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zhonglishrine · 4 years

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God is Good and never Evil

Pairing: Reader x Fyodor Dostoevsky Word Counts: 5k Note: There’s a lot of heavy context in this with religion and too much unnecessarily philosophy talk of Good and Evil. Originally from my fanfic that I have unpublished and now were revised as stand alone one-shot instead. Credits to my friends Negin, Mel and @soukokuwu for helping me proofread this one and everyone else who helped me with the definition of Good and Evil!

He always thought that he was complicated and no one could understand him. It might be difficult, yes, but not impossible, if you could catch up to the level of his intelligence. But that might also prove to be challenging, as no one actually knows what goes in that genius head but Fyodor himself. He appeared hard to predict and read, and trying to figure him out will only wear you out in futile attempts as he is always three steps ahead of everything, and that’s how he believed himself to be: superior and above everyone else.

Where was he?

Just as you were running out of places to look, you figured out where he might be. If he wasn’t in his private library reading his massive collection of books, then he would be inside his music room, spending time alone with his mind while playing his dear cello. He always spends his time thinking about various things; about the world he wants to cleanse and simple things that he came across in his martyr. You know your dear Fedya, he is an excessively meticulous man- perfection is what he always strives for and no mistakes are permitted. Sometimes when in doubt he would go back just to make sure everything went according to plan. Despite his overbearing confidence, he bites his thumb until it bleeds, and the gnawing exhaustion shown on his face when he is deprived of sleep after staying awake for several days straight, lets you know how fragile he still is.

After all, no matter how grandiose his claims are to you and how ridiculous they might sound, he is still a mortal being. No God would bleed and no God would need rest like he does, because isn’t God supposed to be all perfect? He still has his limits, though you always want to remind him not to push his frail body too much. How little he would bite off his loaf of bread, simply adequate to satiate his hunger and no more, his body emaciated day by day with the little care he put. However, Fyodor doesn't like it when he is reminded of those petty things, and so most of the time he prefers to be left alone. No words are spoken on the topic, but you know; he doesn’t need to explain every single basic detail for you to know. He knows what he is doing and needs no mothering from you or anyone else. He can actually be a bit childish and immature sometimes, and that's a trait he didn’t even realize he had; flaws that he didn’t want to admit but you noticed.

He is still a young man, too young to shoulder all the rest of the world’s sin, but he took the matter into his own hands and let it be soaked and tainted in blood of his sacrifices and fallen victims within his act of mercy.

Entering his room, a tray in your hands with a glass and ferrous sulfate tablets for him to take, you carefully tread your steps forward, not making any audible noise to disturb his moment of quietude.

The tranquil and calm tune overflows like an external heartbeat with each rhythm, and the volume crescendo in sweet vibrations octave to your hearing ears. His nimble and deft movements on the instrument play ever so gracefully, creating the heavenly sounds that soothe your quivering heart.

There are no words present, but every dance of his slender fingers on each string manifest their own poetry, and it guides you to an ode to his own universe. He changes his pace and tone, sometimes quick and sometimes it becoming slow, his eyes shut closed as his delicate hand moves the bow, scraping the hair against the string as he angles it differently. His raven tresses draped around his pale complexion follow his movements as he tilts his head with the tempo, his legs spread and toes curling the more he gets into it. He was in his own world and he is sending you an auditory message through your mind, telling you the unspoken journey he has gone through in his pilgrimage, inviting you to join him sail over the oceans of tunes that filled the grandeur ambiance in rapt silence, like he was the captain of his ship and you were his crew.

When it is faint and low – he is feeling sorrow and sadness.

When it is heavy and strong – he is feeling regret and remorse.

When it is high-pitched and piercing – he is feeling angry and furious.

When it is gentle and soft – he is feeling bliss and a sense of gratefulness.

There are so many emotions he conveys through the cello that rests against his frame on his left shoulder, as if he was lamenting alone from the exuberant song that he orchestrates. Akin to how waves would crash through the shore and saturate every breach lying within the grains of sand, it rushes to fill your hollow soul. This tide continues to flourish, seeping into your veins and healing you like a divine medicine with the superfluous melody as you continue to watch and listen in great trance, almost as though you were spellbound by it. There's just something about how Fyodor can make it sing and scream so beautifully it’s so painful to hear.

Just what is this...?

Why...why have you started to cry...?

Your hand clutches at your chest, clenching down. Why does it hammer so painfully inside your ribcage? It was as if the music was the exact voice that you have long since lost. Your throat burns in quietness and your vision becomes blurry with a dot of crystal pearl, until it drops and becomes a small rivulet staining your cheek. In the equilibrium of each note he plays, it tells a different story. A story that you felt as if you were a part of it. From the beginning of birth, soft and calm, it portrays the innocence of a newborn baby that you are. Then, it starts to pace up slightly, the progress of your life. As you grow, you face struggle and hardship in life, and it starts to go faster. A lot of details then take place, you experience a variety of emotions like a crashing wave, you make a decision and you sin through your voyage. And at the end, it becomes slow again, life becomes slower and the flame that ignites you starts to dim until it eventually extinguishes as you take your last breath.

Just like the music that grows ever so faint, it eventually fades by the end of the bow that caresses against the string before it departs.

Fyodor opens his eyelids, revealing a pool of his violet orbs with a crescent shaped illumination within, soon after a stillness encompassing the air with serenity. He flutters his lashes, his gaze landing on you as you still stand with a tray in your hand before him. Your glossy eyes sparkle like rubies before the dull brightness of the candlelight, and you simply keep on staring at him with never-ending tears. At this, Fyodor curves the corner of his lips to form a thin smile, then speaking to break the silence, "Tell me... what do you think of Good and Evil?"

Fumbling with your thoughts, you thrive to answer the sudden inquiry with your muddled mind. Fyodor plays another classical piece of music to fill the gap in the meanwhile. Perhaps it was from Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff or from someone else entirely. You weren’t sure which one, since he knew many different famous composers, but that is not important to guess right now.

"Good is..." You begin, ransacking your brain to formulate your thought and remember what the definition of the concept is. There are many standards for good and evil around the world as noted by philosophers throughout history, and it differs with each religion that exists, but for the basic definition of it, then they are almost about the same. It is akin to two notes in the same symphony. Each thing in nature changes according to the opposites; like hard ice melts into water which is then soft, the combination resulting in a harmonious whole. Just like how it is in music, harmony results from the combination of low and high notes, while in our universe harmony flows from the combination of the opposites that are good and evil.

"Having the moral and compassion to do the right thing. And evil is the opposite, it is wicked and in all immoral sense.”

Fyodor raises his brow slightly, hearing rather a short reply from you. "But if I do evil deeds for the greater goods of mankind, what does that make me? Do you think evil is not necessary after all?" He counters your statement, and you know exactly what he means by it, as he planned to wipe away all ability users from this world. Regardless of races, genders, and ages. There could be an innocent child that never did any bad deed, there could be an old man waiting for his last breath, there could be a woman who never knows they have the ability. Regardless of the sacrifices he shall make; he will still make his goal come true without any sparing mercy and treat them all equally. Like plucking the weeds before they grow wild in his garden or trim the one that has wilt.

“I am not sure about that. But isn't evil supposed to only bring harm?”

Fyodor subtly chuckled, and you were unsure whether he agreed or not.

“Then I will have to ask you something. Do you like scorpions and snakes?”

Again, when he is in the mood to indulge himself with these sorts of discussions and questions, he always asks the strangest thing and you always have to dissect the meaning behind it, whether he was thinking about it or it is just something random that crossed his mind.

“Well, I don’t really dislike them. But they are poisonous and dangerous if not handled carefully.”

“True, that is the most logical thing to think. However, that wasn’t it at all.”

“May I know what you mean by that?”

Pressing the topic further, he scrapes his bow in a deep thought, a few seconds elapsed in his silence.

“Scorpions and serpents are poisonous indeed. But are they really good or evil, for they are existing beings? Yes, a scorpion is evil in relation to man; as is a serpent; but in relation to themselves they are not evil, for their poison is their weapon, and by their sting they defend themselves."

Fyodor remembers that he has read the quote somewhere when he did his research before. He had a deep fascination to learn through different religions there in this world. What makes it interesting for him is how every single religion has its own God and belief but none of them can prove their God exists. At the very least for him, that’s the conclusion he came to. That is why at one point, he thought that if there is no God then he would become one himself. His God complex didn’t just develop in one night, it took him many, many days and nights searching for his answer and he found none after seeing the world at its demise and the despair it has.

Interesting thing about what he just said is that, Good and Evil is the embodiment of how his ability is. Still, it was a mystery to you, but you have seen how it works when Fyodor touches someone and they drop dead and fall to his feet, just by the tip of his fingers. Crime and Punishment that is neither good or evil. In the eyes of someone he might have seen as someone dangerous with that ability, a demon clocked in angel disguise, but neither can they judge which one is his true nature.

And if all people aren’t good or evil and they're just people that sometimes do cruel things because they have to, you wonder what that makes him if that was the case.

