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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

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emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #Bruce Banner #bun writes #I haven't written shit in a month and boom #6k words in three hours #i don't like the ending #I'm bad at them #okay #okay .

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sweetbitterimpossiblecreature · 3 years

Text

A Brief And Concise Summary Of Is Wrong With The ACOTAR Series

I think we can agree that a lot of ACOTAR is pretty iffy. Consider this a very brief refresher.

What's Wrong With Feyre/Rhysand (juxtaposed against Feyre/Tamlin)

Rhysand drugs and sexually assaults her in Book 1

This is "for her own good". Because he "has no choice". Despite the fact that, from what we know of the plot, Amarantha thinks that Clare Beddor was the one Rhysand was diddling, and is only interested in Feyre because Rhysand, "her" man male, has taken an interest in her.

If we extrapolate from this we can figure that Rhysand is the one directly putting her into danger.

Now, let's be clear: drugging someone is bad. Sexually assaulting someone is bad. One could argue there were extenuating circumstances. But if, in such a situation, what your mind goes to is "I know, I should assault this person... for their safety" I have questions about your moral qualities. There were a million things he could have done. He could have done whatever he did to Clare - that is, remove her ability to feel any pain - easily. He could have helped her escape. Under The Mountain, he - while still there unwillingly - has a lot of power, as Amarantha's side piece. Maybe this would have resulted in him being punished- however, he is hundreds of years old and a badass motherfucker, and she is a nineteen year old human girl.

Now, onto Tamlin. Obviously not a lot of people really ship F/T anymore after ACOMAF, because compared to F/R, it's boring. I read another person's post about it, which was very enlightening: they said that Feyre's personality is essentially a mirror. When she is with Rhysand, she's snarky and malicious- because she is "bouncing off" his energy. When she's with Mor she's super feminist and "in awe of her strength". On the other hand, Tamlin is kind of an empty character. He's a pretty boy with anger issues, which should be more interesting than it is. SJM manages to make him bland. Because Feyre has nothing to bounce off of, (a lot of this is from the person's post), she and Tamlin together is mainly just him introducing her to his world.

What Tamlin Does: prevents a skinny twenty year old from going on dangerous missions with him and combat-trained soldiers, accidentally blows up a room with her in it, and, at the end, prevents her from leaving the house.

This is not a Tamlin apologist post. Obviously it was really fucking gross of him to do that, and their relationship was toxic. However, a lot of his abuse stems from their inability to communicate, as well as own negligence. He does not knowingly and purposefully sexually assault her or rape her mind. And tbh, leaving a girl without combat training at home while he goes on missions with a bunch of muscled sentries is... kind of reasonable?

Again: not a Tamlin apologist post. It was abuse. However, if Rhysand is "allowed" to sexually assault, mind-rape, and drug Feyre "for her own safety", why is Tamlin demonized for preventing her from leaving his mansion "for her own safety"?

Another pertinent point: Rhys is never punished for sexually assaulting her. It is brushed off as part of his "mask" or that his hand was forced. Jesus Christ my dudes, his hand was not forced under her skirt. If he has to maintain his gross rapist abuser tyrant oppressor mask... why? Who did that benefit beside him? None of his actions remotely helped Prythian. They were done solely for his buddies - five people safe in a rich hidden city - and no one else, which is explicitly stated.

Finally, the power dynamic is fucked up. Feyre is less than twenty five years old. Rhysand is 500. There is a tendency in fantasy romance to romanticize a centuries year old man with a young girl, because the man does not show symptoms of age, and so it is easily ignorable. However, can we just briefly acknowledge how fucked up it is? Rhys is over five times older than Donald Trump, Harvey Weinstein, Jeffrey Epstein, and other known predators/abusers. She is twenty. That is really fucking gross. She is in a vulnerable position and he takes rampant advantage of that.

If he had wrinkles, liver problems, and erectile dysfunction, more people would acknowledge it.

Let's be clear: I'm not saying writing a book with an uneven power dynamic is automatically bad. For example, in The Locked Tomb series, which is in my opinion THE BEST FANTASY SERIES THAT HAS GRACED THIS EARTH (lol i'm starting fires), one main character Harrowhark Nonagesimus is in a position of power over Gideon Nav, the other main character. However, this is not glossed over or romanticized. Gideon resents Harrow for this- there is a relationship of mutual antagonism, fraught with unwilling familiarity and intimacy from growing up together. They are roughly the same age. While there is a certain power dynamic (in that world, there is a dynamic of necromancer and cavalier, i.e. sorcerer and sword) the "empowered" character (Harrow) emphatically respects her and does not abuse this power, although both would of course deny this, and she does make a show of threatening and being aloof. In short, while Gideon obeys her, Gideon also has power over Harrow, and the idea of what is essentially slavery is not romanticized.

Feyre Doesn't Face Any Consequences For Her Own Actions

Let me present a radical notion: a guy preventing you from leaving his house does not justify completely fucking ruining his country and harming the people inside it.

In other words: Tamlin does not deserve what she did to him.

I know that sounds iffy. We're conditioned to think that if someone is an abuser, then they are the scum of the earth, they deserve to die, torturing/murdering/doing anything to them is completely A-OK. However, here's another radical notion: someone harming you does not justify you doing worse.

Obviously, the effects of psychological abuse can cause you to hurt other people (see: Nesta), but Feyre deliberately and maliciously (oh, God, that insufferable POV of her in Spring Court; she reads like a cartoonish Disney villain) dismantles his country. She uses sexual manipulation (Lucien), torture (causing the sentry to be whipped), and mind-rape (who didn't she do this to? lol).

A summary of the entire first half of ACOWAR: "It smelled like roses. I hated roses. For this capital offense against my olfactory system, Tamlin and the entire Spring Court deserved to burn in hell. I knew exactly what I was doing. I smiled at him sweetly: no longer a doe, but a wolf. He didn't see my fangs.............." *aesthetic noises*

Man. I'm starting to think SJM had a horrible experience at a Bath & Body Works and took it out on the rest of us. Don't do it, Sarah!! I know Pink Chiffon and Triple Berry Martini are way too strong, but don't take it out on an innocent population!!

She steals from Summer Court (there are, yk, other solutions to theft. Like maybe asking politely) and ruins Spring Court. Her boyfriend - yeesh sorry, MATE - does nothing while a dozen Winter Court children are murdered.

Now: moral ambiguity is not automatically bad. Again using The Locked Tomb as an example, in the second book (spoiler alert), Harrowhark has a sort of moral ambiguity. She was raised from the beginning to worship the King Undying as God, and so she obeys him without question. Because of this, she commits a lot of crimes in His name: she "flips" - i.e. kills - the life force of planets, and she plots murder (albeit the murder of someone who tried to kill her first). There is no attempt to justify this. There is also no attempt to paint her as a virtuous and yet also badass Madonna figure. She is desperate, plagued with the "wreck of herself", and the book clearly displays her moral pitfalls. While her POV is of course colored by her mindset, it also is limited by her lack of information, and we as readers can acknowledge that.

BACK TO ACOTAR: Feyre is seen by everyone as gorgeous, formidable, and essentially perfect. Rhys sees her as flawless, "made for him", wonderful, beautiful, blah blah blah. (THEY ARE SO BAD FOR EACH OTHER; THEY EXCUSE AND GLORIFY EACH OTHER'S CRIMES, IT'S SO BAD, GUYYYS). Tamlin is insanely batshit in love with her, or whatever. To the Night Court she's the High Lady. In this way she personifies the Mary Sue character. (Excerpt from the TV Tropes page on Mary Sues: "She's exotically beautiful, often having an unusual hair or eye color, and has a similarly cool and exotic name. She's exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas, and may possess skills that are rare or nonexistent in the canon setting. She also lacks any realistic, or at least story-relevant, character flaws — either that or her "flaws" are obviously meant to be endearing. She has an unusual and dramatic Back Story. The canon protagonists are all overwhelmed with admiration for her beauty, wit, courage and other virtues, and are quick to adopt her as one of their True Companions, even characters who are usually antisocial and untrusting; if any character doesn't love her, that character gets an extremely unsympathetic portrayal." Sound familiar?)

There is the Ourobous scene. And yet, paradoxically, while presented as an acknowledgment of her flaws, it is in fact a rejection of them. She sees her own brutality... and instead of recognizing that she has these deep, deep moral flaws and realizing that she needs to grow and be better, she in fact "accepts" them.

Guys: Self love means: "I'm important to me, so I'm going to get a massage today after work", or "heck, why not splurge on some expensive lotion, you only live once" or "you know what? I had a tough day today. I'm going to get that strawberry cupcake". SELF LOVE DOES NOT MEAN "oh, I accept all the war crimes I have done, I love myself". LOVING YOURSELF DOES NOT MEAN ABSOLVING YOURSELF OF ALL WRONGDOING.

It's this refusal to acknowledge wrongdoing that is so grating about ACOTAR. It's so goddamn one-sided. And you can tell that after Book 1, SJM decided to completely change the trajectory simply because of how jarring Book 2 reads compared to the first one.

Also: Feyre is a very, very young girl (compared to the other ruling fey) who did not know how to read for the majority of her life. She has no experience whatsoever in politics. Her being High Lady is not a win for feminism.

Rhysand: He Sucks

First, he is 500 years old. He should be written as such, not as some 20 year old virile frat boy feminist. Fantasy is all the more compelling for its elements of realism, which is a concept that SJM does not appear to grasp.

Second of all, his morals are absurd. He is written as the Second Coming of Christ, as someone who can do no wrong, ever, and his flaws only serve to make Feyre love him more. Anything shitty he does is written as part of his "mask" and she can See Beneath It and knows that it "hurts" him to maintain this "mask".

