#- yeah this is vaguely a jekyll and hyde reference

[kursed-curtain]

No need to sound salty!

-+-

I wanted to do something a little jokey ;p and Saltin is the best candidate seeing as he is horrible at flirting and extremely blunt-

[boop-le-snoot]

@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.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

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

[thrillridesz]

[ to start from the prologue - click here ]

You let out a subconscious yawn, the fatigue from the late night study session the night before taking its toll on you. If there is anything you need right now, it would be a good nap even if it was only for an hour. Why not take the chance to get some rest while the place is still quiet?

As you made your way to your classroom, you were surprised to find the lights already on, with a warm glow coming from the gap in the doorway. Who could be in class this early? Quietly, you pushed open the door and peered in curiously. Everything was in place - the tables were arranged in order, the whiteboard was polished clean and the books in the shelves were slotted accurately by the authors’ first names. All in all, it looked just newly organised and tidied and there was no sign of anyone in the room.

Shrugging, you figured that the janitor must have forgotten to switch off the lights after cleaning the room. You should have known that it wouldn’t have been another student - nobody would come to class an hour early, especially not in the morning and for Philosophy class no less. Closing the door casually behind you without much thought, you very nearly suffered a heart attack as a loud horn sounded off from the teacher’s desk without warning.

It was a loud shrill sound, kind of like a siren and you would have screamed out loud had you been just a little bit more awake. It was the kind of sound that irritated your ears and in such an enclosed space, the sound was all the more louder.

If you were feeling tired earlier, you were certainly wide awake now. The loud horn had to be loud enough to wake a dead man. As you tried to calm your now pounding heart, you could briefly hear murmuring coming from the source of alarming sound earlier. You couldn’t help but feel a stab of irritation and annoyance.

“Who’s there?”

The murmuring stopped abruptly and you crossed your arms across your chest, frowning.

“I know you’re there. I’m not stupid. You nearly scared the crap out of me, so at least show yourself.” You declared even as your voice shook slightly with trepidation. What if it was some sort of intruder into the school compounds?

There was no movement and then suddenly you could see the top of someone’s head and a pair of dark eyes that stared right back at you. There was panic in them until the two of you made eye contact and the tension dissipated instantly. As the figure stood up, you were almost a little relieved to see that it was just a classmate of yours and not an intruder like you had initially thought.

“Hyunjae? What are you doing here and what the hell was that sound?”

“We could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here in school so early in the morning?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We?”

Just then, you noticed another person just crouching over the teacher’s chair, seemingly hard at work on something. As though sensing someone staring, he looked up and you realised it was Hyunjoon.

Of course.

Of course it would be Hyunjae and Hyunjoon. How did you not make the connection? These two were thick as thieves in class, always seen talking and sharing some sort of inside joke. Many times, your Philosophy teacher would call them out on their behaviour as well though it wasn’t like either of them cared enough to pay him any mind. They were a very odd duo to say the least and many people referred to them as the ‘Jekyll and Hyde Hyuns’ - attributing to Hyunjae’s boisterous wiles and loud mannerisms and Hyunjoon’s relatively milder and quieter personality. They were most definitely an unlikely duo and to this day, many have wondered how the two even became friends.

“Yeah, Hyunjoon’s here too. So, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” You replied, tossing your bag on your chair.

“I asked first.” Hyunjae rebutted, raising an eyebrow.

“I forgot classes start later today. I actually completely forgot today was Friday too.” You sighed, already mourning your lost sleep.

Hyunjae couldn’t help but laugh out loud, his laughter ringing through the room as Hyunjoon continued to work on whatever he was tinkering at though you thought you might have noticed a faint smile on those lips.

You huffed, annoyed. “Stop laughing at me.”

“Well, you kinda deserve it. That’s on you.” He replied, a hint of smile still lingering on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I know.” You said, trying not to broach the subject any longer. “You haven’t told me what you guys are doing.”

Hyunjae and Hyunjoon exchanged a glance and before either of them could say anything, Ailea, a fellow classmate of yours walked in.

Upon seeing the three of you already in class, her eyes widened in amazement.

“Wow, you guys are early.” She remarked before continuing with a confused expression on her face, “What are you guys doing there?”