The evil one?

A demon?

Or... a Savior?

"So your intentions...define itself with what good and evil is as long as you know."

He hums, "Care to elaborate it?"

"I... l think it depends on our belief, the interpretation of our choice. Good and Evil is a paradoxical concept that is inherent in human nature, but man has to be rational with them. People are inherently “evil” while society's perspective of good comes from sustained effort. It is a very humane construct because it has to do with morals, and pretty much because no other animal has this compass. There are several concepts of good and evil, first is the collective good or evil, in which society dictates what is what. This however, differs for each individual, depending on their own moral compasses so they may agree or disagree with society. It helps maintain societal structure, but at the same time, good and evil can be viewed as pretty nonexistent simply because it is a social construct.”

He listens to your explanation as his hand never stops from playing the instrument. Again, you continue.

“But such trivial concepts are just definitions pun on abstract concepts. There is no line between good and evil. It's only the perspective that defines how something is seen, close to how war is portrayed by the winner in a way and by the loser in another way. That's why in some cases, murder can be good. Because in the eyes of a murderer, it's always good. Even the people that do charity sometimes do it to feel good themselves and beliefs say that itself is a sin therefore a bad thing. Since everything came and was given birth by God itself. He is the one that creates everything, all things that are good. But good things alone can be evil if one indulges too much in it and evil things can be good as long as we stay away from it... but purely based on intention is not all right either, for mere intention cannot make a bad act good. But a bad act performed in good faith can be excused but it cannot be classified as a good act either."

Based on your answer, he took his time to assess and ask you the next inquiry that piqued his interest.

"So, you do believe in God's existence too?"

"I..." You ponder for a moment before answering, your tongue somehow feels somewhat dry with the said inquiry. "I am not sure... there can be one, and there can be none. It depends on the reality we see, and the faith we held or the religion we have. I'm sorry if my answer is vague..."

"Hmm. It's fine, I don't blame you. I understand." He assures you and arches his head upward, exposing the bulb of his Adam's apple that was visible on his exposed neck. In this moment, he relished the time when someone was engaging in his long spiel.

"The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness want: worse need for them. The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom."

Fyodor says in soft oration, quoting a line from Percy Bysshe Shelley. "In the Garden of Eden, God creates an apple and forbids Adam and Eve to eat it. He is who all-knowing, know that one of them would eat it, but yet he still created man in immature form, created man that will end up resorting to eating it, created the talking snakes knowing it would coerce man into eating it, even already predicting it and going as far as to plan on what state would come after they did. Now which decision was good and evil? Was it a good thing to eat the apple if a man knows that was good for them? Or was it evil to go against the God that created them because they were tempted by the very snake He created?"

Although it seems as if he is asking you, the question was more so directed to himself, so you do not speak to answer him. He continues again with a solemn voice, Fyodor shifting his head again and now staring at the floor, "Sadly, since the beginning, humans are already reigned by sinful nature. They know the consequences of their actions, yet they still can not resist and repel the radiance from the fruit itself; to taste the knowledge of Good and Evil. They then bring chaos to this world, staining the land with corruption from their deadly vices and tyranny. You have seen how foolish humans can be, haven't you? The futile war that you fought, the countless meaningless bloodshed that you witnessed, all because the stupidity that was bred from humanity itself as they keep repeating the same history."

Casting your gaze down into your reflection on the surface of water, there are faint memories flashing by from when you were a soldier. Though not very vivid, the vague image is still there, flickering at the back of your mind in a blaze; the image of mangled bodies, blown apart children, blood running into gutters, rain of missiles dropping like flies on the ground and explosions everywhere blowing up like fireworks. You were there in the front lines, fighting for your own people, for their peace and nation, ready to sacrifice your life. But that was all a fleeting memory of your past; you do not need it anymore. Albeit, there is this simmering feeling that stirs within the deepest recess of your heart, a raging feeling of being betrayed and being cast aside and locked down for years. All because of fear. A fear that came from the fruit of knowledge itself that you were a dangerous ability user. With the said knowledge also comes power, with power comes corruption, and with corruption comes evil; where power becomes absolute, so does evil. War is like a disease festered inside man's heart, and it spreads like a plague and wildfire. Yet sometimes, it’s a necessary one, when the conflict could not be resolved in a peaceful way and war was unavoidable. Then, was it a good thing if it involves mass sacrifice? In a world where the hierarchy of power and different classes of society exist, could man settle the conflict without getting into argument, without evil influence their judgment and without discrimination between their different views and opinions?

Even up until today, there's no ending for human suffering and pain. Left and right you can hear the screaming silent voice cry out for Justice, with a voice pregnant with tears, broken hearts and despair, and the blood of innocents that was spilled when the world's leader moved their piece on the world map like playing a game of simple chess against their opponent. From the first World's War, the Holocaust, systemic genocide, gulags, famine, earthquakes, disease and so forth. All were rooted from the cause of Evil. And Evil first entered the world because Adam and Eve ate the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, which God had forbidden them.

"But... if God did not create the apple in the first place... then would Good and Evil cease to exist?"

Fyodor scrapes one long tune, he closed one eye from your question with another thin smile.

"A predictable nuance that one would think of if we were to avoid all the root of origin. If we put the blame to God itself by essentially placing all blame on Him, then it will prevent the problem of humanity blaming each other. But the problem of evil is the problem of accounting for evil in a world created by an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good God. It seems that if the creator has these attributes, there would be no evil in the world. But there is evil in the world. Thus, there is reason to believe that an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good creator does not exist." He says with a scoffing voice, "It is therefore natural to think of God's commandment forbidding Man to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge as ironic since God Himself had planted this very same tree in the garden. If God hadn't placed the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden in the first place, Adam and Eve wouldn't have sinned and the world's problems would be moot." He changes his bow pace to create a different tune, "If God exists then, he is testing the virtue and the faith of man by placing the tree in the garden. Then, a man by their own free will may choose their decision to choose between Good and Evil. Back to my question earlier, man could choose to obey the commandment and choose to do Good, or man could choose to disobey the commandment and choose to do Evil. However, if both choices ceased from existence, then humans will truly be free from their sins. But that would mean that people would have no choice to do evil, since evil is completely being erased. And without the choice of doing good, people will be happy not because they are happy, but because there is no longer the choice to be sad. They will only experience positive emotions, because the concept of suffering and pain has been removed and taken away from them. But would that really be a bad thing if one wishes to continue feeling happy without all the negative emotions? And would that be a bad thing if one will not make any evil deeds anymore? The line between good and wrong is distinctly thin after all as you said, as human is stupid to differentiate between what is Good and Evil for them." Fyodor gives the answer then counter it back with his question.

"However, wouldn't that be a blissful world if there was no Good and Evil? Ivan is the perfect example for that concept of being robbed from his negative emotion to be in a state of eternal bliss without any suffering had the apple never been created in the first place, and he would do all Evil simply because he does not see it as Evil since Evil does no longer exist in him." And he, as though acting as God, praised his own creation in delight and fervor that it reflects in his eyes. "You said it yourself that the Good and Evil interpretation is based on what we believe. That isn't exactly wrong now, is it?"

You remain silent to think about it for a moment. Then, with or without it, the world is still fated to be doomed. Evil is still created through man's misuse of his own power to act. He gets into evil of his own. Man misuses his discretion to act under pressure of his desires and satisfaction of his sentiments. That is why man is a sinful creature. With their own carnal desire, they will end up destroying each other even knowing the outcome and aware that they were being controlled by their own avarice. Simply, a foolish human being as he always stated.

Fyodor finishes playing the cello and the music fades from your ears. You instantly feel like you miss hearing it once he has done.

"Ah, pardon me for making you listen to my long ramble, you can put that on the table, I will get to it later." He gestured to the tray you held since the start that has few tablets and glass of translucent water. However, you knew better than anyone else that he might get engrossed into his work later on and forgot to take it so you have to be stricter.

"It's fine... but Ivan would be mad at me if he knows you haven't taken your pills..." You reply back with an even tone, but your hand was quivering from the intense feeling whirling like a torrent inside your heart from listening to his soliloquy, unsure how to feel. You love listening to his voice, and you were trying to digest every word he says. Each time you listen to his long speeches, it's like he is telling you a bedtime story, but with heavy context related to his ideologies. It always left you to think with your own reasoning. Fyodor took notice of that, and he rested the cello on its stand. He gestures to you to come closer to him and your feet move on their own as if he has a magnetic force to command you so.

"Make me," He said with a small smirk adorned his visage.

You creased your eyebrow in confusion at first, "Sorry...?"

"Make me so I can take those pills." He repeated again, now with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"How do I make you?" Your question was anything but innocent. However, for him, that just gives him a chance to tease. A moment he would rarely display.

"Here, I'll make it easy for you." He took the pill from your hand. "Now..." And he guides it to put it on his tongue as he parts his mouth. "Make me swallow it."

Faint blush erupted across your cheeks, and your usual straight expression slightly flustered. Seeing you that way, he merely chuckled. "Hmm? What are you waiting for? Didn't you say Ivan would be mad if I didn't take my pills yet?"