Fellas, WHY DOES HE HAVE TO MAINTAIN THIS MASK???? There is no reason for it. If A) he does not give a shit about Court of Nightmares (we'll get back to that), only about Velaris, and B) Velaris is hidden/protected from the world, what is he pretending for?

It would not hurt him politically to be seen as someone who cares about his country.

"Pretending" to be "Amarantha's whore" does not in any way shape or form benefit the macro-world that is Prythian. In Amarantha's name, he commits atrocities. He commits war crimes; he systemically oppresses entire societies. It doesn't even really benefit Velaris, because Velaris is already hidden.

Let me put this in a real-world perspective. This would be like if Donald Trump was suddenly like: "I know I was a shitty president but IT WAS ALL PART OF MY MASK, WHICH WAS TO PROTECT THIS MICROCOSM OF PRIVILEGED PEOPLE THAT I CARE ABOUT". Like: okay? Sorry, or whatever, but I don't actually give a shit. What about the parents of the children who died? What about Clare Beddor? What about the people who were held in slavery, murdered, tortured?

Rhysand: omg it sucks that my cousin Mor was oppressed by this toxic misogynistic culture from the Court of Nightmares.

Also Rhysand: lol whatever, who gives a shit about Court of Nightmares. They all suck. They meanie. Lol what did you say? That there might be other girls just like Mor who are oppressed by this system? Lol whatever. I can't do anything, I gotta maintain my Mask. I gotta sit on this throne and show the entire Court that not respecting women is completely okay.

In summary: by parading Feyre around as his "whore" (!!) he demonstrates by example that it is completely okay for the Court of Nightmares to abuse their women.

A good ruler cares about all his people. Rhysand cares about a tiny tiny fraction of his people: those who were fortunate enough to be born into Velaris.

God, I'm exhausted. Onto Nesta:

The only character who successfully breaks the Mary Sue effect Feyre exerts on her people is Nesta. Her POV for the first half is a joy to read.

Obviously it sucks that Nesta was a huge bitch to Feyre for the beginning of her childhood. However, it was wrong for Rhysand to threaten her- he is a man male with a huge insane amount of power, and it is not okay for him to threaten to bring the brunt of it down on a young girl because she was a bitch to his girlfriend.

I've seen a lot of discourse on the morality of F/R sending her out of Velaris. Here is my two cents:

It was okay for them to cut her off of their money. If they don't want to enable her self-harm, that is their choice. Again, it's their money, even if it wasn't fairly earned (Rhysand born into an enormous fortune).

It was not okay for them to banish her from Velaris with the implication that she was an embarrassment. Let me explain.

If Rhysand and Feyre are talking to her as sister/brother-in-law, then that is that. They have the complete right to express disapproval and try to help. However, they should not be using their royal privilege against her.

If they are talking to her as ruler to subject, then they have the power to banish her from the city. However, a ruler would not give a shit about a random subject getting drunk and having sex. So, they should not be talking her about her problems as a ruler to subject.

I've heard it compared to her being sent to rehab. However, rehab is a system designed to help people with certain problems. It has specialized medical centers and involves therapy. Nesta gets her life threatened multiple times. It is not rehab.

In summary: why did SJM inflict this upon us. Throne of Glass was actually good! GAHHH! After the first few books she completely whipped around and introduced the idea of males and mates and fey and that C is actually A and the quality took a huge nosedive. Sigh.

Final horrible but unmistakable truth: The entire ACOTAR series reads like a bad A/B/O fic. I hate to say it but it's true. We're lucky there were no heat cycles. OH WAIT

#anti sjm #anti rhysand #anti acotar #anti acofas #anti acomaf #anti everything #anti feyre #to some extent #mentioned: the locked tomb #mentioned: gideon the ninth #mentioned: harrowhark nonagesimus #anti #strongly anti #pan-int #that's my ao3 tag!#meta #my post

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bluwwo · 3 years

Text

I dreamed that Yor has stopped a missile (which I discovered it was actually a torpedo, thx Lacrow) some days ago so... I made this

The image is merely illustrative

The actual thing is down bellow~

-----

The ship floats softly and calmly on the blue sheet as those men and women moved hurriedly, slyly and were maliciously running towards a thorny hole, they were walking towards their own death.

The woman, owner of such trap, used her mastery to eliminate one by one in her thorny trap. And one of them was a man hiding in the vessel's hold and who had access to bugs spread throughout the ship.

The place looked like a small command room, but the woman didn't mind because as the director had already told her, many parts on that ship were once parts used in Ostanian warships.

Next to what was once a "coworker" of hers was a small desk with assorted buttons, a control panel. Everything seemed to be fine until a green and yellow light caught the woman's attention.

Her scarlet eyes gleamed, reflecting that light as she curiously approached the dashboard. She realized that this was just a radar, with its waves trying to find some other vessel or threat. At first, Yor thought it wasn't even working until a loud and repeated "beep" caught her attention.

As she looked at the radar, her eyes widened in horror. A small blinking dot slowly approached the ship that was represented by a large triangle in the center of the radar. The radar was big, so whatever was approaching was really far.

Yor didn't have to be a Marine Lieutenant to know that it was…

"A torpedo…" Her voice barely left her throat.

Her body trembled, and the color drained from her face. A powerful weapon like that targeting innocent people, children and families?

Her muscles tensed and she quickly fled away from that place. And with her heart beating unsteadily and fearful of the impending catastrophe, she chased the Director across the ship with agony coiled in her throat.

"Director!" Her voice was a loud whisper, fraught with anxiety. "Please tell me you have a secret entrance and exit to the sea."

"Thorn Princess, why all this commotion?"

"Director, you told me this ship has parts from old warships, right?"

The man narrowed his eyes and just nodded.

"It seems that this is not the only one... According to radar, a torpedo is heading for this vessel." Yor exhaled, trying to maintain a serious facade.

The director's normally stoic, expressionless face contorted in surprise and confusion. The man gulped.

"Are you sure about this, Forger?"

"Mister Director, why would I lie about this?"

The man sighed, and the tension in the room was so thick that people around them could feel the sweat running down their spines.

"Luckily for you, there is an emergency exit in the depths of the ship that gives access to the sea, but you'll need great lungs." The exasperated man said, looking seriously at the Princess.

The woman just nodded and followed the director, Olka, who had heard everything along with her fake husband, followed the assassin.

The director had some keys that gave access to certain areas of the ship, and using that, he made his way to a deep room, and they stopped in front of a heavy door.

"And what do you intend to do with the projectile, Forger?"

"I'll deflect it up." She pointed to the sky.

"But there's still the risk of it falling somewhere else." retorted the director with mild irritation.

“And that's when you two…” She points to the director's two partners “… get into it.”

"How?" asked one of them, scared.

“My husband seems to have a lot of knowledge in military equipment, he always slips a thing or two correcting the action movies…” Yor reveals with a slight smile. "And according to him, this type of projectile can be distracted by fireworks, creating new targets and preventing it from hitting the actual target." She said, taking a box of fireworks and handing it to the man.

"I need to launch these fireworks, but when?" He replied, still pale.

"You'll know when, just look at the sky, if you see a trail of smoke, release the fireworks." Reaffirmed Yor with an inspiring smile.

“Forger, there's a pier a few miles from here, when it's done, go there and wait for the ship, one of the guys will be on deck, and I'll stay here with Olka, he'll see you and send the signal and then I'll open the way for you to board." The man explained, and the woman nodded. "And, Yor, what if it doesn't work?"

"I need to try... My family is on this ship." In a voice full of sorrow, she said. "And in case I don't make it, I'll be just another dead flower in the garden." She smiled. "If I don't come back, just say I fell overboard and drowned."

The woman opened the heavy door, meeting with a staircase.

"When you get to the end of the stairs just hit the wall twice and I'll open the passage."

The woman nodded before starting to going downstairs, the quick sound of her heels impacting the metal was in harmony with the racing hearts of the five people in that room, but the rose’s heart lost its beat and beat slower and slower, the cold sweat made her shiver and she seemed no longer able to breathe.

Upon reaching the end of the stairs, Yor gulped and with clenched fists placed her hands on her chest, asking any deity who could hear her, for a miracle, a miracle to help her save the many lives that were on that ship. And in a sudden movement, she punches the wall, making a loud noise and closing her eyes, she punches it again.

The wall in front of her reveals a door, opening a passage to the sea, her red eyes met the calm blue waves, but in her mind, that blue world was churning in waves that engulfed her, an almost thalassophobic feeling swallowed her, but closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she ran and leapt toward the ocean.

She tried vaguely to open her eyes and to her surprise the salt didn't bother her so much, surfacing quickly to catch her breath, she spotted Olka, being held by her husband and the director McHannon at the door of the sea passage, the expression on her face was worry, fear, the simple discomfort of “seeing her little brother give himself up on such a dangerous journey”, at least that's what Yor felt.

The black-haired woman just waved to the woman she was supposed to protect and dove again. Her trained legs moved quickly and skillfully, giving her a quick swim. The woman rarely surfaced to catch her breath, but when she dove once more, her keen sense felt something heavy approaching at high speed. Yor’s chest writhed in fear, fear of failing and hurting her family and others on the vessel.

She couldn't fail at that, so she surfaced again. Yor touched her chest and took a deep breath, her lips trembled and even though she was already wet, she felt her eyes watering, she couldn't deny she was terrified. She just couldn't fail.

The woman held as much air as she could and dove once more, and her other side slowly revealed itself, the fury of an assassin, a mother and a wife. Her scarlet eyes blazed with bloodthirsty anger as she clasped her arms in front of her face and using all her strength, she pushed herself, swimming as fast as she could, and that sense of impending danger increased each second.

Finally, the time seemed to have come, as Yor felt the hot, pointed tip of the projectile in her hands, the impact of the weapon was spot on, pushing the woman for a few miles, but Yor regained her strength and began to push the torpedo trying to change its direction.