Hyunjae could only smile and pat you on the back, winking.

“You guys will find out later.” He said vaguely as Hyunjoon stood up, quickly stuffing something into his pocket.

“Cryptic, much?” You thought as you slid into your chair giving the duo a suspicious look which Hyunjae only returned with a bright, toothy smile while Hyunjoon merely casted you a sideway glance as he looked out the window.

It wasn’t long before the other students began to trickle in, some looking just as tired as you were while others walked in with their friends, chattering as they did. So much for taking the time to catch up on some rest, you grumbled to yourself as you rested your head on the table. Somehow, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts drift to what Hyunjae had said earlier. Just what did he and Hyunjoon mean by that?

The bell sounded off just as Mr Park, the Philosophy teacher ambled in, looking as staid and serious as usual. Immediately, the class grew quieter. He had on his usual brown argyle sweater vest over a crisp white button down with ironed corduroy pants and leather dress shoes, looking exactly like the sort of teacher that would be hated by his students which wasn’t straying very far from reality. His sharp eyes surveyed the class through his glasses and as he slammed his books on the table, several students jumped and shot him a dirty look which he promptly ignored.

“Good morning, class.” He said smoothly.

“Good morning, Mr Park.” The class echoed in a dull unison, sounding less than enthusiastic.

From the corner of your eye, you could catch Hyunjae and Hyunjoon whispering to each other, a smile on both their faces and you narrowed your eyes. There was a certain gleam in their eyes that told you that something was up but there was no way of knowing what. You turned to Mr Park, looking at the table rather than him. What were they thinking?

“Is there anything you’d like to share with the class again, Mr Heo and Mr Lee?”

Everyone’s eyes turned to the duo, including yours. The two of them simply stared back, wearing the most innocent look they had on their faces.

“There’s nothing today. Sorry, Mr Park.” Hyunjae smiled and Hyunjoon nodded in agreement.

The teacher looked at them with contempt before turning to focus on the rest of the class, an air of disgust around him.

“Why do they always make me teach such talentless classes?” He mumbled to himself, in a voice loud enough for the class to hear and anyone could have sensed the tension. Mr Park truly was the teacher sent from hell. What was worse, was the fact that he wasn’t even your class’s actual Philosophy teacher. He was a mere substitute for Miss Mae who was on maternity leave.

Everyone loved Miss Mae. She was the sort of teacher every student loved and adored since she was always so kind and engaging in her teachings. Her classes were intriguing and motivated the class to learn instead of bringing them down like Mr Park did. The class used to love Philosophy lessons when she taught the class until she got married to one of the gym teachers and subsequently had to take maternity leave after the birth of their first child. Cute couple they were but you found yourself wishing for her return. Mr Park was an absolute terror in comparison. He was a choleric man who flew off the handle at the slightest things and many times, he had more than a few snide remarks to pass onto his students, sometimes even leaving them in tears. The way he taught was abysmal at best - full of complex terms that he never bothered to clarify, yelling whenever someone couldn’t answer a question he asked and sometimes even laughing when his students did badly.

“Please, Miss Mae… We need you.” You whispered as Mr Park took a seat on his chair.

Immediately, there was a deafening sound that rang through the classroom - a familiar sound just like of an ambulance siren - which shocked everyone. The girl next to you almost fell off her chair and Mr Park leapt up instantly, falling on the floor in the process in a rather comical way while his glasses flew across the floor.

For a second, the classroom was in stunned silence before Mr Park scrambled to his feet, his face turning such a deep purple with rage that from a distance, he looked almost like an overripe plum.

“Who did that?!” He screamed, his spit flying everywhere and you could hear doors start to open from outside in the hallway. In a fit of anger, he tore off the air horn that was taped to the bottom of the office chair he had just sat on and glared daggers at the class who only stared back at him.

“I’m asking again… Who did that?! Own up now!” Mr Park yelled, his face twisted with red hot anger as the vein at his temple bulging. Still, nobody said anything. You held your breath, your eyes drifting to Hyunjae and Hyunjoon who only looked ahead with the blankest of expressions on their faces. Yet, you must have been seeing things because you thought you saw the two of them give each other a knowing smile.

So this was what they were working on.