"Ah, yes... that is true." Gulping and with your shaky hand, you place the tray at the nearest desk, taking the glass to sip an amount of water hesitantly. Your eyes dart everywhere as you don’t know how to proceed and avoid eye contact with him as you close your eyes, leaning closer to his face inch by each with your heart beating loudly. You can smell his lavender scent; you didn't know whether it was from his shampoo or his perfume, but nevertheless it invites and guides you. You then open your eyes again, seeing he was looking at you with such an amused expression when you felt his warm lips collide as he drank the water from your mouth, your whole face beginning to heat up again and how you wish you could disintegrate by embarrassment right now. Fyodor tucks the strands of your hair behind, and the lump from his throat swallowed both the pill and the water you transferred to him directly. His tongue sweeps across your moisten lips and he tugges it teasingly in between, nibbling it softly. You relish it as much as you can, desperately craving the affection he gives you for some more.

He broke the kiss, gazing at your flushed face as he lifts your chin to prevent you from looking elsewhere with a small chuckle, "Now, that isn't so hard, isn't it?"

How you hate it that he could pull this confidently without getting flustered as you are. All the more reason when he is enjoying it. But you can never resist him, can you? Not after he has taken so much space inside your heart.

"F... Fyodor..." Your lips tremble calling after his name, there was desperation laced in your voice, a need in your eyes. He looks into you with an adoring unadulterated gaze.

"Hmm?"

"May I...?"

"What? Oh? You mean that..." Understanding what you want from him, Fyodor spread his arms widely. "Alright, you may as you wish."

Enveloped by his frame dearly with his consent, your hands hug his warm body and you rest your head against his solid chest, hearing the rhythmic beat of his heart. Although he plays such beautiful music with his cello, there's no music that ever sounds better than this. You feel his warmth spread on you, and when he returns and gives you a hug back, placing his hand at the back of your spine and he begins to stroke it, your heart swells with happiness. His touch is like a remedy to your starved soul, and it wasn't frequent that you get the chance to be with him this way since he was rarely present at the base.

Fyodor is indeed a strange man, and his mind is always complicated to understand. You never know or could tell what he was thinking. He is no God like Prometheus, not son of Lapetus and Themis. Not the champion of mankind known for his wily intelligence, who stole fire from Zeus and the gods and gave it to mortals. He is just he, a human named Fyodor Dostoevsky. A man who is acting in the place of God to carry the Good and Evil in this world. To bring salvation and destruction that humanity needs. He took the burden and huge responsibility on his own. That is something that you do admire him greatly. Albeit feeling a bit sad that you could do nothing but can only watch his back.

When he talks, you love to listen and take every detail in. You take a breath in and take in his scent again, calming you, feeling safe to be with him despite the reputation he has. Fyodor is not a man that is a fan of great affection; skin contact with another human being is a foreign concept to him. His ability could be activated at any moment if he so desires it, and then you would die in his arm in serenity. He would cleanse you off from your sin without any pain that torments you further. But he let you savor and indulge the solace he could provide you for now, as he did not dislike the company you have provided him as well. Strange as it may sound to him, he now secretly craves for the attention you give to him, as if he is the only center in your life and you are the only one for him, his dorogaya. How you wish you could stay like this with him forever.

However, you know, forever is a grand wish to have, as there is never a good thing that will last forever as it is with evil in this world. Until the end, he will stand alone, just like God he aspired to be.

#fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungoustraydogs #bsd #I never like my works before but this is the one I can be proud of #maybe #fyodor actually doesn't want to take the iron pills #that's why he drag the conversation #as noted of my friend before #he is being extra and more dramatic than gogol lol xD #tell me what you think about this #I hope I don't mess this up #not a christian so things might not be correct

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driverwaltz · 4 years

Text

Precipitate

Manager!Kylo Ren x Singer!Reader

Summary: Taking up late night gigs downtown at the Starlight Lounge was always just a way to earn some extra cash. Most days you’d bartend or bus tables, but on some special days your boss, Michael, would let you act as the live music feature of the night. It was one of those nights when you met him. The dark brooding man in the corner of the dimly lit bar caught your eye and promised opportunity, but nothing could have hinted towards what he had planned for the future.

Rating: Mature. This part is tame though.

Warnings: Unfair power dynamics, age gap, eventual smut, dub-con, drug use, slow burn

Words Count: 1.7K (Ik I went overboard)

Notes: This is my first ever fanfic so pls be nice 🥺. I took the inspiration for this from a couple of songs by the band Interpol and might make a playlist to go along with each chapter. If you guys have any suggestions or constructive criticism on my writing it’d be much appreciated (and needed lol). Also, this moves REALLY slowly in the beginning, but I promise I’ll start to pick up the pace.

Part 1: Meeting place

It broke again.

The only thing that alerted me this time was Michael's voice, booming from the back end of the bar from the kitchen to where I stood near the glassware.

"The third fuckin' time this month that I gotta replace the damn martini glasses 'cause of that hunk-of-shit washer!"

It's an easy fix, he could just replace that "hunk-of-shit" once, and that way he could spare us $65 every time a set of glasses break. It would also save the poor man on the end of the line every time he calls the distributor, demanding a new dozen and a discount. I could remind him this was an option again, but I know better. No matter what I say, I know his pride will go against any sense of better judgment. So, I stay quiet. Let him go on his little tirade while I do what he pays me to do: Act sweet to an array of old drunkards who plop themselves down on the same barstools every Saturday night. After they all get comfy, I make a point to ask about their wives and how their bitch of a boss made them work overtime. At the same time, I whip up concoctions of tequila, salt, and lime for them to hurriedly gulp down and offer me gratitude. However, it's only ever through words, never an extra 15% on the tab.

Kindness in strangers. That's what I was taught. Mama kept a stack of old scripts in a wicker basket near her nightstand, and I remember rummaging through them on static summer days when it was too hot to go outside. Mama never believed in failures. She'd always tell me, "you're constantly learning and improving. Never failing, just falling — stagnant." I like to believe that's true, but I was also raised to be honest. And, In all honesty, I can't deny that Mama was a failure. She moved out to California from Georgia without telling a soul the night she turned 17. She had nothing but her new hand-me-down car, some spare cash she got from waitressing, and a small suitcase full of clothes and essentials. Her dream was to become a performer, an actress, a starlet of her generation. She tried. I know she did, but things don't work out for a reason. So, I too, was born and raised in Georgia. However, unlike how Grandman brought up Mama, I was raised off stories of Mama's journey to Tinsel Town and the people she met rather than Grimms' Fairytales. I learned how to fall asleep to softly hummed show tunes rather than lullabies. Mama never wanted to buy new children's books; instead, she would recite one of her scripts to me. When I got a bit older, I fell in love with The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams, and that's when Mama told me: "Always depend on the kindness of strangers."

I blame Mama. I believe personality is a sort of genetic trait, and I definitely got all of that from Mama. I can never say no to Michael. Not because he scares me or that I'm in full agreeance with him all the time, but whenever the word threatens to leave me lips, it chokes me. Then, I swallow it back down and resume whatever I was doing. No is never an option. It was never an option in the schoolyard or in the house, and especially not during my music classes. Mama wanted me to continue whatever legacy she had crafted for herself, and much to her disappointment, I was not much of a talker, but I was a hummer. So, Mama forced me to turn my quiet hums into fully supported singing. That was the start of it all. I took up guitar after that, and stole my dad's old records and tried to replicate what I would hear. I guess that's how I started writing music, as for what I did with that music...

"(y/n), Lucy said she comin' to take o'er you're shift in a few. If you want, you can clock out for tonight," Michael grumbled from the back in a shout.

"It's only midnight. I've only been working for about four hours, and I need the money this month, so I'm okay working for a little bit more. I can help you out in the back if you'd like," I responded. I really did need the money though, Martin's been on my ass about my lease.

Michael peered at me through the kitchen doorframe for a second, "You got your guitar in your car?"

"Yeah."

"You up to play a few songs tonight? We've got a bit more business tonight."

I felt the muscles in my face pull up and tighten against my will. I hate to admit that sometimes Michael can make me smile, and he was right. I turned to the entrance and slowly, one-by-one, people started coming in and settling down.

"Yes, sir! I'll bring it out." I exclaimed while grabbing my keys from behind the counter and making my way out to my car parked at the back.

After retrieving my case from the trunk, I quickly checked my reflection on the left-hand mirror and smoothed out my hair and touched up my lipstick. I saw a man pass by through the corner and make his way into the bar. I better make tips tonight doing this.

I waltzed back into the bar and headed for the small stage in the front. It's not really a stage more than it's a glorified black stool, but I like to think it's charming and adds character. You know, mask up the patheticness of it all. I plugged in my Fender to the worn-out amps and strummed to make sure it was in tune. There were a lot of people tonight. Well, a lot more than usual, at least. Quickly, I scanned the room for comforting faces to focus on and calm my nerves. Most of our customers were gruff men, so this trick usually didn't work, but tonight was different. In the corner by a little bust made by a local artist sat a man with thick black hair. He was by no means soft. Much like the patrons, he harbored a hard look on his face, but he struck me differently. It was intense and cold. Georgia's a hot place, so I didn't mind his gaze. It was cooling and made me freeze over.

