the crossfire,” Sam guessed.

“I suppose we’ll find out. We only got one more level to go.”

Dean left the lab, going down the elevator to the last level. There was nothing there, except for a singular glass cell with what looked like a blast door as its entrance, all shining with some sort of green energy. There seemed to be automated weapons and cameras all pointing at the cell, and Dean considered it a bit extreme. But also down there was the biggest collection of dead vampires they had found so far.

The weapons in the room had obviously activated for whatever reason, considering the number of vampires with holes blown through them compared to the agents, of which there only seemed to be two, who looked more like they had also been caught in the crossfire of the weapons, rather than becoming vampire food like most of the guys upstairs.

“Dean…” Sam shoved him, and pointed to the cell. There was…something inside.

Dean walked over, shoving bodies out of the way with his foot to stand in front of the cell. The green… whatever it was, shone along the glass and hummed with energy, reminding Dean vaguely of an electrified fence. The inside of the cell was a mess but in a different way than outside. It reminded Dean of a few of the cells he had seen monsters hold people in before. It was dirty, and covered in blood, both red and that unknown green. There was no cot, or toilet, or any other sort of accommodation.

The only thing in the cell was a small figure, dressed in nothing but tattered scrubs, and covered in its own blood balled up in the corner, head between its legs. Dean could only make out pale, emancipated legs and feet, and a mess of matted, black hair.

“Is it alive?” Dean asked, tapping on the glass, which surprisingly didn’t zapped him.

Sam had a grimace on his face. “I…think.”

“Hey!” Dean shouted.

No reaction.

Dean pounded more heavily on the glass with his fist, “Hey! Are you alive?”

No reaction.

“Are you P-1?” Sam asked instead.

This got a reaction. The figure picked up their head, placing empty, hollow, and frighteningly blue eyes on Sam. They seemed to be a young boy, face pale and thin, deep bags under his eyes. His eyes were glassy and distant, looking through Sam rather than at him.

“Well, that’s unnerving,” Dean muttered, giving Sam a look before shoving his shoulder. “Tell him to do something else.”

Sam frowned, thinking for a moment before saying anything. “P-1, state your status,” Sam commanded.

The boy, P-1, remained silent.

“I don’t think it talks, Sammy,” Dean snorted.

Sam sputtered indignantly. “What do you want me to do then? We know he’s P-1 now, and that he’s still somehow alive.”

“Well, we know he ain’t human, and that he’s whatever these goons have been picking apart. No clue what he is, but in that state, I doubt he can do much. The lights are one but no one seems to be home, Sammy,” Dean said.

It was a harsh suggestion but, “We could just put him down and be done with it. The vamps are all dead, there’s nothing here except braindead P-1 over there.”

Sam, apparently, very much disagreed with that idea. “He’s a kid, Dean! And he’s been tortured for who knows how long. We’re not putting him down!”

Dean groaned. “Do you want to take him with us or something?!” Dean asked incredulously.

Sam was silent, apparently thinking over the idea like it was a legitimate suggestion.

“No,” Dean immediately denied. “Nope, no way, Sammy. We’re not adopting whatever-the-fuck that kid is. He’s not a dog. We have no idea what he’s capable of, let alone if he’s dangerous!”

“Then we keep an eye on him! You said it yourself, in that state, I doubt he can barely move. We could even put him in Bobby’s panic room if he acts up, but honestly,” Sam glanced over to the boy, “I doubt he would even notice.”

Dean hated the idea. He didn’t want the kid to potentially go ballistic, and there had to be some reason he was locked up in the first place. But he couldn’t think of any other reasons to leave the kid there. If anything, they could figure out what the kid was so that they knew how to defeat anything like him in the future.

“Fine!” Dean relented. “But you’re taking care of him.”

Sam seemed to untense and turned back to the boy. “P-1, move to the door,” he ordered, before more quietly adding, “We’re getting you out of here, kid.”

The boy stood up, swaying on his legs, before approaching the door, standing just outside of it. Dean watched as Sam fidgeted with the door, before eventually having to pull another ID from one of the nearby agents to get the door open. Sam led the kid out, who didn’t have much of a reaction at all. Dean frowned at how small the kid was, now that he could get a better estimate literally standing next to him. He couldn’t be older than 12.

“Okay, we’re leaving. We got some cool things and you’ve adopted a weird kid. We can confirm the vampires all died here too. Anything else we need to grab before we go back?” Dean huffed.

“I’m going to see what I can pull from the record room on the way back. Could you take him back to the car?” Sam asked.

Dean looked at the kid again. Yep. No one home at all. He doubted the kid even knew what was going on. At least he wouldn’t complain about Dean’s music choices.