“No one is going to own up? I see how it is.” Mr Park said in a barely controlled breath and you almost felt yourself fall off your chair from how scared you were when he looked you dead in the eye. It felt the gaze of a ferocious tiger about to fall upon its prey, ripping them to shreds. Quickly, you looked away and found yourself locked in a gaze with Hyunjoon. You clenched your jaw as the gaze held on and even from where you were, you could almost hear the hidden message in his look.

Do not tell.

“Tell me now, all of you worthless, idiotic, little- Oh, Principal Ina!” Mr Park blubbered, his eyes widening with shock at the arrival of the principal. A powerful looking woman, Principal Ina had such an air of competency and class that even Hyunjae and Hyunjoon had stopped smiling at her presence. She wore a disapproving frown on her face as she regarded the Philosophy teacher’s disheveled appearance.

“Mr Park, did I just hear you refer to the students as ‘worthless’ and ‘idiotic’?” She asked curtly and her voice turned icy as she noticed the air horn in his hands, “Are you using an air horn in class?”

“I… I…” The man stammered, paling as he realised his folly.

“I’ll see you in my office after this period.” The principal simply said as she walked out and you could almost swear you saw the two boys breathe an audible sigh of relief and as did you. It was a lot of pressure and more pressure than you thought to hold on to such knowledge in the face of such ferocity. Looking over at them again, you almost hissed at them as Hyunjae shot you a playful wink while Hyunjoon gave you a brief but small smile.

The rest of the class went by the smoothest it had ever gone. Turns out when Mr Park was in a worrisome state, he wasn’t a very bad teacher after all. He didn’t once yell or pass some mean comment after the principal’s visit. As he trudged out of the room looking meeker than you had ever seen him, you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around to see Hyunjae and Hyunjoon.

Frowning, you snapped, “What do you want?”

“Woah, chill.” Hyunjae exclaimed, “We just wanted to thank you.”

“What for?”

“For not telling on us.” Hyunjoon said in a soft voice as Hyunjae nodded, a bright smile on his face.

“Okay… So what?” You asked dismissively, half hearing what they were saying.

“Would you like to join us for lunch later?”

“No.”

“C’mon, it’s not every day we invite a girl to come eat with the two wittiest guys in class. Did you see that man’s face, it was so worth it.”

“What makes you think I want to go have lunch with you two annoying jerks? You guys could have landed me in trouble, Mr Park had his eye on me at one point.” You shot back.

“Well, we’re sorry that happened. We didn’t know.” Hyunjae apologised and to his credit, he did look genuinely sorry and so did Hyunjoon. “But are you sure you don’t want to come join us for lunch? Do you really want to eat alone today?”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Right.

Your friends had told you they would be unable to meet for lunch at your usual spot today. Belle wasn’t in school today because of a writing competition held in the school downtown that clashed with the lunch period so you would be alone today. Meanwhile, Simmi had to attend an urgent meeting with the other members of the debate club for their match next Wednesday and Kevin had a make-up Physics lesson today since his teacher wasn’t around the last lesson. Your other acquaintances all had differing schedules either so there was no way you could ask to eat with them too. Since everyone was in the same batch, it wouldn’t be difficult for them to put to and to together. It was either take this chance and go eat with the troublemaking duo or eat alone at the rooftop for today.  

Taking this chance would mean no eating alone and not looking like a loner in the cafeteria though eating alone at the rooftop would be a much needed break to get yourself some peace and quiet, possibly even catch up on the tiniest bit of sleep while you’re at it.

Do you accept their offer or do you choose to eat alone at the rooftop during lunch?

➳ Accept the offer

➳ Reject and eat alone

[romantic-reveries]

I had to ruthlessly remove any ties to my dad, and I don’t even know how I feel about it. I’m sure I’m sad. I think I’m angry. I’m mostly numb. It should be expected, by now, and yet every new shot he sent my way would send me reeling, so I’m done allowing them to be sent at all.

I tried once before, a few months ago, and he got back in touch hinting at “not having much time left” until I finally got him to admit something was wrong, and he said he had cancer and was dying, but couldn’t give me details when I asked. Later—after I had to track down the number of his fucking landlord, God bless her, on Google because he dropped that bomb on me then disappeared and I wanted someone to check on him—he said it was because he was in so much pain from his chronic illness, he thought he was dying.