I don't know why, but I want to impress him. Plus, looking down, I saw he was wearing a polished pair of dress shoes, so I assume he's got some money on him, maybe he'll spare me a tip. I'll just play a cover. Can't go wrong with a cover.

My fingers dragged across the guitar strings and drew out the alternating chords of D7 and Am in a back and forth pattern.

"It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day... Mama said she got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge... She said Billie Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge..."

Bobbie Gentry was one of dad's favorites. I know the country wasn't a popular choice for many people, but this is the South, and Ode to Billie Joe is always a classic, and I think the dreariness of the song perfectly compliments the tone of the bar.

I played a set and earned a couple of measly tips from it. Nothing I could complain about, I guess. It was nearly 1 am, and I was getting tired. Overtime is only worth so much, so I decided it was best to go back home. I packed up my guitar and walked to the bar counter to ask Lucy to clock for me, but before I could even rest my case against the counter, I felt a man slide into the seat next to me.

"You've gotta nice voice," he drawled out while staring at the wall in front of him.

"Thank you. I perform here almost every week."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah..." I couldn't really think of how I could continue this conversation. And, trust me, I really want to. The man was wearing a black button-up shirt, grey trousers, and that impressive pair of dress shoes. His hair was long and gelled back, and his profile was exquisite. He looked strong, and his voice was deep and rich like marmalade.

"You could work on that guitar a little bit," he deadpanned as he took a swig of whiskey. I looked at him even more intensely then and scoffed.

"Really? Can you do better?"

"I never said that. I just think, with a voice like that, the guitar should match up," he said with a playful glint in his voice as he finally turned his head towards me.

Now, I really don't know how to continue this conversation.

"Alright, you caught me. I'm not that great at the guitar, but hey, I'm a bar singer, not Paul McCartney, or something," I laughed out. He smiled, and then I felt all the blood in my body rush to my cheeks, it's a miracle I didn't fall flat on my face.

"I guess I was just expecting more," he said.

"Well, I didn't promise you anything, did I?"

He looked like he was in his late 20s, probably.

"No. No, you didn't. But, maybe you could start... for next time."

"That depends. Are you gonna give me a tip."

"Yes. When I think you deserve it," he said as his face fell flat and his voice authoritative in an odd way.

"Well, I'll probably be here next Saturday so you can decide then."

"Will do," he smirked.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Kylo," he replied in a gentle voice as he once again held his glass of whiskey up. He then raised his eyebrow, and I knew he wanted an answer.

"(y/n)."

He gulped down his whiskey, turned to me, and smiled. I wanted to say something more, I had to say something, but he stopped me before I could by getting up and walking towards the door.

"I gotta be somewhere tomorrow, doll. I'm expecting a show on Saturday," he exclaimed as he stepped out the bar.

"Don't worry... I can put on a show."

He grinned one final time before escaping out of the bar, leaving me alone with his empty cup of whiskey and a smile that doesn't leave my face the entire night.

#reader insert #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #modern au #manager!kylo x singer!reader #star wars #my writing #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren/you #supreme leader kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #chaptered fic #adam driver #adan driver x reader #adam driver x you

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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She Sets the City on Fire - One Summer’s Night

She Sets the City on Fire: A Bruce Banner Fanfic

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Square: @brucebannerbingo - U4 Pining

Rating: E

Warning: Age Gap, Self Doubt, Recreational drug use, Smut (M|F vaginal fingering vaginal sex, squirting, sex while under the influence of drugs)

Word Count: 5234

Pairing: Bruce Banner x OFC (Summer)

Summary: Bruce is drawn to Summer. She’s everything he wished he could be. Carefree, exciting, and she knows exactly who she is. There are so many reasons a relationship with her wouldn’t work. So why can’t he stop thinking about her?

A/N: On the first chapter

2. One Summer’s Night

Bruce didn’t call Summer.

She was too young. This was a one-time thing. A guy like him couldn’t be with a woman like her. He wasn’t sure there was a person on the planet that could tie Summer Martin, but he was fairly certain that if there was it wouldn’t be an over-the-hill scientist with a rather serious rage issue.

Although…

Maybe there could be something. Starting with sex wasn’t a good sign though. Especially for him. He’d never done anything like that before.

Besides he didn’t have her number anyway. So it wasn’t as if he could call her.

He did have Aidan’s email address though. He could email him and ask for it.

But it wasn’t like Bruce was a hard man to track down these days. People knew where he lived. His email address was on five different official websites. If she wanted to see him, she could have contacted him. She probably didn’t want to start anything with him. And who could blame her?

If only he could stop thinking about her.

“You’re thinking about her again.” Tony teased as Bruce had been staring off into space again.

Bruce shook his head and looked over at his friend. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“She really got you good. I haven’t seen you this smitten. Ever.” Tony said. “Why don’t you call her?”

Bruce shook his head again and tapped the screwdriver he was holding on his hand. “I can’t. Tony. I’m old enough to be her father. That’s not an exaggeration either. If I had a child her age, no one would even think I’d had them young.”

Tony snorted. “Wow. Of all the men in the world to start fishing for jailbait, I never expected you to be one…”

“See … which is exactly why I need to leave her alone. Even if… even if she was interested in me like that, I can’t do that to her. I can’t condemn a person to a life with me. Especially when theirs is still laid out in front of them.”

Tony came over and put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I have never seen you like this. I mean…. When was the last time you even got laid?”

“Before the accident,” Bruce said.

“Maybe she’s just what you need. Someone casual who won’t be tied down and doesn’t get caught up in the details. Call her. Let her decide what she wants to do with her life.” Tony said.

Bruce frowned and thought about it for a little while. He decided he’d send an email to Aidan. If Aidan ignored it, then that was fate telling him it was a bad idea. He didn’t say what he wanted to ask about, just that he wanted to talk.

It was ten minutes later when his phone rang.

“Hello, Doctor Banner, why do I get the feeling that you’re not calling me about my research?” Aidan said.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “Not that I’m not interested in it…”

Aidan laughed. “It’s fine. I’ve seen how Summer draws people in.”

“Do you think she might … would she be interested in…” Bruce said, not sure how to even ask the question.

“Yeah, I do. And you should call her. I saw her reading one of your books the other day. I don’t think that’s because she has a sudden interest in Nuclear Physics.” Aidan explained.

“Don’t you think… aren’t I maybe… a little unsuited for her?” Bruce asked.

There was an exhale of breath on the other end of the line before Aidan spoke again. “It’s not for me to say who either of you sees,” he said. “Summer is low commitment and low maintenance. And she is a lot younger than you. Whether that makes it a bad match isn’t for me to decide. But can I tell you a story?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, as his stomach began to turn itself in knots.

“I didn’t grow up with Summer. Part of that is the fact I’m eleven years older than her. And part of it is because I was raised by my mom and my dad barely had anything to do with me.”

“Yes,” Bruce said. “Summer told me. I’m sorry that happened. I know what it’s like to have a negligent father.”

“Shit happens,” Aidan replied. “When I finished school, my dad paid for me to go to college and gave me a job. I didn’t even have to try to do anything. It was all being handed to me but with the condition that I didn’t embarrass him. So I went a little wild. I started partying. I got into some pretty heavy drug use.”

The story was a familiar one. Tony had done a similar thing thanks to neglect from his father. He’d also pulled himself around so Bruce knew not to hold that kind of thing against anyone.

“When I found out Summer had moved into the city for college I tracked her down,” Aidan continued. “She was so excited to spend time with me. I was a complete mess, but she followed me around. She came over on weekends and she’d make me breakfast. She’d follow me out clubbing. One night she came to a really skeevy party with me. Fuck, I regret taking her to that. Except I don’t, because I ODed. She found me unconscious with a needle in my arm. Called an ambulance. Called our dad. Demanded that he send me to rehab. Convinced him to buy that building under the pretense of us living together so she could keep an eye on me.”

“She told me your dad forced her to live with you,” Bruce said.

“She says that so it looks like our dad loves me. I’m sure he does, but not like he loves her. I don’t blame him though. She’s the best of us. I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for her. She turned my life around. I have my Ph.D. and my job because of her. I’m clean because of her. She’s worth having in your life even if all you get from her is a weird friend. So call her. You have my blessing.”

Bruce took down her number and then stared at it willing himself to call. If Aidan was right, maybe that’s what she could be. A friend. Someone to help get him out of his head. She did seem to have that effect on him.

He dialed the number and held the phone to his ear. It rang three times before Summer picked up.

“Who hasn’t heard of texting?” She said in way of introduction.

Bruce’s heart began to race and he felt the Hulk raise his head. “Hello. Yes. Sorry. It’s Bruce.” He stammered.

“Who?” She asked.