“Fine, but you take too long and I’m leaving your ass here,” Dean stated. “Come-on, P-1.”

Dean took the elevator back up the entrance, still careful to check around if they had missed anything still-alive, only to have silence. The kid barely made any noise as he moved, Dean decided he didn’t like that after the third time he jumped at the kid standing directly behind him.

“I’m getting you a bell,” he grumbled.

Back at the car, Dean tossed his looted weapons into the trunk, glancing at the kid before rummaging into his and Sam’s duffles for some spare clothes. It looked really suspicious to have a bloodied kid in a medical gown walking around. It would be oversized, but Dean grabbed a flannel, jeans, and a belt. Bobby would probably have something from when he and Sam were that small.

“Hey, kid, P-1, put these on,” Dean held the clothes out to the kid, who didn’t react.

Dean groaned. “Oh come on! This is why Sam’s your caretaker. I don’t know how to dress a kid!”

Dean approached. “Gotta fucking command him like a dog,” he muttered. “P-1, arms up.”

The boy raised his arms, and Dean untied the medical gown letting it fall to the ground. Dean froze, bile building in the back of his throat, fighting the urge to throw up. Images of the jars and vials passed behind his eyes. No wonder the kid was mentally gone, Dean couldn’t see anyone surviving, let alone living long enough to walk out.

God, they needed to get the kid to Bobby.

#goodfish writes #danny phantom #supernatural #superphantom #dp x spn #dp crossover #dpcaw24 #post GIW experimentation #you know what that entails if you've been here a while #yeah Danny is so severely mentally shut down #dunno what happened to everyone else but lets just assume they're dead unless I need someone not dead #just like the actual spn series!#suprising i haven't written a spn crossover yet I actually liked the show for a decent while

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quarterlifekitty · 12 hours ago

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Another installation of the MonsterHunter!AU

Context: a baku is a demon/yokai that eats bad dreams. It has a lot of depictions, often in modern times its design is loosely based on the Malayan tapir. So I picture reader as being a tapir girl, with the cute ears, and some teeny tusks. And that really cute mottling that baby tapirs have bc it’s my post and I do what I want. But she can look however you like, really.

While Price often takes killing bounties, Ghost is a bit less picky. He doesn’t mind capturing monsters alive and delivering them to the highest bidder.

Lately, there’s been a trend amount the local nobles. Get a baku, and it will eat your child’s bad dreams, they say. So demand is high. These people don’t know that a baku can also eat your hopes and ambitions if it isn’t well fed on nightmares, but Ghost doesn’t really care to inform them.

It was supposed to be a quick and easy job— be back before dinner. But things often don’t go to plan in this line of work. If you can manage to find a baku, capture is easy. They don’t have a means of really defending themselves, and they’re docile by nature. Ghost doesn’t realize how attractive such a thing is to other bounty hunters.

He doesn’t even tie your hands when he finds you. Baku are not stupid. You know he’s faster and stronger than you are. The rival bounty hunters throwing a weighted net over you don’t realize this.

He spends half the day taking them down one by one as you’re dragged behind them in the forest. Not enough time to travel back to the guild, he has to camp out. Ghost uses his knife to cut you loose. Out of precaution, he draws his symbol on your back with a prick of his blood so you’ll be bound to his vicinity. But he doesn’t see the sense in keeping you cramped in the net.

He manages to forget what you are when he gets to sleep. You amble to his side when he starts to thrash with the visions of dead heaped up across the landscape. You sigh, gently planting a hand on his chest and coaxing the vapor of his dreams from him.

It’s the best you’ve had. So addicting you follow the plume straight to his mouth, kissing him through the cloth of his mask. It tastes of glistening red, of a brittle splintering husk, like ichor pouring from the wound of a god.

Simon startles when he awakes and sees the position of the sun in the sky. Much later than he’s risen in years. And he slept through the night, entirely uninterrupted, which is completely unheard of.

And he feels like a fucking new man. The light of the sun doesn’t feel like punishment against his skin, piercing beneath the thin membrane of his eyelids. He feels light. Packs up camp, nearly overflowing with energy,

You smile at him, flicking your little tapir ears. You look good, too. Healthy, shining hair and bright eyes. Strangely pretty, for a dream demon. You follow him closely without much provocation when he decides it’s time to get going.

He thinks about forgoing the bounty. His sigil fades from your back, falling in rusted flakes from the large white patch of your two-toned fur. He’ll get something more permanent for you when you’re back at the guild. He’s certain he has enough nightmares to keep you fed for the rest of his life.