He’d been messaging me frequently lately. Song suggestions; vague, nonsensical ramblings; thinly veiled critiques. He was lonely, he said. I wouldn’t understand, because I’ve never lived alone before, he told me. And I felt sorry for him. I always feel sad, that he’s isolated himself so much. But that’s just it, isn’t it—he has no one to blame but himself. And he has the audacity to say that the reason we always fight is me. And always quick to doubt my own reality, it churns in the background—is he right? I don’t think so, but maybe I’m seeing it wrong. When it occurs to me that I don’t fight with anyone else like that, and he fights with literally everyone like that. He’s always had on-again, off-again relationships with every person he’s ever been close to. Perceived wrongs, their actions not being something he agrees with (something as simple as his brother marrying women my dad warned him were bad news was enough to incite month-long grudges & radio silence). He fought with my mom, he fought with me when I was just a child, he fought with the woman he cheated on my mom with and dated after, he fights with his siblings, he fights with friends. He changes his mind about anything and everything when the wind blows. And yet, I’m the culpable one? The problem?

He called me, and I never answer, but after he’d talked about being lonely, I felt sorry for him. So I did. And I’m proud of myself for holding to my boundaries, but the conversation felt akin to one with Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. One minute, he was crying and remorseful for making me feel so bad (when I told him why we don’t talk often), and the next, he’s screaming about political beliefs and how I’m WRONG. Everything I believe is just WRONG. I don’t even think he knows what I believe. He insists I don’t believe in God (what he really means is that I don’t do it the way he does, which means I’m wrong, despite the fact that he wasn’t an avid believer until the last couple years of his life). He’s referred to me as a disgusting liberal since 2014 for supporting BLM. Aside from that, I don’t know how he could possibly know what I believe, but at any rate—how awful of me, truly, to think racism and sexism are bad, and that people of all walks of life should have the right to live as they please. That women should have access to safe abortions, and gay people should be allowed to marry and have families, and trans people be allowed to exist. I’m a regular monster.

And really, why should I want someone like that in my life? It’s like talking to a wall. He has to be right—he’s always been that way. He’s mean, and aggressive, and intolerant. But… he’s my dad. And it’s hard sometimes, to reconcile the man I used to think he was—yeah, he was nasty when he was drunk, which was almost all the time, but when he was sober, he was so close to the person I remember idolizing when I was just a little girl. I thought he was the coolest person in the world. But I held onto that sober version of him—I always thought, if he stopped drinking, we’d get along great.

But he traded drinking for politics and religion, and made it his whole identity, and the part of him I always hated the most—the pushy, fight-picking, I’m-always-right, making up his own narratives even if they’re completely baseless man he was when he was drunk—he’s that person 24/7 now. There is no good sober dad, bad drunk dad; there’s only dad who claims he’s sober and is meaner to me than he’s ever been for no reason at all.

One minute he’s “you’re the best thing I’ve ever done, my original miracle” and the next I’m a liberal bitch, and he’s too old to try to fix our relationship, it’s too much work, because I tell him it will take time to fix. Because he seemed to think one phone call—that wasn’t even particularly kind for the first half!—was going to fix almost thirty years worth of damage that HE caused. “You’ve hurt me too, you know,” he says, as if he isn’t the parent here. I’ve never, EVER said cruel shit to him the way he has to me, even if I’ve wanted to. If I lash out because he attacks me first, I’ve only ever been brutally honest that he had no right to attack me at all. No right to have any opinions about who I am, because he didn’t fucking “raise” me like he always claims. He and my mom were little more than shelter-and-food-providers. They neglected me emotionally so severely that I’m still dealing with that damage. And fuck him for thinking he gets to have an opinion about the way I’ve dealt with what THEY fucked up.

Everyone always says kids don’t come with manuals, but you know what? I might as well have. I’ve always inherently known what I needed from people, even if I didn’t always have the language or tools to ask for it. But it was always bids for connection with me; a whole childhood spent fucking BEGGING for their love and attention. To feel heard. To feel like I MATTERED. “Can we do something as a family?” “Can we eat dinner together at the table?” “What if we had family meetings?” (Because even then, I knew I needed to talk about what was happening instead of sweeping it under the rug like they did, but I was always brushed off, and who the fuck else was I supposed to talk to about it?) That’s all they ever did, was brush me off.