He swallowed thickly and tried to calm himself. This had obviously been a mistake. She thought of him so little that she didn’t even recognize who it was calling. “Bruce Banner.”

There was laughter on the other end of the line. “I just got you to say your full name. It’s nice to hear from you, Bruce Banner.”

Bruce felt a large part of him relax and Hulk seemed to settle back into a doze. “It’s nice to hear you too.”

“Aww, that’s always nice.” She said. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Something with you?” He said and cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

Summer burst out laughing and a deep flush crept into Bruce’s cheeks. “That was so smooth. I bet you’re drowning in pussy,” she teased playfully. “Anyway, Romeo. There’s a rave on in Hell’s Kitchen tonight. I’m going with some friends. Wanna come?”

Bruce agreed before he even registered what he was agreeing to. When he hung up the phone, he immediately started to freak out. A rave? He’d just agreed to go to a rave. The guy with the huge green rage monster hiding inside him agreed to be pressed up in the dark with a bunch of sweaty strangers listening to music that grated on his nerves. Not to mention that a rave was the worst place for a first date ever. How could he even talk to her at a place like that?

As the hour approached, he got ready to go out. He put on a dark purple button-up shirt but left it unbuttoned at the collar and put on a suit jacket. He knew he wasn’t going to fit in but he didn’t think there was any way that he was going to be able to regardless of what he wore.

He had a car take him to the club and when he got out he scanned the crowd for Summer. There were a few groups milling around the front and a line forming at the door, but he couldn’t see any sign of her. He thought he’d go get in line with the people who were not only 20 years younger than him, but dressed completely differently, just to save a spot when there was a tap on his shoulder.

He turned around to see Summer, only she was barely recognizable to him. She was wearing knee-high faux fur boots in hot pink and black and a matching latex outfit that consisted of what looked like just a bra and panties. There were pink fur cuffs on her wrists and she was wearing a wig made of pink and black tubes and ribbons in various shades and materials. She had appeared to accessorize with pink glow sticks. They hung around her neck and wrapped around her arms and waist.

“Hey, Bruce!” She chirped, leaning up and pressing her lips to his.

It was one of those kisses that could be whatever you want it to be. Her lips only barely parted and it lingered just that little longer than normal. Bruce was so startled by seeing her in a complete cyber costume that he forgot to kiss back and she pulled away and grinned at him.

“Bruce, these are my friends; Cassie, Amanda, Liam, and Rachel. Everyone, this is Bruce.” Summer said indicating to her friends. The group was all dressed in similar clothing, but various colors and levels of skin showing. Liam had color in his hair and he was wearing black flared pants and a black mesh singlet with yellow hazmat symbols on both. Bruce felt extremely out of place, but he shook everyone’s hands and even returned Cassie’s kiss when she leaned in to kiss him.

“Cass, do you have any more glow sticks?” Summer asked.

Cassie dug through her bag and pulled out a handful of glow sticks - the kind you’d get in tubes from the dollar store. She and Summer then went to work cracking them and popping them together so that Bruce was wearing two circles of different lengths around his neck and one around his left wrist.

Summer took Bruce’s hand and led him to the door as the others followed behind them. The bouncer looked Bruce over. Bruce was sure he was about to get turned away. Especially given how long the line now was. Instead, the bouncer pulled the rope away and stepped out from in front of the door.

“Enjoy your night, miss Martin,” he said, holding the door open for all of them.

“How many times do I have to tell you; it’s Summer?” She said as she passed him and headed inside.

“The bouncer knows you?” Bruce asked, glancing back at him. He had to yell over the sound of the club. The loud and rhythmic thud of the bass traveled right through him and the scratch of what he could only think to call melody, though it was anything but that, drowned out almost everything else. As they walked through the club, Summer and her friend lit up under the blacklights. Their bare skin painted with some kind of UV paint.

Summer stopped walking and pulled him down so her mouth was against his ear. “I’m kind of a big deal around here.” She said.

She led the group into another roped off area and up some stairs. A guy who looked like he was Bruce’s age greeted her, pressing himself close to her body as he spoke with his lips hovering close to her ear. She laughed and then continued on her path to a long, low table surrounded by beanbags and cushions.

It was a little quieter in this part of the club. You didn’t need to yell to be heard and the music felt a little more like it was a background sound. Bruce took a seat on one of the beanbags and Summer sat down directly in his lap.

“Who was that guy?” Bruce asked.

“My uncle,” she said uncle with air quotes, which made Bruce think it was just a man who was friends with her parents and she’d been raised calling him that. “He works with my dad. Total creep.”

Bruce looked around the group. He wasn’t sure what to do and they were all digging around in their bags. He wasn’t sure where his hands were supposed to go either and all he could think was how much he wanted to put them on her thighs and how completely inappropriate that was. “Did you want to dance?” He asked.

“In a minute.” She said, almost casually.

A waitress arrived with a tray full of bottled water and she placed it on the table and left without even waiting to see if they wanted anything else. Liam pulled a baggie of colorful pills from his pocket, took two out and swallowed them with water before tossing the baggie in the middle of the table. The others each took one or two. When Summer went to take one too Cassie snatched the bag and shook her head.

“I’ve got yours right here, bitch,” she said, putting a little pink unicorn tablet on her tongue. Summer leaned over to her and Bruce watched as they kissed. They were all tongues, and Bruce shifted a little uneasily under Summer.

When Summer pulled back she looked down at Bruce. “Do you want one? No pressure. I don’t care either way.”

“Do I get to take it like you did?” Bruce asked aiming for playful, immediately cursing himself as soon as the words had left his mouth.

Summer started laughing. She pushed her face into his chest, trying to smother it. “Okay. Okay. Let me just go ask Cassie. She does like kissing so I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

Bruce shook his head, the flush he felt creeping into his cheeks and up the back of his neck.

Summer tilted his face up to hers. “Let me get something out of the way, so I know for sure you aren’t agreeing to take drugs to fit in or impress me.” She said. Her hands went to his hair and she leaned in and kissed him. Her tongue coaxed his lips apart and dipped briefly into his mouth and one of her hands slid down his arms, moving his hand to her thigh. When she pulled away she looked him dead in the eyes. He had trouble keeping eye contact with her, but he forced himself as he felt his breath hitch. “I’m here with you, Bruce. I plan to go home with you if that’s something you want to happen. Unless you choose not to or something unforeseen happens, you’re getting laid tonight. So knowing that, do you want to take some E?”

Bruce shook his head. There was a part of him, this part that had never got a chance to shine. The one smothered by bullies at school and then crushed by the accident that created the form of the Hulk, that wanted to be reckless. That was relishing being with these carefree youth that had just accepted him as part of them, as much as he didn’t fit in. He knew what ecstasy was supposed to do too. That could make the Hulk quieten right down and he could be a version of himself he only knew the edges of. But the risks with it were that he come out and Bruce couldn’t risk that here.

“Come on then, let’s go dance,” Summer said, getting to her feet and pulling Bruce along with her.

She led him down to the dance floor. It was crowded and the strobe lighting played off her skin. The UV paint she’d used on her skin glowed in the lights and made her look like fae.

They started dancing. Nothing over the top. It was just face-to-face with her arms around his neck and his hands on her hips. She moved against him, bouncing and rolling her hips in time with the deep thud of the bass. She seemed to have unlimited energy and moved with such abandon. It was like the music just flowed through her.

He seemed to get high just on her. He was mesmerized by her. Drunk on her own enjoyment. The way the light played of her skin. The way she moved. She was the music come to life. She turned in his arms and began to grind her ass up against him and brought his hand to her public bone.

He nuzzled into her neck and she leaned back and kissed him. It was wet and hot and his hands slid up to her stomach. Her friend Cassie came and joined them, grinding into Summer. Summer broke the kiss with Bruce and leaned in and started kissing Cassie. When they broke apart, Cassie leaned over Summer’s shoulder and captured Bruce’s lips.

“I need a drink,” Summer said, squeezing out from between the two of them. Bruce pulled away from Cassie and followed after Summer. Cassie appeared completely unphased, simply turning to the closest person and continuing to dance.

The table they had staked out earlier was still free. In fact, their bags were just sitting underneath, undisturbed. Summer collapsed down in a bean bag and grabbed a bottle of water as Bruce sat carefully next to her. He took his own bottle and drank it quickly.

“Are you having fun, Brucie?” Summer asked shifting so her legs were draped over his lap.

“I think so. Yes.” He said, running his fingers through the fur on her boots.

“Those feel nice don’t they?” She said leaning forward and running her hands over his cheeks. “This is all scratchy. I wonder what it feels like on my thighs.”

Bruce looked from her blue eyes that were blown out thanks to the ecstasy coursing through her system and down to the bare skin on her thigh. He then did something he couldn’t have ever even imagined doing before. He lifted her leg and leaned down, rubbing his cheek on the inside of her leg.

Summer snorted and broke down into giggles. “That tickles.” She leaned in and rubbed her nose against his and teased her lips over his cheek. “Do you want to dance some more?”

“I will if you want to,” Bruce said.