#writing #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #baku!reader #monster hunter au

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siriuslylantsov · 15 days ago

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clay pigeons

pairing: joel miller x reader

description: in which joel teaches you how to skeet shoot.

tags: fluff, established realtionship, no outbreak, shooting, detailed decription of a shotgun, little kissing, super brief mention of hunting.

a/n: i have no idea what im talking about! so take this with a grain of salt. all my info is from google (thank you wiki how). first joel fic :) ending is sloppy because i just wanted to finish it. happy reading!

wc: 953

“you're full of shit.”

you grumble, watching joel make a precise shot at the clay pigeon that flew through the air, it splinters into multiple pieces at impact. he laughs, amused but smug, as he turns to face you, shotgun laying over his shoulder.

“it's all about the cheek-weld,” he explains matter of factly, like that's supposed to mean something to you.

“oh, yeah. of course it is,” you spout sarcastically before shaking your head.

this only makes him laugh again, and now determined to annoy him, you keep going. “also, skeet shooting? i don't get it,” you continue as he walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist pulling you closer. “you shoot clay pigeons? they're not even pigeon shaped,” he hums out an ‘mhm’, patient as ever. “what happens if you shoot a real pigeon? do you eat it? what happens if a clay pigeon hits a real pigeon? they shouldn't even be called clay pigeons, they should be called orange saucers, which they are…” you trail off when he slowly kisses you, you sigh into the kiss, significantly deflated. he chuckles at how you melt, trailing down to kiss your neck. he can always unfailingly make you like this, he can make you shut up.

“joel-” you breathe out and he hums into your skin, vibrations making you shiver slightly. you push at his shoulders, feeling a little embarrassed. “you're making your pigeon dispenser guy feel awkward,” you whisper pointedly, extremely aware of the man that stood behind you near the machine.

he lets up and drops his arm, shooting the man an apologetic look that he brushes off with a smile. you decide you want to try it, skeet shooting, so you put your hand out expectantly. he raises his eyebrows in shock, passing the gun to you, tentatively. “can you even shoot?”

you gasp, indignantly, replicating how joel held the barrel, butt of the gun snuggly tucked into your shoulder.

“pull!” repeating what he’d said, though with much less confidence, and you watch as the piece of clay launches into the air, you pull the trigger. it goes nowhere near the target, steel pellets flying much lower. the empty shell falls with a lame thump and the recoil makes you stumble back a little and joel is quick to steady you.

you cringe at your failed attempt as he moves you upright. “nothing but net,” you let out in mock despair.

“that's basketball,” he corrects, and you sneer at him. “i gotta admit though, your form was pretty good,” he mumbles, to which you turn your head and grin at him, suddenly pleased.

“but don't get ahead of yourself, your aim is shit,” he continues, and you pout. prick. positioning himself behind you, he sticks a leg between yours, prompting them to move further apart. “feet at shoulder width, knees bent. that way you won’t lose your balance,” he instructs, and you realise what's going on. he's teaching you!

he wraps his hand over yours on the barrel, and the other on top of yours on the grip, effectively caging you in. “you got the form right,” he praises, impressed by your replication, before pulling the gun more firmly into your body. “just make sure the butt is held tightly against your shoulder, then it won't move much during recoil.” you giggle at him saying butt, making him roll his eyes, but there's no bite as a smile breaks out. “impossible girl.”

his head is perched on your left, his breath warm on the side of your neck. he nudges you to press your cheek to the stock of the gun. “like this, your eyes are directly aligned with the bead, that part at the very front. it’ll give you a solid aim if done right.”

your face fills with realisation. “cheek-weld,” you drag out and he nods with a light chuckle, chin bumping against your shoulder.

“think you can try again?”

you ponder, applying all the techniques he told you, giving it an experimental rise. satisfied with the tension you have on the firearm you give him a curt nod. reloading the gun, he takes a step back, giving you some space.

“pull!” you half-shout, firmer that earlier. you trail the ‘bird’ with your eyes, following it with the bead. when it's almost at its highest you pull the trigger, anticipating the distance the bullet will travel. it hits perfectly, and this time you keep your footing.

joel whoops behind you and picks you up. you squeal giddily and he gently puts you back on your feet. “that's my girl,” he drawls, and you blush profusely. “didn't even tell you about the delay.”

“used context clues,” you offer.

“clever.”

you shrug, feeling a little too good about yourself. and he can see how your ego inflates, preparing himself for the brunt of it.

“so now that i've basically mastered skeet shooting, i think i'm ready for the real thing.”

he huffs at the shit-eating grin that spreads over your face, “the real thing?”