However, as strong and resistant as she was, she was still a human. Her lungs were threatening to reach their limits, her chest ached and her head throbbed, her body was shaky and wobbly… She couldn't take it anymore.

Mama! Mama!

Mama! Let's play!

I love my strong and cool mama!

"Anya." Her conscience whispered, in a desperate attempt to wake her up and remember why she was there.

She needed to stop it; she needed to do it; she needed to deflect it.

She needed to survive.

She needed to see Anya again; needed to hear her voice again, needed to see her smile. She had to see her grow up; had to see her mature; had to see her become a beautiful, grown woman.

She had to be there to see this.

The red eyes snapped open and with a muffled cry across the sea, she gripped the projectile by the base and launched it with all her strength out of the sea, after the adrenaline had passed, her body remembered she couldn't breathe, so she quickly swam to the surface, where she could see the torpedo exploding in the sky, really far from the boat, along with the lights and "booms" of the fireworks.

The woman smiled as the bright lights of the explosion decorated the sky. Blowing up the torpedo wasn't quite the plan, but at least everyone was safe. Yor took a deep breath and kept smiling, if she wasn't keeping a secret, she was sure Anya would love to hear what she just did, the smile faded little by little when she noticed the smoke vestige on the horizon, she had noticed that there was also a trail of bubbles behind the projectile, if she followed that track, she might find the person behind the attack.

Again, her scarlet eyes were filled with fury as she slowly went down the water, the woman swam fast and rose a few times to catch her breath, and then she found a submarine.

While trying to approach the submarine, Yor was quickly captured by a net. The woman struggled but when she realized she was being pulled into the submarine, she faked a faint.

"Yea! It's her! Thorn Princess in person! I really thought she was going to be tougher, but it was easy to get rid of her.” A male voice spoke animatedly.

Yor woke up and watched closely the male figure who spoke exultantly on the phone. She lay a few more minutes to listen to him. The woman had to hold back her laugh as she heard the man say that "I would even try something with her… a date or such, since 'the royalty' is a gorgeous woman."

That man didn't have a third of her husband's charm… her fake husband.

Sly and furtive as a black serpent, the woman rose, her dark-colored dress giving the impression that a black mamba was on board the submarine.

The man had already finished talking to whoever it was on the phone. He was holding a file, probably his next "customer".

"In a little while, you'll be next, your little manwhore." The man chuckled to himself, looking at the file, not noticing the beast that came behind him.

Suddenly, his head was being held in one hand while a sharp needle was slowly piercing his back. Sweat ran down his spine as his mind had simply made him sure that he was just a helpless rabbit against a towering, dominant panther.

"Please, I really want to believe that you are so much more than a child with your expensive little toys." The whisper reached his ears, carrying a defiant tone.

And the coldness in the woman's words made the man shiver. He swallowed hard and didn't even try to turn around, just shivered and remained motionless, waiting for his end.

The bloody eyes continued to watch their hostage intently, waiting for some kind of reaction. But that man was simply too scared to react in any way.

"You… you really are… the… royalty." He stuttered, and Yor could feel him struggling not to choke on his impending tears.

"So I was wrong, you really are only your toys."

The man began to hyperventilate as the color drained from his body, his cheeks tinged red from the humiliation he was feeling… coming from the person he most admired.

But he needed courage, to at least make the Thorn Princess take back what she said, so, aiming at the red button on the control panel, the man tries to stretch his arm to reach it, but the powerful princess holds him back.

The man spins, making the woman fall on top of the control panel and coincidentally, triggering the big button she wanted to avoid.

The man ran through the submarine, while the red lights flashed a warning of the destruction of the vessel. He searched all compartments for his diving suit, while being chased by the princess.

The annoying sound of the alarm made the woman even more distressed, she had no idea what that button did but, whatever it was, it wasn't good. Then, she finally finds her "coworker" and jumps on him, pinning him to the ground.

"What does that button do?" she asked.

"It activates the submarine's self-destruct. If you hadn't offended me I wouldn't have activated it."

Yor's face contorted in anger as she gripped the man tighter.

"If I hadn't offended you? If you hadn't launched a torpedo, threatening the lives of many innocent people, it wouldn't have even started!" She growled.

"Too late princess." The man replied maniacally, smiling.

The woman didn't even have time to think, all she could hear was a sharp noise as the temperature inside the vessel rose. She turned around and the orangish and yellowish lights lit her red eyes. Suddenly, a loud bang was heard as it simply tore the submarine into pieces.

Yor had to hurriedly hold her breath as she woke from the sudden explosion. Looking up at the surface, she spotted the man who owned the vessel, floating in the sea. She didn't know if he was unconscious or dead, but he would give some good information anyway, so she swam to the surface, and was soon surprised by the pier the director had determined as a rendezvous point.

She swam to the building while dragging the man with her, the woman climbed onto the pier and lay down on the cool wood to catch her breath, however, looking to the side, she noticed a paper near where she had placed the man.

The woman walked over and unfolded the paper, recognizing it as the file the man was reading earlier.

The back of the file read: Twilight, Western Spy. Height: 6'1. Known aliases: Robert, Lionel, and … Forger.

The woman looked closely at the file, and her blood froze when she read "Forger". The first name was smudged by the water as well as much of the file, but the other words were more readable. This "Forger" couldn't be her husband, could he? There must be many people with that last name. Her husband is a good and respectable man. He wouldn't be a spy, a liar and… a manipulator…

Yor swallowed and reread the file once more just to be sure: Twilight, Western Spy. Height: 6’1. Known aliases: Robert, Lionel, and … Forger.

She took a deep breath and turned the file, finding a photograph of the "Twilight", her eyes widened as her hands trembled, the traitorous spy was a blond man, it was the only thing she could see of the blurry and almost unrecognizable photograph, however, unfortunately, Yor was good at deciphering facial features, and using her skill, she realized that the man had blue eyes, and was probably good looking… Just like her husband.

Yor shut her eyes and just refolded the file and tucked it inside her dress, she shouldn't make rash decisions, she trusted Loid... But, that could be a sign that he might not be who he says he is. The woman then took a deep breath and when she turned around, she was greeted by the open passageway to the ship, waiting for her.

She then caught the unconscious man on the pier and brought him with her as the woman boarded the ship again. Her scarlet gaze was lost and wavering, as well as the red sun hidden by clouds in the twilight.

#spy x family #yor forger #anya forger #loid forger #loid x yor #mild angst #agent twilight #thorn princess

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bxllafanficc · 3 years

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¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(part one)

part two part three part four part five. Find the rest on; Masterlist

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Yuri's POV*

"Remind me once again why we're going to Japan? It's clear you'd never take us there just because you miss Victor and I know by experience that it's not because of his apprentice."

First class flight like usual. The view out the airplane window of the sparkling city at nighttime below them would stun anybody but at this point, Yuri has traveled so many times it's only become regular sights and the lights of the streets are only plain colored spots in a dark void to him these days. One thing he will never feel comfortable with though is staying in the same seat for hours on end until the airplane arrives at its destination. His legs are itching from wanting to move around. He'll just have to jog it off back on the ground like every other trip in the past.

"You'll be spending some time with Yuuri Katsuki and Victor the following weeks to gain your fighting spirit back. You need to get back in touch with your emotions, remember?" Yakov slightly turned his posture towards the Russian skater beside him, folding his newspaper in half and putting it in his lap.

He only nodded with a slight hum. He could see Yakov's reasoning, some parts of it at least. He HAD been lacking in emotional performance ever since the new year began and it was time to get back into the mindset of winning yet another Grand Prix gold medal like last year. No, not last year. Last year's competition was cancelled after a minor pandemic spread through Russia and the nearby regions. In fear of the virus spreading, all competitions cancelled and larger crowded areas were forbidden to take place. Therefore Yuri's only been able to practice by himself and keeping himself fit for a possible competition next year. But a year of doing nothing can really change your spirit and afraid to admitting it to his coach, he's been missing several opportunities to hit the rink and stayed home watching anime or scrolled through social media instead.

But one thing he doesn't get is how Victor and Yuuri are gonna make him get his mindset in the right track again. He already won his first gold medal at his senior debut and he doubt that the Japanese skater will be in any better condition than Yuri's currently in right now. Pig-man must've been in a much worse state considering his boo Victor had to stay in Russia during the pandemic, unable to keep an eye on Yuuri's routines.

"Besides, there's a little surprise waiting for you where you'll be staying with the two of them. It better work out fine or else I'm out of ideas."

That caught his attention to say the least.

"Well if it's supposed to save me from the deep end then why be so secretive and hushy with it? Spill the news, Yakov."

The old man only grunted and picked up his newspaper once again and hid his face behind it. Well now he really wanted to know what it was. Clearly he would have to make some effort. Soon the article about a Russian charity event taking place this weekend got replaced with a clenched fist going straight through the back of the paper. Yuri expected some kind of reaction but Yakov only sighed and leaned back in his seat without even a flinch.

"It's no surprise if I tell you. I promised Victor to keep it a secret."

"Tell me."

"No."

Yuri groaned and folded his arms with a sour glare. The display in the ceiling told the traveler's that it was 10 minutes until landing so he gave up his attempts and let his eyes rest for a while. At least he would find out tomorrow, he assumed. It was 2am and he would be staying at a hotel close to the airport since it was too late to make rest of the trip in one day.

Yuri was out with the speed of a lightning bolt the second the plane doors opened. He sped past everyone before him and he didn't stop when he finally got outside. His feet carried him to run circles around the plane meanwhile he was waiting for Yakov to get out the normal way. It's a silly habit of his and he knows he looks stupid doing it but his coach has given him strict orders to not run away at one random direction like used to do at first. It would take like half an hour for him to be found once he took off, but only if he got lost.

"Yuri! Get over here!"