She trailed her fingers through his hair, making his scalp prickle. “Do you want to go home and fuck?”

He swallowed and nodded. “Yes. Please.”

She grabbed her bag and got up, grabbing Bruce’s hands and helping him to his feet. They went and found Cassie and Amanda on the dance floor and let them know she was leaving.

“Can I come too?” Cassie asked, trailing her fingers up and down Summer’s arm.

Summer shook her head. “Maybe next time. I love you, Cass.”

Cassie leaned in and kissed Summer gently. “I love you too, Summer.”

In the back of the cab, Summer linked her fingers with Bruce’s and nibbled at the skin under his ear.

“Is Cassie your girlfriend?” Bruce asked. He was afraid of the answer. Summer was exotic and hard to read. He wanted her, but he wasn’t sure how much of her he could handle.

“No,” she said simply. “We have sex a lot. I think if we were different people we might be girlfriends. Mostly she’s just my friend. She has sex with Aidan too.”

“Would you like to date?” He asked. “Me that is.”

Summer hummed, running her fingers up and down his thigh. “I don’t know. I haven’t been anyone’s girlfriend for so long. I don’t know if I’d make a very good one. Last time I did it, I felt like I lost a little bit of what makes me, me. There’s a song I heard once…” Summer licked her lips and started singing. “A triangle trying to squeeze in a circle. He tried to cut me so I fit.”

“I don’t want to change you, Summer,” Bruce said.

“You know what I’d like to find?” She said. “I’d like to find a person who met me and loved me just exactly how I am, even though I don’t want to be tied down. They’d love me so much that they would be happy to let me float about and do the things I like to do and they’d trust that I loved them too and I’d always find my way back to them. But because I loved them and they trusted me, I didn’t feel like I wanted to do those things anymore.”

“You want someone who doesn’t change you, but inspires you to change yourself?” Bruce asked. “But then what if the person you changed into wasn’t the one they loved anymore?”

Summer shook her head and for a moment she looked really sad. “That’s a huge problem, isn’t it?”

“I really like you, Summer. I can’t stop thinking about you,” Bruce said.

“I’m here now. Let’s just see what happens in the future when we reach it.”

The cab pulled up out the front of the Avengers Tower and Bruce paid and let Summer in. She looked around in the empty lobby at all the official signage and in the elevator, she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled into his neck. As soon as he let her into his apartment she began to work the falls in her hair out which he realized now were more like hair accessories than a wig.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Bruce asked.

Summer looked up at him with a handful of ribbons. “If you have something like Gatorade I will love you forever. Otherwise, water is just fine.”

“I don’t but if you give me a minute I can get some,” Bruce said. “What color do you want?”

“Ooh, blue, please!” Summer chirped.

Bruce headed up to the labs and helped himself to a blue Gatorade from the drinks fridge. When he got back to his apartment, Summer was sitting on his bed. The falls were all gone from her hair and she’d taken off her boots. She took the drink from him and she drank half the bottle in one go. She poked out her tongue at him as she screwed the lid back on.

He chuckled. “Yes, it’s blue.”

“Like one of those lizards,” She said putting her drink on the bedside table. She took Bruce’s and pulled him closer to the bed. “Would you like to see if you can get me to do my little trick?”

“What’s your little trick?” Bruce asked.

“Go get some towels.” She said. “This can get a little messy.”

Bruce looked at her confused but did as he was told. He collected some towels from his linen cupboard and brought them back to his bedroom. When he returned Summer was standing by the bed completely naked. He couldn’t quite get over how perfect she was. Even the little imperfections she had. The stretch marks on her hips, the scar on the top of her left thigh, the small amount of cellulite she had, all those little things that everyone has just made her more perfect to him because it meant she was a real person despite how she might otherwise come across.

She motioned to him to come close and he approached her slowly, starting to get a little nervous again. She wrapped her arms around him and rubbed her cheek against his before kissing him on the corner of the mouth.

“I still have my clothes on and you’re completely naked,” Bruce said.

Summer laughed. “Something does seem remiss. Let me help.”

She began to slowly and carefully undress him. Hanging his jacket over the back of a chair. Unbuttoning his shirt slowly and kissing a trail down his chest as she did. She helped him off with his shoes and then his pants and when he was finally naked he was so hard, his cock felt like it was throbbing.

She took his hand and guided him back on the bed. He ran his cheek up the inside of her thighs and she moaned and spread her legs wider for him. “Oh god, Bruce,” she moaned, clutching at the sheets. “Your skin feels so good on mine.”

Bruce ran his nose along Summer’s pubic mound, dipping his tongue between the folds of her labia. He hummed as he relished the taste of her, her fluids coating his tongue.

“What did you want to show me, Summer?” Bruce asked, looking up at her from between his legs.

Summer sat up and spread the towels, before sitting down on top of them. “Have you ever made a girl squirt?” She asked.

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “I uh… maybe?”

“That’s a no.” Summer teased, pushing him with her foot. “Come on I’ll teach you.”

She took his hand and using her fingers she guided two of his up and down her folds. She let his hand go and lay back, letting Bruce take his time. He rolled them over her clit and circled her entrance a few times before pushing two of them inside of her.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Push them right in as far as you can, and then you need to curl them towards you.”

Bruce followed her instructions, pushing his fingers into her right up to his knuckles. He curled them inside her pressing his fingertips up against her inner walls.

A shudder passed through her and he felt her clench around his digits. “So now, move them around a little, you’re looking for a bit that feels smooth and spongy compared to everything else.” She said, with a slight breathlessness.

He moved his fingers inside of her until he found a spot that did feel different. Softer and with more give. He pushed his fingertips against it. “Here?”

Summer moaned and raised her hips up, pushing into his hand. “Fuck. Yes. That’s the spot. Now you need to press really hard and do this.” She made a gesture like she was beckoning him to her.

Bruce started stroking his fingers up and down along that special spot. Summer moaned loudly and squirmed on the bed. “Fuck. Just a little harder, Bruce.”

He pressed down harder and the noise she made didn’t even sound human. It was such a deep animalistic cry of such complete pleasure. It made his erection throb painfully and his hand went to his cock without even thinking.

Bruce continued to move his fingers inside Summer. He increased the pressure and pace as he elicited more and more incoherent noises from Summer. He was completely entranced by her. The way her body moved as it clenched and squirmed below him. How her face contorted in a look of pure pleasure. All of a sudden her whole body seized up, her cunt clenched around his fingers and as her body let go again, she came. He’d never seen anything like it. She gushed on him and cried out a long string of curse words he hadn’t heard outside of Tony hurting himself in the lab.

“Holy… Summer!” Bruce gasped. He desperately wanted to taste her again and dropped down between her legs and lapped at her soaked pussy, drinking everything he could.

Summer sat up and grabbed the Gatorade from the nightstand, drinking what was left and tangling her free hand in Bruce’s hair as she watched him eat her out.

“Brucie,” she half moaned, as Bruce’s teeth grazed over her clit. “How about we take care of you?”

Bruce gazed up at her. “Can we just make love?” He asked.

She giggled and pushed his hair back from his face. “Of course.”

“Oh,” Bruce said jumping up and going to his side table. “I saw these and thought of you.”

He pulled out a box from the drawer and handed it to her. She looked at it and her face lit up. “You bought glow-in-the-dark?” She said as she excitedly opened the box and pulled one out. She stood up on the bed and held it up to the light.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked.

“You have to charge them up,” she laughed. Bruce laughed softly with her and moved the towels off the bed.

“How long will that take?” He said sitting beside her and kissing along her soft stomach.

She giggled and flopped back onto the bed, pressing the packet into his hand. “Go on then.” He got up and sheathed himself and she started giggling. “You need to turn off the light.”

He chuckled and switched the light off. With the blinds drawn it was almost pitch black. There were now only two sources of light. The glow of his alarm clock and the brighter green glow of his dick. Summer squealed with delight and clapped her hands.

Bruce chuckled and moved back to the bed, his cock bouncing as he walked. Summer laughed harder and got up and wrapped her arms around him. They started to kiss and Summer turned them, pushing Bruce back onto the bed and climbing into his lap. Ever so slowly she sunk down onto his cock humming as he filled her.

“What do you think it looks like inside of me now?” She asked as she slowly rolled her hips against Bruce and held him close.

“A spooky green cave?” Bruce offered.

She started giggling. It was infectious and he was soon laughing with her. “My mysterious glowing uterus. It’s where you need to go for healing potions.”

Bruce pushed her hair from her shoulder and rubbed his cheek on her exposed skin. “You’re so odd, Summer.”

“You love it.”

Bruce hummed in agreement and rolled her onto her back. They began to move as one, thrusting and rolling their hips with each other. They kissed and nipped at each other’s skin. Moans were made and names were murmured as they brought each other to the brink of climax. When the came, it was together. Clutching at each other.

Bruce slopped out of her and got up to dispose of the condom. When he came back Summer was sitting up on the bed stretching. He sat down next to her and leaned back against the headboard. She snuggled into him, draping her arm over his waist.