“hunting. i need to hunt so we survive the winter,” your voice drops to a low serious tone and he barks out a laugh. there isn't a chance in hell that you're gonna kill an animal, much less hunt, but he indulges you anyway, loading the gun, “okay, darlin’ do it again and i'll take you to the woods.”

“you better,” you say, re-aligning yourself. “this is serious business.” your grave expression fathering a little when you meet his eyes. it's reverential, how he looks at you. it makes your stomach flip violently. leave it to him to reduce you to a sheepish mess. but you swiftly regain your composure, smiling to yourself regardless.

“pull!”

#joel miller #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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thegrayascendancy-if · 2 months ago

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Okay, time to talk dates. Originally, I planned to drop the update sometime in September, but, as it often does, the story required me to write more in pure word count terms than I imagined. Even the cut-off was supposed to happen later, after an entire action sequence, which will now be pushed into the next update. On the other hand, the current pacing allowed me to add plenty of interactions that weren't originally the plan, so I think it is a net positive.

All this being said, as I'm nearing completion and entering the stat coding and improvement phase, I can announce the release date.

The next part will drop on Friday, the 11th of October.

so just in time before DA:tV

For those willing to help with beta reading (and get a small bonus of getting their hands on the update earlier), I will run a sign-up form over the course of next week, and then spend the week of 7-11 (🤓) making sure the update runs smoothly.

I know it's been a while, but I'm so excited to finally have something to share with you!

#the gray ascendancy #tga if #status update

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justinspoliticalcorner · 3 months ago

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Jay Kuo at The Status Kuo:

There’s a strange phenomenon occurring with the terminally online right. Ever since Vice President Kamala Harris announced that Gov. Tim Walz would be her running mate, many of the right have acted with fury. They’ve attempted to “Swift Boat” his 24-year service record in the Army National Guard. They’ve called him a racist for talking about “white guy tacos.” And they’ve dredged up a nearly 30-year old DUI—for which he took accountability and after which he stopped drinking altogether—to prove he’s somehow not so perfect a role model.

What they haven’t been able to do is make any of this stick. And yet, Walz continues to draw fire, which could otherwise have been directed at Harris. In other words, Walz is turning out to be a shrewd pick. At net 11 points positive favorability in polls, Walz is immensely more popular than his counterpart on the GOP ticket, JD Vance, who is underwater by nine. And as they continue to rail against him, the right keeps making his fundamental point about them: They are just really weird. In today’s piece, I explore some theories about why Walz brings out the worst impulses of the right just by being who he is. Then I’ll lay down some political tarot cards and prognosticate about where I think this leads.

Politico Uno Reverse

By most identity measures, Walz should be one of the MAGA right. He’s a midwestern white dude in his late 50s. He loves to hunt and is a sharpshooter. He served for decades in the military and achieved the highest enlisted rank of Command Sergeant Major. He was a football coach who helped lead his team to the state championship. And yet, despite all these identity markings, Walz in an unabashed progressive. He is for reproductive rights and an ally and protector of gay teens. And there isn’t a bigoted bone in his body. It’s as if when Harris picked him, she played, as writer Anna Gifty Opoku-Agyeman succinctly described it, a “political uno reverse.” The Walz card threw it right back at them, as if to say, “I’m a guy just like you, but without any of the weird baggage.” The MAGA GOP’s base is supposed to include white guys like Walz. But here is living evidence that they don’t have all of them or the best of them. That’s why they’re so eager to discredit him, because if they don’t, as psychologist Julie Hotard notes, then Walz will stand instead as a model of what is possible. On many levels, an appealing, white, male Democrat is a far bigger threat to their sense of identity than even a biracial woman candidate for president.

[...]

Attacking Mr. Nice Guy

For the past two decades, the GOP has shifted markedly toward being a party of cruelty, of “owning” the libs and drinking their tears, and of being as unpleasant and in-your-face as they can be. That kind of behavior has been rewarded with appearances on Fox and other right wing media, fundraising dollars from the MAGA base, and a spot at the side or in the tweets of the ex-president himself. As author Patrick S. Tomlinson observed, Walz represents what shouldn’t be an extraordinary notion: that you can be a nice guy, supportive of women, embracing of gay people, and still be all the coded masculine ideals of soldier, football coach, hunter and father that the MAGA right believed it had a lock on. Plus, you can be all those things without ever asking weird questions about menstrual cycles, chromosomes and genitalia. The right even tried to make a big deal about Walz’s efforts as governor to ensure free tampons were available to girls in school. Rumors circulated that schools had been required to also put tampons in boys’ bathrooms, but those claims turned out to be untrue, while demonstrating how off kilter the right becomes over sexuality and gender. The “Tampon Tim” moniker didn’t stick. On the contrary, there are probably many moms and dads grateful for a governor like Walz who is thinking about their daughters’ needs.