Well, there's his cue to get ready and head to the hotel. Finally he's able to get some sleep before he's forced to wake up early at dawn to head to Hot Springs and meet the two most annoying people in Japan.

...

He didn't even have time to eat breakfast. He overslept and got rushed to the cab with an angry Yakov behind him, newspaper folded tightly in his fist. The trip through the beautiful Japan would've been pleasant if Yuri hadn't dozed off every 10 seconds. He didn't get much sleep after all. He spent at least three hours thinking about the special surprise and raiding the free mini bar before he finally got to rest. At 8am he was woken up with banging on the door and now, at 10am, he was standing at the entrance of Hot Springs waiting for Yuuri's mom to announce their arrival. She hurried away somewhere with her usual bubbly happy self that Yuri had no idea how a person could be so... not moody all day long.

The place was as crowded with customers as last time and the two Russians were told to step inside to the more private parts of the building where the family lived along with Victor at the moment.

"Victor! How come my brand new lotion is used? You smelled a suspicious amount of peaches and wild berries at breakfast and there's no point denying it!" A fairly soft and modulated voice was heard from somewhere to the left where the private shower stalls were located. A couple seconds later a giggly Victor and Yuuri came through the direction of the living room and greeted Yuri with happy cheers. The slender white haired Russian caught Yakov in a bear hug, much to the old man's surprise. Yuuri extended his hand towards Yuri but Yuri didn't give any effort in taking it.

"Food. I'm starving."

Yuuri dropped his hand with a light blush but Victor pouted and let go of his former coach. Strong and clingy arms were suddenly wrapped around his chest and he couldn't breathe.

"So unpolite... Yuriooo we've missed you! Haven't you missed us?"

Yuri thrashed like a fish caught in a net and tried to hit the arms of the bastard trapping him. Yuuri joined in, only to get a kick in the hip. His stomach growled angrily and the endless void in his body didn't lighten up the experience a bit.

"Let go you old man! You too piglet!"

"I hoped you'd say it out loud but I know that deep down you've been missing us, Yuriii." Victor went to whisper in his ear with pouty lips but was swatted away by a backhand in his face. That finally caused him to let go and Yuri jumped out of reach for the two males.

"Hm... Or not." The expression he got from Victor was sad and pouty and the man earned a hand on his shoulder, put there by Yuuri. Yuri could only sigh and shake his head.

"Victor! Did you steal my shampoo too?! I will- Oh? What now?" Yuri turned around abruptly by the unfamiliar yet familiar voice behind him. His eyes widened.

The girl was standing to the left of the hall, seemingly coming from the shower. A curious hand rested against the wall beside her and her face was covered in a grey clay face mask, a toothbrush lazily hanging from the corner of her lips. Her (h/c) eyes glistened with mild shock along with her mouth hanging slightly open.

"You are early... Victor, you told me they would arrive at 1pm1!" She pointed a strict finger at the tall man who scratched the back of his head with a hesitant laugh. Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed her toothbrush. Because even if she was standing unprepared in front of two strangers, she would at least not forget to brush her teeth in the process, as you do.

Yuri might've considered it normal if it wasn't for that she was almost naked. Two towels were the only fabric hiding her, one wrapped around her dripping figure and the other tied up in her hair.

"Yeah, about that! I kind of mixed up the time of their arrival and your meeting with the press, that's, by the way now when I think of it, not actually cancelled but later today. Silly of me to forget, right?"

She eyed him as though her bullshit meter was ticking in the red zone and let out a huff. Yuri had to advert his gaze when it suddenly felt intruding to eye her the way he did. He also turned away because a light tint of pink was creeping up his cheeks.

"Right. Thanks for the early update. I appreciate it, really. I'll be with you again in 30 minutes. Don't wait up for me." And with that, she was gone. The silence of the men maintained for a few moments until Yuuri coughed with an awkward smile, his red cheeks still visible even after the girl had disappeared. 'It's a little weird to blush at your almost naked sister' he thought.

"So food, right? Mom is preparing pork cutlet bowls for you, Yurio, since she remembered how much you liked them last time-" He didn't have to say it twice. Yuri was off to the dining area before the man even finished saying 'pork cutlet bowl'.

#yuri plisetsky #yuri plisetsky x reader #yuriart #yuri katsuki #yuri on ice #victor nikirofov #anime fanfic #animelove #fanfiction

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animebaby00 · 3 years

Text

I Don't Deserve It: Chapter 2

Summary: When Shoto gets a nasty stomach bug, Izuku stops at nothing to help and take care of him.

But Shoto can't help but wonder...

Why?

(Link to Chapter 1) ⬇️

Shoto wasn't sure if he was actually awake the next time he opened his eyes considering that when he did so, it was oddly dark in the place he currently resided. He had to blink a few times and weakly rub at his eyes to help his vision become accustomed to his surroundings. But even after doing so, he still wasn't sure where he was.

Upon casting his eyes to the right, he could see the thin outline of sunlight coming from between a pair of closed curtains. He felt a soft weight on his legs and torso from what he could assume were sheets and maybe a few blankets. But everything else looked a blur.

In his best attempt, he tried to focus on the events from earlier. He had woken up, feeling absolutely terrible, and that in itself hadn't changed. Shoto could still feel the underlying pressure of a headache pounding in his temples, his skin still felt sticky with sweat, his body felt like it had been trampled by a stampede of elephants, and his stomach was tight and queasy.

And it was then the moments in the bathroom slowly began to enter back into his mind.

He remembered collapsing against the sink, how nauseated he had felt, and how his body simply wouldn't listen to him as it completely gave into the last thing he had wanted to do. He had collapsed by the toilet, waited those few last agonizingly anticipated seconds before everything he had eaten the day before came back up in a half-digested mess.

Shoto couldn't exactly remember the last time he had thrown up. The last memory he had was when his father had punched him in the stomach due to weakness. Though the feeling had felt somewhat the same, it also carried many differences.

The the quick puddle of bile that had left his body in comparison to the painful dry heaves, the chills in comparison to the tears, the fearful, small frame of his mother buy his side as his father barked orders for him to get up in comparison to...the warm hand he had felt on his back while another hand kept his hair away from his face.

The person that had actually...helped him.

Midoriya.

A sound that was an odd combination of a groan and a scoff left Shoto's throat. How could he let himself get to this point? Sure, Midoriya had helped him in the past, but that had been during situations that were near the serious point of life and death. Not a stupid little stomachache.

That at least he would admit, as Shoto didn't know many people who threw up from a fever. But even so, this was not something he needed help with. He'd been enough of a burden in the past and he'd rather lose a finger than be one again.

He gathered up as much strength as he could and hoisted his body to sit up from what he could assume was a bed due to the soft, plush feeling under his legs and torso. However, just like that morning, his body disagreed with his movement as a sharp pinch of dizzying pain shot through his head while at the same time, an unsettling wave of nausea bubbled over in his stomach. The combo of both made him grimace rather loudly, and with his perfect luck, a person emerged from a door located across the room right after his sound of discomfort.

"Oh, Todoroki !" A voice said, their tone sounding highly relieved. And it was then that Shoto identified the person as-

"M-Midoriya…?" He rasped. Good god this throat was dry. It sounded like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper, but thankfully, Midoriya didn't fret over it.

"I'm happy you're awake." he said, thumb flipping a light switch on the wall as he walked over to his desk. He had something in his hand that he placed down on the wooden surface, something that Shoto couldn't recognize before he turned his head, a soft smile on his face, "I was really worried about you earlier. How are you feeling?"

Shoto disregarded the question, and resulted in asking one of his own.

"How did I get here?"

Shoto noticed his friends' slight flinch, "Oh ! Yeah, I imagine you were probably a little confused. Sorry about that." he sheepishly scratched the side of his face and turned back around. Shoto furrowed his eyebrows from the sudden dripping sound of a liquid as Midoriya continued talking.

"After you threw up in the bathroom, you passed out and I wasn't exactly sure what to do. I decided to wait for a few minutes, hoping that you would wake up, and I got scared when you didn't. Luckily, Kirishima and Tokoyami came into the bathroom shortly after. I told them what happened and then they helped me clean you up and take you back to my room to rest."

Shoto's eyes widened.

His classmates...saw him ? In such a weak state? No...how could he have let this happen? How could he be so...so..."

"I-I have to go…" Shoto uttered quickly, maneuvering his body to stand up despite the twisted feeling in his stomach "N-now."

"Oh, to the bathroom ?" Midoriya inquired, turning around hastily with a worried look on his face, a wet rag in his hand, " Do you feel sick again ? Here, let me help-"

"No !" Shoto exclaimed. He inhaled a panicked breath in through his nose, head throbbing so badly he thought it would burst, " I- I need to leave. We have class and training and-"

"Hey, don't worry." Midoriya moved closer, hands raised up in a calming manner with the wet rag still dangling in the crease between his thumb and index finger " I already asked Kirishima and Tokoyami to excuse us for today. They'll get us the assignments we missed and we can make them up later. Everything is fine."

Shoto's pupils dilated to the size of the tip of a toothpick. No. No. Everything was not fine.

"I-I can't Midoriya...I can't...I have...to-"

He tried to stand, but just like earlier, his body acted completely against him and he stumbled forward.

"T-todoroki !"

Midoriya acted upon instinct and lunged forward, rag falling from his hands and caught Shoto's limp body in his arms, easing themselves down to the ground.

"W-what are you doing ?! You have to take it easy !" He exclaimed, leveling Shoto so that his back was laid up against his bed. The sick male was breathing heavily, skin prickling once again with sweat and an uncomfortable heat. Midoriya laid his hand on his forehead again, a heavy frown on his lips.

"Your fevers up again...come on." He urged softly, "You need to get back in bed."

Shoto moaned through his lips with full intent to battle against the demands he didn't want to succumb to. But even thinking about getting up again caused his eyes to shut tight due to the excruciating, throbbing pain in his head, crossed over with another, familiar…sickening feeling. God, please not again.