“You’ll stay?” It was half question, half statement and full of hope.

“Of course,” she replied. “Will you make me breakfast? I like when people do that. I like doing it too when people sleepover with me.”

“Anything you want,” Bruce answered. The answer scared him a little. He knew it was true, but he knew right at this moment, he belonged to her.

// NEXT

#brucebannerbingo2019 #bruce banner #bruce banner x oc #hulk #hulk fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #she sets the city on fire #one summer's day

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moldisgoodforyou · 4 years

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Oooh D & I for the fanfic ask thing 😬

d: is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

thanks for asking this lol bc I actually forgot to say for lost time with rafe and sophie - it’s lost time by leon!

and for jj x charlie, it’s ode to a conversation stuck in your throat by del water gap OR give a little by maggie rogers

i: do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

the one bed trope kills me every. single. time.

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forestwater87 · 4 years

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Ok this is super embarrassing but you’re one of my favorite writers in this uh.. whatever this blogosphere is so!! I wanna try and take a crack at writing my own fanfic but.. I got no idea where to even start. Any advice?

Oh man, I feel awful about this! I didn’t know my inbox had any new messages, so some of these asks have been sitting here for . . . some time.

Anyway, first off thank you very much! Secondly, the most obvious advice is just, you know, “do it.” But that’s infinitely easier said than done. I started writing fanfic when I was around 10 years old, so overthinking it wasn’t an issue, since I thought I was the world’s greatest writer. Assuming you’re not 10 years old and as blind to the concept of literary criticism as I was . . . well, the first step is obviously getting an idea. EDIT: Holy shit, this is long. I’m gonna have to break this bad boy up with headers, like it’s a real blog post or something.

Getting Ideas/Inspiration

I don’t know if you already have something you’d like to write about or if you’re still at the “gee that looks like fun” level of fanfic ruminating, but if you’re having trouble coming up with ideas, turning to the existing fandom is a great place to start!

1: Filling in fandom gaps: I’ve found a lot of my best fic ideas by looking through what already existed and seeing where there was something missing; when I first started writing for Camp Camp, literally only @raenbowsofficial created anything for Gwenvid -- it didn’t even have a ship name yet, and I’m pretty sure the 3 people into it were still throwing “daven” and “gavid” around as well -- so there being zero other fics for it meant that if I wanted it to exist, I’d have to be the one to write it. (That’s also nice if you’re kind of insecure, because when no one else has tried the idea you’re interested in, you have no pressure to compare it to anything else.)

Also, you could take a popular/already existing concept and write it the way you’d like to see it, if the existing fanfics do something with the story or characters that you’re not thrilled with. That’s handy because it gives you a general blueprint to work off of in terms of tropes and broad story beats, while letting you explore something new. Obviously, don’t rip off someone else’s fic note-for-note, but being inspired by someone else is a great way to kickstart your creativity! If you do have a specific author or story that you’re using as a jumping-off point for your own writing, I would strongly recommend linking them in your author’s notes at the beginning or end of the fic, and maybe gifting the story to them! You don’t have to, since the creation is entirely your own, but it’s still always nice to acknowledge the people who inspire you the most.

2: Fandom inception. If you want to be a little more direct and literal, there’s always the option of writing fanfic of a fanfic or fanart that you really love, if there’s a universe or story idea that you like, and you want more of it. As long as you give credit and notify the original creator, I think you’d have no issues in terms of fanfic etiquette, and I imagine they’d be honored to have inspired your own writing. Fandom is a very collaborative experience, after all, and we’re all in this together! :)

3. For more general “I have a vague idea of what I want to do (the ship, or maybe a tiny plot bunny) but I’m not sure where to go with it,” my biggest recommendation is music. Especially folk indie-rock music, which is 90% angst and 100% haunting. And again, looking at fanfic/art is a great way to get inspired -- I have a tendency to put up a particularly good or emblematic piece of fanart/fic in another window when I’m working on something tricky to write, just for something to stare at when my ideas start running dry (shoutout to @doritofalls, @ellohcee, and the aforementioned RA for being my go-tos when I need to stare at something pretty to feel inspired; there are absolutely others, because this fandom is filled with absurdly talented people, but those 3 are my heroes of inspiration and if you SOMEHOW don’t already know them, fix that immediately).

Wow, that’s a lot and it’s literally just all about getting an idea . . . which you might already have. Yikes. For the sake of people who have to scroll past this, let’s put the rest under a cut:

Fleshing Out the Idea: An Ode to Outlines

Some people are able to just sit down and write something incredible from a vague idea, and the story just builds on itself without any sort of planning or organization to guide them along the way. These people are named Cipher/Campernetics, and we hate her for being unfairly talented.

For the rest of us, outlines are essential.

My outlines tend to be insanely specific, because I’m very afraid of letting a single idea slip through the cracks, and I build on them over time as I get increasingly sure of where the story’s going. The early outlines tend to be extremely vague, with lots of “and then something happens” connecting major plot points. An example for a current WIP I’m doing right now:

(Seriously, “Julia and everything”? Future Forest is going to be so pissed at current Forest when she reaches that point and realizes she has no idea what she’s doing)

And as the story starts to take shape and a plot eventually forms -- they tend to take at least 10 chapters to materialize, but they do generally show up! One of the great things about fanfiction is that plot is largely optional, though, so no worries if you’re starting without a full story idea -- I find myself writing more and more details down, if for no other reason than that I want to make sure I remember what I was thinking when I finally get to that scene (because I have absolutely gotten to a point in a story and forgotten what I’d had planned. It sucks). Here’s an example from another fic with pretty significant spoilers if you can figure out which one it is oops:

I’d recommend keeping your outlines pretty simple, at least to start with: words and phrases, rather than whole-ass sentences like the above. The complexity will develop as your ideas do, so no need to wrack your brain trying to write out the entire story in bullet form.

I use the bolded ideas as stepping stones, more or less; I’ll write out the piece of the story that each line represents, which can be as little as a sentence or as much as 4 or more chapters (RIP my most recent long-running fic), then delete that line and move on to the next.

Bolding them isn’t necessary, but it does make it easier to differentiate at a glance what needs to be written. If you keep everything in the same hundred-page Google Doc like I do, this is very important.

Your outline doesn’t have to be well-written, and you can 100% use fillers like “and then something happens here.” I do that all the time -- again, another completely different story:

Now, the vaguer things are, the more annoyed Future You will be when it comes time to write whatever it’s bulleting -- there’s a reason I haven’t updated this fic, and it’s because I have zero idea what the everliving fuck “Pinky-and-the-Brain-ing all over the place” means -- but it’s really good for when you’re first getting started sketching out the vague outline of your fic. The more you panic trying to figure out all the twists and details at the very start, the less likely you’re ever just going to sit down and write the damn thing.

(This might be why I don’t write plot-heavy stories, to be fair. Mystery writers very well might have to have it all planned out from the get-go, and I’d recommend chatting with someone who’s a bit less “coffeeshop AU” and a bit more Agatha Christie for that kind of advice.)

Knowing When to Post

There are people that exist, who have amazing self-control, who can wait until their entire story is written and then release it in sections, at regular intervals, until the story is completed.

I am not one of these people, though I try to be with literally every single fic I’ve ever written.

Personally, I do this until I reach a point where I get stuck and need validation, and then post what I have in a giant chunk and then don’t update it for several months. This is almost universally known as the worst way to write fanfics, both in terms of getting interaction from fans and keeping readers from wanting to kill you, and if you have the ability to write the entire thing and sit on it until it’s ready to be shared, you are a hero.

Alternatively, if you can actually stick to a set schedule of writing it as you go and still update with a new chapter every X days, you are not human and I’m terrified of you, because if you find a way to weaponize this power you will rule the world.

Honestly, a good rule of thumb? Post it when you’re ready for people to read it, whether it’s done or not. Not all works will get done, and it seems mean to deny people the delicious little stub you’ve written even if you’re not going to finish it. When you’re happy with what you have -- or are so tired of looking at it that you need to post it or you’ll throw your computer out the window -- just do it and let out a sigh of relief, then either take a few days before going back to writing or just jump in immediately like a goddamn masochist.

(I have tried to get far enough ahead that I can start posting the already-written stuff on a schedule, figuring by the time I’m caught up I’ll have completed the entire story and won’t have any awkward gaps. Ahahahahahahahahaha that has never once worked.)

If you’re not certain about your writing, get a beta! The fandom is full of talented people who’d be happy to read over your work, and if the person you ask doesn’t have the time or spoons, they probably have a few ideas of other people you could reach out to. You don’t need a beta, but it always makes me feel better to have another set of eyes look over my writing before posting, and my beta always catches things I completely missed. Plus, you get a nice taste of that sweet, sweet validation we all crave.

This . . . is a bad guide. Just in general. The advice is . . . not good, and I think it’s largely useless. But I keep trying to think of useful things to add to it and coming up empty, so I hope something in here helped, and if you’d like to bounce your ideas off of someone, feel free to shoot me a message! Talking ideas over with friends is a great way to flesh them out as well, and I am happy to be anyone’s fandom friend.