Jay Kuo explains the real reason why the right is being driven crazy by Tim Walz: The fact that he has a profile that would typify a MAGA voter (football coach, military service, loves to hunt) yet is a progressive white dude (solid LGBTQ+ rights ally before it became fashionable among Democrats).

#Tim Walz #Kamala Harris #2024 Presidential Election #2024 Elections #The Status Kuo #Jay Kuo

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max1461 · 21 days ago

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@deaths-accountant I will, if I remember, think carefully about your thought experiment and respond to it soon (although I will probably change some details so that it is less similar to current events because I don't want people to misunderstand the nature of the discussion and get mad at me), but, in the mean time, here is a counter-thought-experiment for you:

Suppose there is a guy Bob, currently hanging out in the heavenly realm or whatever, and he is presented by an angel with the following choice:

Bob will be born into the world, and live an ordinary-seeming life. Over the course of his life, the net utility (under whatever form of utilitarianism you endorse; hedonic, preferential, etc.) which he contributes to everyone else in the world besides himself will be 0. In other words, the people of the world (not including him) will be no better off nor worse off for his being born. However, he himself, under the same conception of utility, will receive -ε net utils. He will have N (for reasonable large N) utils worth of joys, triumphs, etc., and -(N+ε) utils worth of pains, failures and so on. Thus, he will live a net-negative life.

Bob will not be born into the world, he will cease to exist.

Implicitly I'm discounting here all the thoughts and feelings that Bob experiences here in the heavenly realm before he is born (or not) as irrelevant, but if you don't feel comfortable with this you can just adjust the numbers so that the net utility of each choice comes out as intended above.

It is possible, I think, that in light of the above choice, Bob would select (2) and cease to exist. But I think it's also possible that Bob would say "no, I'll take (1), I want to have the joys and triumphs even if there turn out also to be a greater number of failures and losses". In particular, I am almost certain that I would choose (1), and not just for fear of death (the above scenario is an abstraction of choices that I have actually made, where no risk of death was involved).

The question is: would it be moral for the angel to override Bob here, "for his own good", and choose (2) for him?

By construction a utilitarian has to say yes. If ε is small the utilitarian might say "well, it's not a very big deal; the normative force behind overriding Bob and choosing (2) is low". But I can think of scenarios in which I would chose (1) even if (I believed that) ε was pretty significant, where this excuse doesn't work.

Also consider for instance... the archetype of the starving artist. The man who is committed to producing his Great Work even at significant cost to himself. Suppose that he has made many sacrifices in order to hone his craft, he's given up financial success and a social life, he lives in the mountains and, you know, carves statue after statue in pursuit of perfection. Suppose that he can rationally conclude that, when (if) he does complete his masterpiece, the satisfaction will be relatively small in the face of all the sacrifices he's made. I mean, yeah, he'll be happy, he'll feel fulfilled and genuinely, deeply satisfied. But on a literal, summative level, that just won't add up to the lifetime of late nights, missed opportunities for social connection, etc., either in terms of net pleasure or net preference satisfaction or whatever. But suppose also that on the day to day level he doesn't feel miserable, he's not suffering. He's toiling in pursuit of a deeply held personal goal, and it feels... well, "good" isn't always the word. But he is plenty motivated to keep going; he's out here in the mountains of his own accord. The fact that he judges that at the end of his life the utility tally won't come up positive for him doesn't weigh on him much. "Why should I care about some number?" he says. "Maybe I'd be net happier if I went out on the town and found a wife and settled down, but I don't want to do that. I want to complete my Great Work."

Is this artist doing something immoral by living his life the way he has? Would it be moral for a third party to step in and prevent him from pursuing his endeavors?

In both of these thought experiments, my extremely strong intuition is that the answer is "no", making choices for other people "for their own good" in this way is not moral. But this seems like a necessary consequence of any kind of utilitarianism, so I can't get behind utilitarianism.

The starving artist example gets to a more fundamental issue, too. I kept saying things like "he really wants to complete his Great Work, and it will make him very satisfied, but he will be more net satisfied if he gives up on that and lives a normal life". Well... what the hell does "net satisfied" mean? How do you measure the strength of a preference? He "really wants" to complete his Great Work, and materially that corresponds to a certain neural state, but how do you put a number on that neural state which is fungible with the numbers you put on all the other neural states of human life? You run into this problem in both hedonic and preference utilitarianism, because "preference" is a neural phenomenon. Is there even a well-defined abstraction here, is there even a coherent thing to which "preference strength" can possibly refer? Maybe, but I don't know that there is. And the problem is that if you pick the wrong abstraction, if you pick the wrong way of getting a fungible quantity out of a fundamentally non-numerical arrangement of matter, then what you have doesn't correspond to "ethics" anymore, right, it lacks normative force. It's just some number.