He tried to quell it, deep inhales and exhales through and out the nose. But he knew deep down it wasn't going to work. It was coming too quick.

"M-Midoriya…" he whispered, teeth gritted.

His answer was quick, "Yes ? W-what is it?"

"I...I need the…" he swallowed thickly, "the...mmph!"

Shoto pitched forward, hand over his mouth, and Midoriya's eyes widened.

He knew exactly what was about to happen, and if he didn't hurry…

Green irises darted around his room until they landed on the small waste bin sitting in the corner. He moved so quickly in haste to grab it, one would have thought he was using the speed of One For All, but it was simply just to ensure he could aid his sick friend...and so he wouldn't be scrubbing out his carpet for an hour.

And he was just in time too, because almost as soon as he placed the bin under Shoto's chin, a wave of vomit spewed from his mouth in a violent gag and splattered into the bin.

Shoto duo colored hair fell into his face the moment he buried his head into the hollowed plastic, his only care at the moment being to pitifully give into his body's demands and rid himself of the toxins that had taken him over.

He had been sure that his bout of vomiting from earlier was the end of it, thinking it almost impossible that his system had anything else to rid itself of, but he was sadly mistaken. Bile and chunks ran passed his lips in an endless cycle, on replay, in a painful manner that tipped his mind in thinking it wasn't going to end.

However, just like before, that tiniest bit of comfort came forward in the gentlest of actions that though Shoto deeply appreciated, wished didn't have to occur. Midoriya's hand on his back, rubbing circles into his shoulder blades, whispering hushed and soft words of comfort into his ear while his other hand combed his hair away from his sweaty face.

This felt worse than earlier. He had had more in him the first time, leaving less room for empty gags and dry heaves, but this time, he was taken over with dry coughs and mouthfuls of stomach acid as his chest heaved with painful gasps from the relentless pulses of his stomach. No doubt the dry heaves were the worst, each one making him feel like his stomach and intestines were in his throat, close to coming out through his esophagus in a vile heap.

Thankfully, things started to slow down after about five minutes, and Shoto was finally able to pull his head up from the bin without fear of his stomach acting against him. A soft voice flowed through his ringing ears immediately after.

"Do you think you're done ?"

Shoto caught the slightly worried look on Midoriya's face out of the corner of his eye.

"Y-yeah…" he mumbled lowly, "...F-for now…"

Midoriya nodded, setting the waste bin aside, "Okay...here, let's get you up and back into bed."

He extended his arm with intent to assist his sick friend, but was shocked when his arm was pushed away.

"S-stop. I c-can get up by myself."

Midoriya opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated, and watched with saddened eyes as Shoto gave a very weak attempt to heave himself up. His movements were deathly slow, cautious, as if any extra motion would trigger another episode. He exhaled a small, shaky breath and rested his forehead on the edge of Midoriya's bed, eyes half lidded in utter exhaustion.

Then, using his forearms he tried to pull himself to his feet, but his muscles ached and burned when he moved. He couldn't even get onto his knees.

Midoriya couldn't take it anymore as he scooted forward and put a hand on his friends' back.

"Hey, come on...that's enough. At least let me help you up. Take my hand."

Shoto shook his head as he once again declined "No. I-I'm fi-"

"But you're not, damn it!"

He turned his head, vision wavering as he set his eyes on Midoriya's face. Though he had sounded mad, his expression wasn't angry. It was more a cross between concerned, confused...and hurt.

His lips were pressed together thinly, eyebrows were furrowed, and his green irises were glazed over with additional emotions of something close to fear and bewilderment. His lips loosened themselves in preparement to speak, his next words sharp in tone, almost demanding.

"You're not fine. And I'm not going to sit here while you say otherwise, Todoroki. You're clearly not well and I'm not sure what it's going to take for you to see that. But I know I can. You're sick, and denying it and me won't do anything ! So please…" he grabbed Shoto's wrist, green gaze piercing into his.

"Let me help you."

Shoto blinked slowly, his foggy mind doing the best it could to process each word and syllable Midoriya said. Something became activated within him, a feeling of some sort, one he's never felt before.

The feeling that someone actually cared about him and his well-being. There was a person who wanted to set aside their time, when they could be doing a plethora of other things instead, to help him.

It put a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest, and he wasn't sure if he liked it...or hated it.

Clearly, he wasn't going to get anywhere, as he knew Midoriya to be very persistent. So with a sigh of defeat, he closed his eyes and let his tired body go slack, allowing the freckled boy to move closer to his side.

He felt an arm envelope itself around his upper back, while his own arm was positioned to drape around Midoriya's shoulders for added support.

"On three okay ?" Midoriya confirmed, taking the answer of Shoto nodding against his collar bone, "One, Two, Three…"

With a gentle heave, Midoriya was able to get Shoto on his feet, though his knees were bent and his legs were trembling underneath him like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. His balance and strength were gone, his energy was totally diminished. By the time Shoto was leveled on the bed and his head was resting on the pillow, his consciousness had faded into an oblivion just like before.

Midoriya grabbed the blankets that had been pushed to the end of the bed from Shoto's movements and proceeded to cover up the sick boy to hopefully rid him of his body's shudders and occasional shivers. And while doing so, he was really able to see fully just how sick Shoto was.

Even in the dim room, Midoriya could make out his pale face, it's usual warmer tone gone save for the flushed red splotches on his cheeks and across his nose. His skin was shiny with a new layer of sweat, likely caused by his radiating fever.

His fever.

Oh ! The rag !

Midoriya turned around and grabbed the rag from off the floor that he had dropped earlier from when Shoto had nearly collapsed. He walked over to his desk and submerged it once again into the cool water, squeezed off the excess, and folded it to fit on Shoto's forehead. Once at his side, Midoriya carefully swept his red and white bangs aside and set the fabric against the male's heated skin.

He let his hand linger, moving to feel Shoto's scalding cheek with his knuckles. He was burning up.

The shock of cold to hot must have triggered something in Shoto's troubled rest, for his eyebrows furrowed in clear discomfort. He mumbled something incoherently and subconsciously pressed his face into Midoriya's hand, desperate for comfort in his fevered state.

Midoriya frowned. Seeing Shoto like this...made him feel absolutely terrible.

This wasn't the Shoto he knew, even despite his illness.

He had helped him before, during the incident with Stain, during some drill in class, even with simple stuff like homework

So...why was this any different? Why did he seem so hesitant and so...ashamed?

He had a lot of questions, but they would have to wait. He didn't want to impose so much on Shoto right now, especially in his state. That was the last thing he needed.

Midoriya looked at the spoiled waste bin next to his bed.

He had other things to do.

His arm extended to grab the bag lined rim of the plastic container, and once it was in his possession, he proceeded to his bathroom to clean it out, leaving his sick friend to get some additional much needed rest.

#bnha #my hero academia #boku no academia #shoto torodoki #sick shoto todoroki #izuku midoriya #caring izuku midoriya #vomiting #fevers #sickfic

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

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Eight Tries //Obey Me Yandere! Asmodeus x reader //

Thank you so so much for this wonderful prompt @feedmestraycats. Icon made by the lovly @bbelphie!

TW: attempted suicide, mention of rape/noncon, gore, murder, cheating

This was getting old, he still wasn't home and there was no point in pretending that he was just running late. No, you knew that your husband was not coming back home tonight, maybe if you were lucky you would find him passed out on the couch sometime in the late afternoon once you returned from the marketplace.

There was no reason to spend the dreary and dull night alone. If that spoiled hero you called a husband could be spending such a gorgeous night, out with some prostitute from the slums then you could also be having some naughty fun~

--To call your current like a nightmare was an understatement. People awake from nightmares, they could open their eyes and be back in the safety of their warm beds, next to the person they loved. But the second your eyes opened you entered a hell on earth, there wasn't any escape, no freedom...and the worst part was that there was not a single soul to comfort you--

Five red candles set in a circle each one a blase with a tiny passionate flame. Two twigs inserted parallel to one another, caging in the dried corpse of a scorpion. Next is the demon's sacred seal written in the summoner's blood, elegantly and delicately. Sprinkle it with salt and state the ungodly words. "Oh, great Asmodeus lord of love, aviator of lust, I become thee come forth to me, I offer you my body and soul"

--You had been born to a noble family in a small and rather poor town. Despite the town economical standpoint, the natives were tremendously kind and neighborly. Everyone shared whatever little of anything they may have had. Your family, in particular, was the most charitable. Giving and giving as much as humanly possible. When it came time for you to chose a husband, your father requested you marry someone from the town, someone you truly loved disregarding how poor or wealthy they may be. Marry for love he insisted but keep it in the family. Regardless to say that's what you did. You found a man and fell in love, married a month later in a joyous celebration in which the whole town had been invited to....but then HE came along--

The circle in front of you puffed with a cloud of thick pink smoke. It invaded your sense, plunging into your mind and sending waves of ecstasy. It was a rush pure lust was infected into your entire body...

but then it stopped, neglecting your corpse and leaving you you confused and sweaty. It was in that eerie moment that the demon decided to manifest himself. He stood tall in all his glory, petite bat wings spread out. If it weren't for the dark shadow and uncharacteristic bitter frown spread thinly across his face, he would have looked as beautiful and perfect as the first miserable night you played eyes on him.