#ask forest #forestwriting #legit no one is going to read this and i'm not saying that to judge anyone #in fact i'll lowkey judge you if you DO read all of this because why #Anonymous

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calloniel · 4 years

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⭐⭐

Okay so I got this ask a billion years ago and was told to do whatever I wanted and since I have bad brain syndrome I’m gonna wing it over a hundred days later (at least you aren’t waiting almost 2 years whoops)

I figure that since you’re all (most likely) here for ode to sleep content (whoops) that maybe I’d give you a little insight into how the fanfic came to be and give some fun tidbits. I was 15/16 and still in high school and obsessed with one particularly tragic manga and it’s white haired protagonist and wanted to write something cool and dark and edgy and “real” and “not like the other fanfics” because I was young and desperate to stand out because ~depression~

Anyways, there was indeed a tragic lack of tokyo ghoul/oc fanfics that I enjoyed, and decided to fill the tragic gap in fandom with my own nonsense. I actually wrote the first seven chapters (or a version of it) in a little spiral notebook that I took with me to every class. I wrote all of it up in google drive (which, fun fact, is my main writing engine) and went through and edited. Then it was re-edited when I got my beta, SmilingSeshat, and she fixed me

She also helped me with the plot. Which, coincidentally, I have had the plot for Ode to Sleep completely planned out since the beginning. A few things have changed, but it’s stayed predominately the same. The sequel, if I ever get there, has always been more wishy washy, especially since tokyo ghoul:re wasn’t even a twinkle in Ishida’s glorious eye. However, fun fact, the sequel’s name is Anathema. Think of that what you will :PAlso, last fun fact, it wasn’t until this last year that I finally realized who Toki will ‘end up’ with. And I do mean ‘realized’ because it wasn’t something I decided. It was something I reluctantly knew was probably meant to happen from the start. Sometimes it just be like that

I hope that is a decent answer to your question after all this time. Feel free to ask more!

#calloniel answers questions I guess #how do i tag things #ask #tokyo ghoul #fanfiction #writing #dumb shit

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bringinthebacon · 7 years

Text

Distracted: Chapter 1- Exquisite Blood

This fanfic is bloody, gory and horrible. You’ve been warned. Also... some people are tortured in this.

His blood was beautiful. Scarlet drops of life running in rivulets down his chest, dying his skin red. It stained his clothes and hair, his whole body covered in the stuff. I felt it splatter onto my clothes and smiled in satisfaction, not caring about the mark of him at this moment. The scalpel in my hand is crimson and glints in the sparse light. And everywhere, everywhere bears the mark of his blood, somewhere in the back of my mind I know that I will have to clean it up. But his muffled screams pull the thought from my head and replace it with intense hunger.

Cutting him is more exquisite than I can believe and each slice makes me more thrilled than the last. Every incision exhilarating me as I watch his face contort into pain. A jolt of electrifying pleasure rips through me as I hear his groans of pain. I don’t want to be so stimulated by my best friend’s horror but once I’ve started I can’t stop. He deserves to be punished. And if I’m roused by such a thing, only I and he will know. As his skin is cuts to red ribbons I somehow remember that I can’t keep doing this forever, his blood is soaked through both our clothes, pooled on the cement like spilled milk. I take the knife to his face and the blood spurts out, splattering the tangy copper liquid across my features. My tongue pokes out of my mouth, tasting the metallic sweetness of his blood. I look at him in concern, he has stopped making muffled cries of pain, my brow furrows.

I dislike his silence.

Then I see the quiet tears soaking the blindfold and coalescing with his blood-stained face. The salty liquid lightening the blood, so it is no longer crimson, but cherry wine. Now that I’ve noticed, my eyes trail back to his eyes, obscured by the soaked dark cloth. Those damn eyes! So soft and warm, the girls fawned over them and the guys trusted them, they didn’t know Jeff like I did. A sick twisted smile curls across my face, an idea taking shape in my mind. I hear his sharp intake of breath.

Fear.

I can taste it.

He can tell I have stopped cutting, though I imagine his pain is still excruciating. Smart boy. Too bad he wasn’t smart enough to not trust me, now he gets to suffer. I bite my lip, a distorted joy in just imagining his screams. I look down, dejected that I have to keep him quiet. I shrug and set the scalpel on the tray, grabbing a small pearing knife in its place. Jeff’s leg touches my own as I kneel with one knee on the chair and stand with the other, almost straddling him. Leaning forward I untie the blindfold and grin when I see his terrified eyes watching my movements. I giggle, enjoying the drawn-out workings of my plan. Jeff clenches his teeth and I smile sweetly, ripping the gag from his mouth and pulling the small blade up to his face. I bite my lip again, “Oh, what nice eyes you have. I wonder though, which one you would rather lose?”

“You won’t get away with this.”

Ignoring his comment, I motion to his left eye, the dagger mere centimeters away from his eye, “This one?” he flinches, the florescent light glaring off of the blade.

I toss the knife into my other hand, the handle already slick with blood, “Or this one?” I scrape the dull end directly below his eyelid and he shivers, knowing how easily I could remove his eye.

And yet he remains infuriatingly silent.

I shrug and get closer to his face, tossing the pearing knife back and forth between my hands, “I guess I get both then. If you’re not going to decide.”

He freezes, body trembling in fear. I, too, am trembling, though not in fear, in anticipation. His brow furrows, good, good, and I move the blade forward, “wait, w-wait, my left eye. I choose my left eye!”

I smile, “good boy.” Reaching forward with the knife in my left hand I plunge the tip into his socket, a start of a scream erupts from his mouth and I lean closer, covering his mouth with my hand. I whisper as I feel the friction of the knife forcing into his eye, “scream.”

And although I can’t hear his shouts I know that he is obeying, he twitches violently and shakes against the ropes bind him, letting them cut deeper into his skin. The smell of blood is pungent and overwhelming and clouds my thoughts as I tear the sphere from its socket. My hands shake in pure ecstasy as blood shoots from the gaping hole and the retinal cords rips from his skull. His screams are almost audible now, even with my hand covering his mouth and his other eye is open wide in agony. Even if I will never tire of his delectable cries, he slowly quiets, still muttering and shaking, the disgusting gap seeping blood without letup. I too, am still shaking, still drunk on the adrenaline coursing through my body. I move my hand and look at the detached eye again, shoving the blood covered eyeball into his mouth, he struggles a bit but his strength is substantially lowered. Blood loss it seems has not been fair to him, well… fairness is relative in this case. If he died of blood loss he wouldn’t have to endure the torment to follow, but life isn’t fair, is it? And neither is death.

I pull the gag back up across his mouth, though I have little concern over his future attempts to make noise. He is limp almost, still shaking, but his eye has a glossy look and I can tell that anything I do here on out will not be reacted to satisfyingly. After all, who could top an enthralling performance like that. I furrow my brow… I’m not really content, I was hoping for more.

Once I had once taste of his screams, there was no going back. I couldn’t just kill him here, if I did… I’d never get to hear those lovely screams again. I wouldn’t get to see his eye widen in fear and his body shudder in dread. I wouldn’t get to see his blood splattered all over the walls.

What harm could come from keeping him here?

I could get caught

As I figure out how I’m going to keep him unnoticed, I begin to clean my tools. Wiping the blood off of the stolen weapons and setting them carefully in a bag that I hide in one of the secret compartments even Jirard doesn’t know about. I hear only the occasional noise from Jeff and eventually I glance over and realize that he’s still bleeding. He can’t die when I just determined that I wanted him to live!

I finish with the tools and approach him again, he doesn’t look at me. His eye glassed over. That irritates me!

I tear the gag off his face, “spit it out.”

The deflated eye rests in my hand and I chuck it behind me, I’ll clean it up later. He looks at me with a blank stare, and finally speaks, “You’re going to get caught y’know. If you kill me. Eventually they’ll figure out you’re the one who killed me and Jon.”

A sharp laugh erupts from my mouth, “who said I wanted to kill you?”

Quickly, I grab another vial of the sleeping drug and stab him in the neck. He goes completely limp. Before I clean the rest of the room I patch him with clean white bandages, his blood soaking through the pristine cloth. My fingerprints print onto the cloth, blaring his crimson lifeblood, distinct and striking. After his wounds are covered and cleaned, I step away, disappointed that I can’t see his stunning blood. I clean my own hands and scrub the floor, making sure there is no trace of the events that transpired this night. There is a closet down here that I discovered a few days ago, it seems as sound proof as a closet can be. That is where Jeff will be for… as long as I can keep him alive. I secure the blindfold and gag back over his face and tie him to the chair. Locking the door to the closet, I cover it with a bunch of cleaning supplies and step back to view my work.

It'll do.

A sly smile is back on my face, I can’t wait to hurt him more.

#fanfic #yandere pbg #normal boots #hidden block #spacehamster #peanutbuttergamer #gruesome #violence #torture #graphic depiction of pain #yandere #fanfiction

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