This is why I say that utilitarian-ish ethics are fine on the large scale, they're fine for the policy maker or the economist, who for methodological reasons simply needs to pick an ok enough abstraction on run with it. But on the scale of individual humans, individual minds, and what it "really means" to treat people right, I don't think utilitarianism can possibly hold up.

I might have made this exact post before somewhere, if so apologies for repeating myself.

#navel gazing

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07-bilin · 6 months ago

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high-school love pt.1

₊˚ପ⊹ summary: a slowburn of sorts in which you and akaashi meet as manager and player, slowly becoming close as the only first-years on the team

₊˚ପ⊹ wc: 1,725

₊˚ପ⊹ warnings: none!

his name

Attending Fukurodani, you expected your three years at the school would be calm, something predictable. This was automatically shattered within the first two weeks of high school. The friend you had made in your class had ultimately been able to convince you to join the girls soccer team, so there you were, outside in the blazing hot sun in the month of April in your P.E getup that didn't fit you in any of the right ways. As a goalie, your job was to defend the opposing team, not letting them score any points, supposedly that's what you were supposed to be doing but ultimately in the end all of the balls ended up flying right past you, the last one hitting you in the face causing the coach to give you a lecture ending the scrimmage at that.

After the lecture, you were shooed off the field to go clean yourself up. You found a sink by the gymnasium and turned it on feeling the cool water on your finger tips. collecting the water between your hands you splashed the puddle on to your face feeling refreshed.

I mean, soccer wasn't your thing, but you joined in support of your friend's endeavors. Overall, there was a small chance of you making the team and even if you did you would probably be benched. But before that could even happen, you would find an excuse to join the team which would lead you back into square one of finding a club to join before being randomly placed into one, though, to be honest, you could care less about the club you joined, you agreed to tryout with your friend as you had enough with her talking about all the hot guys that she'd be able to see if she joined.

As you finished tidying yourself up, ready to head back to the field and most likely to get hit in a bunch of other spots, you saw a volleyball that seemed to have rolled out of a gym. You headed over to grab it and followed the noise of balls being spiked to one gym in particular. You pushed the mosquito net aside before entering the noisy gym, ball in hand.

Your attention was immediately drawn to the boy with gelled up whitish gray hair as he seemed to be the nosiest one here. Your eyes trailed his figure as he approached the net in a fluid motion before jumping up and slamming down the volleyball that seemed to have gravitated towards his palm.

"HEY HEY HEY! AKAASHI WASN'T MY LINE SHOT AMAZING??!"

Your eyes began to dart around to find this certain face named 'Akaashi'. You see a glimpse of him before you feel a slight tap to your shoulder.

Spinning around, your met with a girl with a clipboard, you can tell she's older than you by the way she stands, almost like she's accumulated with the place and used to all the buzz around her in the closed quarters. "You must be here for the manager position,?" she says as she stares at you glancing at the ball that you hugged to your chest even tighter than before after being caught in the act of your seemingly good deed. Although you remembered seeing posters all around the bulletin boards in the first-year hall about a manager position you didn't know it'd be today of all days.. You grimaced as you began to zone out before feeling a weight on your shoulder and glance up at another girl who seems excited to see you.

"Ah,,? We finally got a first year, whats your name little one?" She asks as she gives you a smile. The girl from before is somewhat shocked from the sudden actions of the girl on your shoulder as she comments on her position, "Yukie! Don't scare her, plus, she hasn't even said if shes joining yet." The second-year girl looks at you with enlarged eyes somewhat with an apologetic face before asking, "So, are you?"

You glance between the two upperclassmen who seemed to be starring daggers into you before ultimately stating you would be. The girl who had a ponytail in currently was Suzumeda-san while the one that was glued to your side minutes earlier was Shirofuku-san--but she preferred to be called Yukie-san. As the practice continued, Suzumeda-san ran you through the basics of everything. Although you weren't well versed in the sport of volleyball, the two girls washed away your worries as you joining the club was the first step to learning more about the sport.

From the two chattering upperclassmen, you learned quite a lot of the team already, the one player they mentioned the most was Bokuto-san. He was the ace of the team who often worked up quite a storm of emotions. You soon learned that he it was often a struggle to pick him out of his alienated stage but lately that wasn't the case, due to a particular person. Sure Bokuto interested you but a person who could deal with his mood-swings? Was there actually a person like that on the team? Before you could pry for more information the two girls moved on from the topic before giving you more instructions on how to be a manager for the powerhouse school.