--In the dead of night Asmodeus had murdered your husband in clod blood. He had made you watch as he shredded your lover's corps leaving only a messy pile of blood and organs on the bed. But that had not been enough for the lord of lust. On that same blood-soaked bed he had defiled you, raped you and stolen what was meant for the man who's blood you now laid in, a weeping mess reeking of that demon's stench. Your parents had found you the following day. They were sent into an accentuated frenzy. How could such a horrifying thing happen? By the following year, you'd been wed again, only for Asmodeus to return on the night of your marriage and decimate your new husband. By the fourth accurations, the townsfolk had deemed you cursed, at first they tried all that they could to save you from this dreadful beast. But all too soon it had turned into a competition. "Who could marry the nobleman's daughter and survive the next day." Desperate to wed you off your parents accepted any challenger who arrived....and each was dead by the morning of your marriage. By the sixth time, the townsfolk had already tried to kill you on multiple occasions. The sweet and caring town you knew had been annihilated replaced by this bitter, angry village of unkind and untrusting residents. And Asmodeus? Well, he'd made a game out of this, each time he'd find a new grisly way to slaughter your new husband and a new repugnant way to rape you. By the seventh husband, you'd already attempted four suicides. All resulting in fallierur, by some black miracle that dreadful demon was always able to save you and keep you alive. All hope was lost or so it seemed.--

"He's out again..." Was there any need to explain why you'd summons him. Over the last two years since your wedding to the "hero", these summonings had been almost routine.

"Of course he is darling~ did you really think you were enough to satisfy him? hm?"

The words stabbed your heart like a million needles at once, the reality was all too fragile and could come crumbling down at any given time. You had never been enough, this was a well-known fact at this point. You had never been enough for your lovers, parents or town's people and now you weren't even enough for your own husband, the man that had saved you from all your miseries.

"Love, he's a hero. Hero's don't settle down and live domestic lives with their loved ones and children. They need the torture of missions and anguish of journeys to feel alive. When they leave it all behind they wind up as hollow husks filling out the rest of their existence with alcohol and street women."

--After having prayed to God for too many days and nights to count, he's finally sent you a hero. Tobias was sent to vanquish the demon Asmodeus and merry you as a reward. At the time you'd all thought he had succeeded, that the avatar of lust was really dead. The thought had brought you joyous days and depressing nights. A part of you was beyond thankful that he was finally gone. The other half missed and longed for his lips on yours, for his hands brushing against your skin, the feel of his honey-colored lock tangled in between your fingers. You missed your tormentor...

At first, you and Tobias had been like any young couple so in love to notice the conflict of the world around you, so in love to disregard each other's sharp edges. So in love, until you were no longer. The first year had been sweet and peacful, every day was a harmonious dream...but then Tobias started coming home late, neglecting your presence. Some nights he wouldn't return at all and you'd run into town finding him in some pub drunk and with some random woman clinging to him. You spent those nights crying yourself into fitful revolting dreams of happiness and death. The old pre-suicidal habits had returned. One night the blade slipped and slashed a vain to deep, mentally exhausted you simply laid there waiting for the blood to run out. That's when you saw him again. Over the years he hadn't changed one bit, flirty smile and reddish-yellow eyes still playful and dark. He'd brought you back again and stayed with you until morning. The occurrence repeated it's self like clockwork until one night it was no longer dying and talking but summoning and...more. It felt right to feel him all over you again. His toxic presence made you feel complete, filling up holes in your soul.--

Asmodeus stalked closer, arms slinging in that all too causal way. You didn't dare take a step back, having played this game enough times to know every result before it even sprouted.

"(Y/N) why won't you listen to me! How dense do you have to be to repeat the same mistake eight times! Eight freaking times before it dawns on you that you are wrong! You will always be wrong! No worthless human or "holy hero" can ever love you as I do. I'm the only one. I'll always be the only one!"

Your brain screamed that he was wrong, that you could have had a prouspoures, dazzling life had he not killed your first husband or second or even third. Ir was his fault that your beloved town had been plagued with riots and corruption. He taught your people to sin, to ignore the words of God and his angels! Yet your cracked heart knew that he was right, no man would ever love you again... hey all married you for some selfish obligation or another. And Tobias....Tobias was the worst of all. He was forced to marry you by the holy on. Thrust into a loveless marriage with the suicidal "beauty" he was forced to save. Why couldn't God have just killed you all those years ago? Given the poor "Miss wanna die" her sole wish. He was right, this MONSTER was had always been right! No one loved you. You were less than the rubble under people's feet. Even noble god had turned his back on you...but he, this evil demon...Asmodeus had always come back for you. Hw stole your innocence, your purity, your life! your destiny was forever ruled by him. Maybe that's what you were so constantly in pain and isolation. You were trying to outrun your furutre. Why? What was the point of escaping your inevitable faith? Let it go, submit, your miserable life would finally become less of a burden. Give up, hand over the crumpled misery you called life to Asmodeus, let him take over. It would all finally be over. No more pain, loneliness, the misery would come to a sweet end!

In a daring, insanity driven moment you lunged yourself forward gripping Asmodeus' toned shoulders with all your strenghth. Fingernails digging deeper and deeper into his creamy skin. Crashing your lips onto his, trying to let the kiss speak for you. Begging he would comprehend your actions, praying he would accept your submission. In no time he took over, dominating the kiss, slipping his wet muscle into your mouth. Running his larger hands to your lower back. Dipping lower and lower, squeezing anything he could get his hand on. He was the one to (shockinly) break the kiss. He slowly pulled away leaving behind a thin string of saliva. His lush lips were pulled into a smug smirk, his eyes were lightening up with the most joy you'd ever seen. Forcefully he pulled you closer to his chest. Holding your head where his heart would have been.

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seriouslyblacklikemysoul · 5 years

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Her eyes, the stars - Bucky Barnes x Reader (Steve Rogers x Reader)

[I know, I am a ghost. Sorry guys. Enjoy.]

The reminiscence of a rose - the single flower that’s so impossible to hate, delicate and pretty, even when it stops blooming. Her voice could calm even the most chaotic oceans, always soothing with soft notes of comfort. Even her eyes could mesmerize the most soulless creature; her sweet face left him dreaming in heartache. On the nights his loneliness stung him harder than cheap liquor; he was always thinking of her. For he reveled in the memory of her heart placed on his hands. As he tried to get drunk on other people’s skin. Yet all that regret still burned his chest. And he realized that he once had the best. Since she loved his highs and lows. He thought about what he once held. He regretted leaving her. But she deserved more than his pettiness and demeanor.

She begged herself to stop loving him.She hated herself for all the mistakes she had made, all those wrong decisions - she blamed him for he made her vulnerable. He was the sun, never really committed to one planet, always dancing around the universe, with bright colors revealing themselves, leaving her in awe. Her heavy blues of night opened to reveal the chariot of the sun lighting up the sky with various shades of yellow and gold. The feeling was almost theatrical and the dramatic intensity was palpable. How could they end up in the same sky, when he was the sun and she was always so fond of the night? They were just celestial objects, trying to find the one perfectly still moment, so they could co-exist in harmony without worrying about nature's balance. That moment had passed them by, ignoring their desperate attempts to escape the chaotic force.She was a whole universe in motion - he had guessed that was why she seemed so tired lately...It must be an exhausting, yet beautiful thing to brush the orbits of all the universes she walked by. He had tried to stop thinking that he made her so unhappy. He couldn't. Instead, he tried to understand her a bit better than before, to get close to her, without hurting her. Again. She was no pawn in his game, she was clever and cunning - but just to hide her true self.

"You think you can define me, that I am a tick in just one box. Like my being is a door that a single key unlocks. But let me tell you something - something I figured out after you broke me. I have the universe inside, I hold an untamed ocean with a constantly changing tide. I'm home to endless mountains with tips that touch the sky, flocks of grand migrating birds and deserts harsh and dry. Please, don't tell me that you know me. That "this right here is what you are", trying to get an old and very dead version of me back. I am the universe in motion, for I was born from the stars" she was talking to him, trying to make a point, to seem sure about what she had become - but she was scared of her heart. Oh, the things it made her do. He wasn't taken aback, which surprised her. He was looking into her eyes, watching the soft colors of the sky fooling around with the dark strokes of her irises. It was true, her eyes held the stars. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the swirling feelings inside her. She felt every single cell of her body begging for her to forgive him - there was nothing to forgive, really, for he had done nothing wrong. It was her that could not - would not - handle things. She never saw herself in a relationship - so many obligations. She was not made for ballgowns and parties but for battlefields and saddles.

"I am yours, forever yours… and when the last star of the universe blinks silent, I will still be yours", his answer came naturally to him. It was the most sincere thing he had ever said. He knew her as a sea breeze, but now she met her as a hurricane. So he knew, she needed to be alone. She had been craving freedom so long and he had been blind. He was a liar- he lied to her, to the entire world, to his own self. He wasn't the Golden Boy, people made him to be. He had hurt her in ways he couldn't have imagined before. She softly smiled to his words, because she knew he was being honest. Once upon a time, everything was magical and they were found themselves walking through a chaotic paradise. The entire multi-universe had changed.

"I might have been too harsh, Stevie. Truth is that this, us, has turned to dust right after we were defeated. Five years now, we have been foolish enough to try and make things work. We have been lying to everyone, we want them to move on and be alright when I know that all those sleepless nights we have been thinking of a way to make everything as it was. I also know, and please do not try to deny it, that you are not mine. Not really, not entirely, not ever. For you, it's always gonna be Peggy. Accepting that, was the hardest thing I have ever done". His face twisted in a guilty way. Everything she had experienced for the first time, had been with him. It hurt her but she would move on, find someone else to make her feel alive again.

"I... I am sorry. I love you, you should know that. It's just. I can't shake the feeling… I am so sorry" he calmly apologized to her. He couldn't control his heart.

" And I love you. You can't unlove someone. You can, however, become just friends with them. I wouldn't want to lose you from my life. So... Hey dude" she tried to change the dark and painful situation into something less...

It all happened so quickly and slow at the same time. It was a disaster and a triumph. Everyone came back - well, not everyone. Once she laid eyes on Bucky, she ran like hell and almost knocked him down as she enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug. How she had missed him - her best friend, companion and well...it would take her a while to admit it but there were butterflies, even though she did push them away every time, convincing herself that it was nothing more.