By the end of practice, night had fallen upon them. Coach Yamaiji wrapped up the practice by giving the players a pep talk and eventually ended up introducing you to the team. "Hello, I'm L/n, Y/n from class 1-2, thank you for having me," you stated as you introduced yourself to the crowd of boys. To your surprise, they greeted you warmly which helped cool your anxiety down just a tad bit.

After everyone collectively cleaned up the gymmnasium, you were given your very own Fukurodani tracksuit and volleyball shoes, identical to the players. With these items, the idea finally settled down into your mind, you were really doing this now, full commitment and everything. A small smile formed on your face as you ran your hand over the embroidered characters as you stepped out of the gym into the cool spring night.

As you quickly snuck to the girls locker room, you sighed in relief as it hadn't been locked just quite yet. You quickly changed out of your P.E clothing and into your uniform, throwing on a light cardigan from your backpack before slipping the remaining items into your backpack and fishing out your phone. Switching it on, you were bombarded by multiple messages from a particular someone..

**F/n** "Y/N!!!" -5:28pm

"HELLOOOOOO"

"coach knows you disappeared!!"

"come back y/n before you get lectured again"

"gtg, you better be back soon or else.."

"YAH, I MADE THE TEAM!!" -8:47pm

"text me back when you finally respond,,, AND YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR DISAPPEARING!!"

You stifled a small laughter as you reached the end of the messages from your friend. You felt bad for leaving her behind but from your perspective of her from the past two weeks you think she'll be fine and in no time she'll be best friends with the entire team.

As you approach the gates of the academy with your earbuds plugged into your ears with your eyes staring down at your phone thinking of a reply for F/l/n-san, you don't notice a certain boy in front of you and he seems to not have noticed you either as the two of you eventually collide into each other which ends up with you on the ground, an earbud falling out in the process.

You keep your composure calm as it was your fault and your gaze eventually lands on a boy that wears the Fukurodani uniform quite strictly. Typically the boys will unbutton the jacket but he keeps it buttoned up and it seemed like his tie was also ironed that morning. You shift your gaze up to his face, a sharp glint in his eyes, almost like he's calculating his every move constantly. Much to his clothing, his hair seems to be the most untidiness part of his, frayed in several directions but it fits the way his face is shaped, making him look rather handsome.

Eventually, you notice the hand he placed out for you to reach for god knows how long as you were admiring his beauty. You grab it and feel the callouses he has all over them, must be a sports player you muse.

"Thank you,, uh--," you begin as you get a better look at his features face to face, seeming to click within your mind that you've seen him before, or at least a glimpse of him.

"Akaashi, Akaashi Keiji." He responds calmly. "Are you okay?"

You give him a slight nod as you release your grasp from his hand before fidgeting with your own. "Sorry, that was completely my fault, my name is L/n, Y/n". You say as you give him a nervous laugh trying to not lock your eyes into his. He gives you a small smile before saying it was alright and that he hadn't been paying much attention either. The two of you stand there for a good couple of seconds before you let out another nervous chuckle.

"Well, I'm gonna go this way now Akaashi-kun, see you around school!" You say as you wave bye to him.

"Mhm, see you tomorrow L/n-san," he replied before slipping away from the school leaving you alone with your thoughts. As you neared your home, you pondered over what he meant by see you tomorrow.. Was he going to track you down and demand for you to pay repercussions. You shivered at the thought of it. Only when you were about to drift into slumber you realized.

Sitting up in bed, "SO THAT'S WHO HE WAS!!" Akaashi, the mystery man, setter, and only first-year on the starting line-up of Fukurodani was the one guy able to calm down Bokuto-san and you just clumsily bumped into him and had no idea what his name was when he probably already knew yours explaining why he smiled upon your reactions.

You flung yourself around in bed not being able to sleep but eventually succumbed into slumber as the next day awaited your presence.

next chapter --->

#ੈ✩‧₊˚ lin's work #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #haikyuu akaashi #hq akaashi #fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyu fluff #fukurodani #series

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allmyhomieshatelawns · 9 months ago

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Hiiiiii everyone I’ve become obsessed w Trolls, and by extension, several of the AUs here. In particular, @djmurphy ‘s Hypno Pop AU has had me in its clutches. I couldn’t stop myself so I wrote a lil somethin’ in between working on my Feral!Branch AU.

Bit of a warning, it’s def unreliable narrator, and yes, it’s supposed to be kinda creepy. I hope y’all like, please do not copy or post to another site. Lmk what y’all think!