"I missed you Jay, so damn much" was all that she managed to say before Steve called them to assemble.

They won. And they lost. All thanks to the amazing Tony Stark. After a horrific scene of Thanos wearing the gauntlet and snapping his fingers - only to realize that Tony had stolen them right on time - everyone's heart fell and crushed and burnt. Yes, Tony defeated Thanos but at what cost?

He had always been the only father figure she knew- if she thought that standing against him with the Sokovian Accords was devastating, this was torture.

When things slowed down, Steve looked at her for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. Her porcelain-like skin was bruised, stained and twisted forming a pained mask, her hands were trembling and she was leaning against his best friend- why was this the first time he was noticing the look on Bucky's face? Why was this the first time he felt that his friend craved to be more than a friend to her?

Life has a strange way of revealing her secrets, a dark sense of humor. It goes on, like a circular river, never-ending, never resting. After the simple ceremony to honor Tony's memory, she took a step back, asking for a few weeks off of the team to help Pepper and Morgan. All she wanted was to feel normal again. One more task before that though.

Seconds before Steve stepped into that platform to be teleported back in time, she called for him. He knew it and so did she. She had seen it in his eyes after they had mourn Natasha. In all honesty, she understood why - he deserved the life that was taken away from him, without asking him if he liked the alternative options. Bucky knew it. He knew it when he saw him on the blood-stained battlefield. He felt it in their hug. He also knew that she knew- he was the one both her and Steve had asked for help before Thanos. He was the one who swallowed his feelings for her and gave her a friendly shoulder to rest her head. "Thank you" Steve mouthed to her. She smiled, eyes covered in tears threatening to spill. "Go".And he was gone. Bucky gave her hand a gentle squeeze and she turned to face him. Unknown him, she had become aware of his feelings. And her own, slowly but steadily. "A soul that carries empathy is a soul which has survived enormous pain" she softly whispered as if she didn't want to be heard. He felt that she could read his mind. All those years ago, another Bucky had existed- one who flirted shamelessly with everyone. He had to get in touch with him if he wanted a chance with her, he thought, only to be proven wrong after a while. He just had to be himself.

She had finally realized that Steve and her were exactly like the moon and the sun- and their time together was an eclipse, a breathtaking phenomenon, a glimpse of what it could have been. A moment. And that was okay. She regretted nothing. It was perfect in its imperfection.

She found herself knocking Bucky's door, not knowing why. All she wanted was to see the stars but somehow when she was greeted by sliver blue eyes, the stars seemed inefficient. He was the night, she thought.

"Can I stay here for a while?"... because I am scared when I am alone? He opened up his door to let her get inside because he knew the part of the sentence that left unsaid. His room was warm with a serene view of the night sky. He knew that she loved to gaze the stars, how she would always complain that the moon was a hypocrite. But not tonight. She felt gravitated towards him which made him blush, thankful for the darkness. To say that he hadn't wished for a moment with her, it would be a lie. He was pulled towards her like a magnet and in all honesty, he didn't want to leave far away and get over her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked her in a hushed tone as he laid to his bed, eyes watching her every move. She let a tired chuckle and sat down next to him. He pierced her eyes and she felt naked - and she didn't mind. It was okay for him to see her in all her doomed glory.

"Jay, its past midnight and I’ve pretty much thought of all the words hoping to find something that can remedy this... I can try but my vocabulary falls short when it comes to describing the matters of my heart. My heart. Not yours - mine. I could fill pages about the likes and dislikes of your heart. What makes you tremble what softens you up. I know you like the back of my hand. I know your anger and I know your vulnerability. Vulnerability…. what does that even mean? I guess it happens when you finally take the leap to open up to one who might not ever see you the same again. I guess that your weakness is not supposed to be a different form of feeling when it comes to me. And it isn't. I guess that attachments don’t exist between the two of us. But it does. And I guess, well I guess, that I love you a bit more each day and bit less on the days you choose to ignore me. No, wait, that's a lie. And I know that this is way too forward and yes, he was, is, your best friend, and my ex, which can be a bit awkward - but you know what? He made a choice, but not before I do. I had already fallen for you and if it's weird -" he did not let her finish. The words coming from hee mouth were burning fires inside his head, for years now. His lips were ever so gently upon hers. It almost didn't feel like a kiss.

In the end, everyone wanted to be like Icarus, hoping to fly high and soar far. Nobody was satisfied with their standing and kept pushing their limits. And that was human... full of life, blinded, arrogant, wonderful... always falling in the end. But not every fall hurts. She landed softly on his lips, her hands caressing his face and his were holding her tight as if she was a dream and he would soon wake up.

He was the stars and she was the moon. Finally, it worked.

'From stars we came, to stars we'll return and in the middle is all we are'

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mikeysnipes · 7 years

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I Am Alive 🖊 (Bendy x reader)

Chapter 1 - "Go away!"

Published (1730 Words)

Publish Changes Cancel

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Chapter 1 - "Go away!"

Your POV:

"Mm?" I opened my eyes, looking around at where I was. I found myself sitting by a desk with a drawing of a cute creature, smiling back up at me. To the left of the desk there was a cardboard cutout of a full-body character, with a smiling face and a bow tie to top off his friendly look. I snorted and stood up, searching for anything hinting as to where I was. Eventually I found a note, crinkled and ink fading. I curiously picked it up and read it.

Dear Henry,

It seems like a lifetime since we worked on cartoons together. Thirty years really slips away, doesn't it?

If you're back in town, come visit the old workshop. There's something I need to show you.

Your best pal,

Joey Drew.

I furrowed my brow and pocketed the note. Apparently I wasn't the only one here, or maybe I was? It doesn't matter, all that does is the fact that I don't know this Henry person whatsoever. More importantly, I don't know who this Joey Drew is either. Could they be good? Bad? I don't know.

I looked around the area, determining within the first five seconds that this place was too creepy for my liking. Very little light came into this supposed workshop, and ink stains were everywhere. Not only that, but the color scheme wasn't very enticing. The only colors were brown and black, and a little bit of white every now and then. There were more cardboard cutouts of the creature I had seen before, which didn't help give me a reassuring feeling.

Nope, that's it. I have to leave, and I have to leave now. This is no time for games. I started to wander the building, hoping to find some sort of exit by the walls. Eventually I found a room with a wolf-looking creature, chest cut open and ribs exposed. It had no organs or a heart, which I found to be surprising. However, I still cringed when I saw the body of whatever this was meant to be.

I looked closely and saw that this wolf was tied to an operation table, hinting that some sort of experiment was in progress. I looked to the right and saw a quote, scrawled with something black. Ink, I assumed. My hand immediately flew to my heart when I saw what phrase was listed.

"Who's laughing now?"

I backed up and ran out of there as fast as I could. At this rate, I didn't care where I ended up, as long as I got away from that creepy quote. I eventually bumped into one of those cardboard creatures, creating a red bruise on my cheek. I stared at the creature in front of me, wondering why the cardboard didn't fall like anything else would. My fears started to rise even more, and I glanced up.

I saw multiple posters, ads of certain shows. The first that caught my eye was a printed body with a tutu, with the advertisement where the head should be. It read "Bendy in The Dancing Demon", giving me the assumption that the creature in front of me was called Bendy. I could tell because this body sported gloves and a bow tie, which nothing else I had seen had.

The second poster I saw said "Bendy in Sheep Songs, with Boris the wolf!" From here I could guess that the half-dissected wolf was called Boris. Boris the wolf held a clarinet, so I also predicted that he could play an instrument.

The third poster featured Alice Angel, a smiling girl with both devil horns and a halo. Beside it, there was one last poster, showing Bendy's gloved hand. Each poster had their own show title.

I gaped for a moment, before continuing on my way. At least I had a general idea of who the characters were, but then what was Boris's supposed body doing here? Cartoons aren't alive, they're drawn and put together in a quick-paced movie. It doesn't make sense.

I walked into another room and saw some sort of machine, with a note on the top. I snatched it and saw that this was titled the Ink Machine, along with instructions on how to turn it on. First I had to go to the Power Room and turn on the machine. I followed what the note told me and eventually found the Power Room, with six pedestals and a sign that said 'Low Pressure'. There was a caution sign above a switch, and a big ink stain on the ground.

Wondering what to do now, I consulted the instructions. I was told to find six items. I shrugged, then looked at the items I needed to gather.

I needed to find a cogwheel, a Bendy doll, 'The Illusion of Living' book, an ink bottle, a record, and a wrench. After this, I had to put the items on the pedestals, then go to the Projector Room to restore the ink flow. After I was done doing that, I had to return to the Power Room and flip the switch.

I rolled my eyes. My work was sure cut out for me. Oh well, better get started.

-o-+-o-

After I found all the items, I set them on the pedestals, wiping my hands on my jeans. The ink flecks stained my clothing rather than my hands and I let out a puff of air. I then regarded the note once more and head to the Projector Room. The projector was on, and displayed on the wall was a continuously crouching Bendy character. I smiled and rolled my eyes, then felt around the walls for a lever of any sort. Instead I found a button, which had one bold word shown.

Flow, in all caps.

I pressed the button and heard a whirring sound, shuddering at the new noise. I then walked back to the Power Room, walking up to the lever. I took a deep breath before flipping the switch, resulting in all the items on the pedestals conveniently disappearing.

Eyes wide, I thought about what to do next, and eventually decided on going back to check on Boris. I passed the ink machine and heard water-like sounds, but ignored it. I just assumed the Ink Machine was working again, nothing to be worried about.

I reached Boris's room and saw a sight that made me start freaking out again. Ink was squirting from where Boris's heart should be, and splattering on the floor. It never seemed to stop. I stared for a moment, then shook my head and walked out. I continued to wander the workshop, forgetting the main task at hand.

Well, until I saw the solution.

The exit door was down a long hallway, as if it were taunting me. My jaw dropped and I started bolting towards it at full speed, focusing only on my way out of this creepy place. It was a mistake to eliminate any other features of the area around me, for I fell down a trapdoor and scraped my legs.

"Ow!" I hissed, rubbing my knees. I looked up and saw an axe hanging from hooks on the wall. I stood up and ignored the stinging pain in my knees, then snatched the weapon from its holder. I weighted it in my hands and focused on some wooden boards in front of me. They were blocking another exit, which could or could not be beneficial.

I decided the axe would be useful and started to chop through the area, finding planks after planks. I continued at my work, clearing a path, until I came to a strange room. It had a pentagram on the ground, with small candles surrounding it. The lights were dim, and there were three coffins around the area. There were a few chairs, as if this would be a place to rest.

I tried approaching the satanic drawing, but when I did, the ground started to shake. When a piece of wood fell from the ceiling, I backed up, staring at the floor with eyes wide. When I was at a safe distance from the devil's circle the building stopped shaking, and I released a breath I never even knew I was holding.

Suddenly, I heard the sounds of soft, distant chuckles. I tried turning around, but something stopped me from moving.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" A voice asked, from the darkness. I turned my head so that I was looking over my right shoulder, face contorted with fear. I looked down and saw something black and sticky at my feet, looking fairly similar to...

Ink?

I started to struggle, hopelessly thinking that I might be able to get out of these restraints. The snickers just got louder as a figure emerged from the darkness.

"Go away!" I snapped, launching my axe into the gloom. Laughs followed the clumsy aim, and I guessed that I missed. No surprise either, as I didn't have a good structure to throw and I couldn't see the target in front of me. Either way, it was a feeble attempt.

The creature appeared from the darkness again, advancing on me faster than before.

I saw horns, a tail, and a pointed smile.

When the person lifted his head I knew exactly who it was.

Bendy, the cartoon devil.

---

Hey guys, thanks for reading the first chapter of this book! The whole story is being edited on my Wattpad account, where my username is LovesitGirl. However, if you want to see more here, then I'll post sneak peeks and chapters as they come out!

Thank you all!

---

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thethirteencreators-blog · 6 years

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Chapter 6.5

"The idiot still isn't answering his phone? Is he working late or something?"

This would be such a simple answer and I wish I could just smile and say, "Sure! That is exactly what's keeping him!" However, I know that this is a lie and I have never been good at lying. I twitch when I lie, my lips betray me and form the most devious grin, and my voice sweetens itself to the point of me sounding like a cartoon character from the sixties. "No, he isn't working late. I walked by the café. It's closed, everyone is gone," I explain to Lyric, slapping my hand onto my knee to keep my leg from shaking. My friend purses his lips, a sign that he was either really irritated or really confused. (Good chance of it being both.) The two of us were in his studio apartment, plopped down on his couch, staring blankly at the muted television in the middle of the room. I came to Lyric's place about five minutes ago and caught him in the middle of watching the movie adaptation Hairspray for the thirtieth time. He invited me in and offered me a pop, but I declined. Caffeine was not what I needed right now. I was already jittery enough. Lyric lifts up his arms in a thoughtful gesture. "Have you tried calling his coworker?" I throw him a pointed look. "Why would I have Jasmine's phone number?" It's ridiculous for him to even assume I would have it. "I don't know. She's cute." Is he joking? I can't tell if he's joking. "Not my type. Or yours, I thought." I throw him a questioning look. Lyric chuckles, taking a sip out of a cherry colored bottle of pop. "Hey, I'm pretty open minded." In all the time I've known Lyric, he has not once actually showed any interest in another human being. When I say this, I don't mean he doesn't have romantic feelings for anyone. I mean he literally finds people the most boring beings on the planet, which is why I believe he enjoys acting so much. Up on stage, he isn't surrounded by people anymore, he says, but actors. Actors are not just people in his eyes. What they are is something so much larger with so many different layers to them. Actors are the only people he can discover any intrigue in. "Anyways," I huff, changing the subject back to a more pressing matter than Lyric's so-called open mindedness, "if Jimmy calls or shows up or you see him somewhere for some reason, tell me please? That way I will know he didn't get stabbed thirty-seven times in the chest or hit by a bus." "Why is it always a bus with you? Why can't people be hit by cars anymore?" Lyric points out, getting up from his sitting position and following me towards the front door. I stand there for a second, trying very hard to let my worry go and laugh along with him. "Jimmy is too sly to get hit by a car. If he's gonna be crushed, it'll have to be something huge," I reason, rubbing my lips together. They are so dry. When I see Jimmy, I'm gonna kick his butt for taking my lip balm. My friend reaches around my body and unlocks the door for me. "Jimmy is probably fine," Lyric assures me, his hand on my shoulder. He gives me a tight squeeze, an odd show of affection from the man who hates physical contact. I have to pause when he does this and stare, which he returns with a small smile. Lyric's smiles are so rare. He knows how much I love them. "Don't get all paranoid, man. Knowing that loser, he's probably in the drama room having dinner with his mama." "Why does having dinner with his mom make him a loser? His mom is really cool," I point out. I've never understood why kids are so anti-parent. Yes, my parents weren't perfect and spent eighty percent of their time nagging at me, but I never felt a need to shove them away. I was never ashamed of them, even if they might have been ashamed of me. During the period of time after I came out as pan to them and the day I announced I wanted to go to Broadway, they seemed a little iffy on how they felt about me. We cleared it up, though, and they went back to loving me unconditionally after the initial shock wore off. A group of blonde girls stroll by in matching purple dresses, trilling about some band they were going to see live. One of them, apparently, won free tickets off the radio and another splurged to get them a limo. Kudos for them. "His moms are pretty chill," Lyric agrees, setting his hip against the doorframe. "I'll see you tomorrow for rehearsal before class, Alto. If I receive any contact from the alien life force we know as Jimmy John, I'll let you know." "You are so weird," I laugh, listening to the sound of the door clicking shut behind me.

------*

The dorm is in an oddly tranquil state when I return home sometime around midnight. Even though Lyric instructed that I don't let paranoia overcome me, I couldn't help but wander the school grounds for a few hours. I even walked all the way to Jimmy's favorite restaurant about a mile away from the school. Sometimes he goes there in the middle of the night to get some cheap noodles. That actually has become his routine during finals. Patricia, the owner, loves him for all the business he brings her. I even went as far as to actually call his mother when all else failed. She told me that she saw him at around three and hadn't heard from him since. To avoid freaking her out, I assured her he was probably just practicing somewhere secluded, wanting privacy. There's no sign of Jimmy anywhere. No call, no text, no email... Absolutely nothing. Something happened, I know it. I can feel it in my stomach every single time I think about him; this overwhelming, aching dread repeatedly splashes over me like a bucket of blood. Wherever Jimmy is, he isn't safe. I'm almost up the first flight of stairs when I consider calling the police. This might be nothing, but I refuse to take a chance. If Jimmy really is in trouble and I did nothing to help him, I will never be able to forgive myself. "Hey, Alto!" I hear someone call. I look up and find the sweet smile of Edda waiting for me. She is worn down and borderline weak looking, but still manages to be the brightest star in the room. "You were out late." I wave her off. "Hi, Edda. I was out looking for Jimmy," I explain, playing it off as if this were nothing. There is no reason to worry anybody else. "What were you doing? Partying?" "Yikes, me?" she chuckles, slapping her hand to her chest. Edda has lived down the hall from Jimmy and I since she started here last year. The two of us have a minor friendship made up of mostly childish banter and musical references. Also, she is one of the only people who does not look ready to barf when I make a terribly wonderful pun. (For example, H-2-Oh No! When I used this on my neighbor, Madison, she looked ready to slam my head in her door. Would I have blamed her? Probably not.) It's nice having a friend who doesn't treat me like the freak I know I am. I appreciate her more than I appreciate Jimmy sometimes and that is saying mounds about our simple contact. Edda pauses on the stairs before me and gestures to the tag on her shirt. "My staff kind of bailed last minute at the paper, so I'm pretty much on my own. I just needed to run back here and pick up some photographs I forgot for the front page." Ever since the beginning of the year, Edda has been the head of our school's newspaper. She is the one who compiles it all together, writes editorials, finds leads for her team of three (counting the resident cartoonist, Kam) to follow, prints everything out, and sets up the newspaper stand in the main hall. "That sucks," I say. "It keeps me busy," Edda shrugs, adjusting a strap over her arm. "Well, I best get going. Nice seeing you, Alto." "You too," I nod, watching her descend the stairs and exit through the side door. Just as I reach into my pocket, I feel my phone start to buzz. Finally, Jimmy has messaged! I pull out my device and see his name printed across the screen. Thank god, Jimmy! I hit answer and let out a breathe of relief. "Jim-Jam, you scared me to death! Where have you..." "Heads up!" the phone cackles and I'm propelled forwards. The stairs thud beneath me with each roll until I'm at the bottom, my body trembling with pain. I lift my hands and cradle my head, attempting to recollect myself. My phone lies beside me in about three different parts. For that to have happened, the fall must have been pretty intense. "Why?" I choke out, lifting my head. The attacker is nowhere to be seen. "W-where'd you go?" I try to get up but my body refuses. Every one of my limbs feels ten times its size. I can't even move my left leg. Did I break it? Could I have broken it after only falling down half a flight of stairs? A horrible thought strikes me quite suddenly and I feel bile in my throat. What if I was right and Jimmy was hurt? Maybe the same person who did this to him is doing this to me. My shoulder stings. There's something pricking it. Before I can look, what I assume is a bag is thrown over my head. I'm engulfed in darkness for a few seconds. I don't fight it. I lay there and wait for it take me away.

#thirteen #thethirteen #thriller #story

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