"Hee, hee, hee, hee, heh, heh, eheh…" It wouldn't stop, no matter what I tried, nothing would make it stop. My face hurt, my entire body hurt if I was being honest. It was getting harder to do that. My voice wasn't my own, instead spewing false, toxic positivity that made me want to scream. It was hard to be honest even inside my own head when the compulsions wouldn't leave me alone either.

Keep Smiling. The compulsions hurt, but it hurt worse to try and resist. Like my nerves were being burnt. The compulsions made it easier to go about my day-to-day. I always knew what I was supposed to be doing, and how to be a good troll like everybody else. It was comforting to have a safety net.

Keep Singing. This one was harder to obey, but somehow even more painful to try and ignore. Whether I obeyed or not, it felt like liquid fire in my veins. I watched it happen over and over and over again. Every time I opened my mouth to sing, I saw her push me out of the way instead. It was painful fighting to go grey. My vocal cords always felt shredded, and they had lost a lot of their angelic body, sounding raspy, damaged.

Go To King Peppy. My numb feet carried me to the King's pod that he shared with his youngest daughter. I wasn't supposed to talk about Viva either, which was wrong. Poppy should know about her older sister, even if she never got to meet her. I knew a little about my parents, even if they had been taken before my egg hatched. At least I knew my parents existed. I wonder what my brothers are up to…

Part of me yearned to have them home still, that same part I was scared was getting dependent on the string. I would feel my feet quickening as the power of the string would begin to fade, heading to King Peppy's door, knowing I wouldn't skip. It was horrifying to think part of myself actually liked being like this. I still remembered resisting, or trying to, hating every moment of this prison. I remembered trying to scream, trying to get anyone to help me and I couldn't make myself do anything. Oh after the first close calls King Peppy had made sure to put in the compulsions to 'never alarm anyone'. Now people didn't panic when they saw me, and it was all thanks to King Peppy!

I reached King Peppy's office, knocking politely and entering the room as he bid me. King Peppy helped me when no one else could. He was the only one able to help me get rid of my greyness, the only one willing to do what it took to make me normal. I owed him everything. My smile was blindingly painful.

"Ah, Branch, perfect timing as always." King Peppy smiled broadly, opening his arms for a hug.

I leapt into his arms, the contact feeling like licking flames.

King Peppy held me for a moment, before setting me back down. He reached into his hair, pulling out a nearly-empty lyre, with one glittering pink string on it.

My heartbeat quickened seeing it, eyes tunneling to focus on the horribly beautiful string. It glowed with its own light, drawing me in and re-thickening the haze over everything I saw. I felt my shoulders begin to relax as the haze crept further, like a wild animal with its eyes hooded.

A few plucks of the string, and I felt my mind wash away in a comfortable haze. All of the anxiety and negativity bleeding away to the innermost recesses of myself. It was such a relief to not have to deal with all of those pesky emotions! Now I could just be happy and sing and dance and have fun like everyone else!

I smiled, my face comfortably numb from the fresh effects of the string. "Thank you, King Peppy! I feel much better now!" I chirped, hardly able to see him at all through the haze.

"I'm so glad to hear that, Branch! Now, I've still got some work to finish up, why don't you run along and find someone to play with until you're called for dinner?" King Peppy chuckled as he suggested it, placing the sacred string back in its spot, safely in his hair.

The village was still bustling even at this hour, people skipping about and holding hands and singing and dancing. It was amazing.

My whole body felt like it was floating, like I was only connected to it by a tiny string. I waved and smiled at everyone who greeted me, even if I couldn't tell who had spoken to me. It unnerved me not being able to see more than a couple of troll-lengths away at best. No shadows to see a hand reaching down for–

"Hey, Branch! There you are! I was just looking for you!" Princess Poppy's cheerful voice broke in before a compulsion could correct my thought.

My head whipped around to her voice, my smile still painful, but a little more genuine. Princess Poppy was a sweet girl, even if she was annoying. She was perfect and would make an excellent queen one day.

"Princess! What can I do for you today?" I asked, kneeling down in front of her. She wasn't that much shorter than me, but I would take any excuse to get off of them. I had to stay fresh for more dancing, after all!

She beamed at me, somehow making it look effortless and completely sincere.

"One of the performers for my party tonight had to backout last minute. Would you be able to fill in? I don't need a full set or anything, just a couple of songs." Her voice was pleading, eyes big and pouty. She should know by now I can't say no to her.

"Of course, what's the theme for the party?" My grinning kept up, my lips not allowed to turn down in her presence.

"Thank you so much Branch you have no idea how much this means to me!" Poppy rushed out in one breath, leaping at me and hugging me tightly. I responded automatically, not having to think about hugging back. That was the nice thing about being a puppet in your own body at least.

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