Within twelve hours, he went from “I’ll not let this happiness slip away from me again. I’ll control my tongue” to “what’s broken can stay broken.” And I’m so tired of making excuses, having to be the one to do all the emotional labor. He said he’s done—I’ve heard it before. “Lose my number.” “Block me.” “I never want to talk to you again.”—all for him to come crawling back in a few months time without so much as an apology. He said the biggest difference between us was that if I wanted to talk, he’d be there, but if he wanted to, I’m not, and that it was a one way road—because I’ve learned to value myself and set boundaries for my own health. Really, the biggest difference between us is that I mean things, and he doesn’t, for better or worse. One minute he loves, the next he hates. He’s unstable. But I mean it when I say I’m tired, when I say I’m done. And every time he comes in and fucks with my peace like this, I detach more. I mean it more. I make more peace with a future where I don’t see us ever reconciling, which is something that used to seem intolerably painful to consider. I just want to get better, and I don’t know if I can ever do that with him in my life, even on the peripheral.

[koukouture]

Chime’s Jekyll and Hyde personality

So, one thing that caught my eye was that in the wiki and several actual instances, Chime’s personality is referred to as ‘Jekyll and Hyde.’ I was a bit confused at first but, after reading into it, I find it a bit odd that he doesn’t really display it, the fandom doesn’t really write him with it either. 

It’s really hard to tell when he’s who. Like, you just don’t know who’s who. I can’t speak for the comic, but, this borderline personality disorder, should give the character two drastically different personalities. And uh, people with borderline personality disorder, are sometimes abusers. 

Which brings me to my next point: the fandom writes Chime as sweet, charming, playful, and they just completely forget about his alter ego, Ruri Kazama. I am guilty of this too, but, I’m looking to change that so yeah.

I think that the game should have Really presented him like this. Like, maybe Ruri Kazama is this destructive, sadistic sociopath or some shit while Chime Gen is sweet, playful, and albeit a little damaged and closed off at times. Point is, really set apart his two personalities. 

The game does show their personalities and you get a vague idea, but, to really sell something as a character’s  personality trait, you need to REALLY fucking sell it. Like, ok, Luminous is the weeb underdog. Doesn’t really show. For most of his arc with Erii, he doesn’t seem to have much of a personality. Caesar was... actually pretty ok. We get that he’s sort of arrogant, and is your average spoiled rich kid who develops throughout the story. Johann, Chisei, and Chime is where the writers decided to take a shit. Like, ok, Johann is cool and serious but it doesn’t show too much. You’d think the guy was actually suffering from a lack of personality rather then him being quiet. I can’t get a clear sense of Chisei’s personality as he just seems so off. Like, I haven’t seen any particular moments in game where he actually like shows his personality a lot. 

This was my problem with the game, and frankly, the game does even worse with mental disorders that are supposed to do change someone’s personality. 

Chime went through a lot of trauma as a child, which is a motivator for his disorder. The things is, he doesn't show much of it. Like, tell me when you could tell the difference in between Ruri Kazama and Chime Gen personality wise. 

I think that the writers were trying to imply that Ruri Kazama is this cold, devious manipulator who plays the other characters  like chess pieces. While Chime Gen was ambitious, kind of nice, and charming. Like, it’s mentioned that he’s playful somewhere, I forgot where, But it mentions that he’s playful like a child. 

I think that Ruri Kazama is actually in charge most of the time, hence why we don’t really get Chime too much. It’s either that or vice versa. If Chime does indeed have conflicting personalities, it would show. Maybe one moment he’s angry and trying to kill Luminous, and the next he’s sort of calmed down and his having a leisurely conversation with Caesar about cars. There should be a big difference, because his personalities should be polar opposites.

Think of it like Dark Link and Link.

They’re still technically the same entity, Dark Link being a cheap rip off that the bad guys made to confront him, but they are different. Dark Link is cold and sadistic, Link is righteous and kind. Where Dark Link would steal, Link would give. You see? Polar opposites thrust into  the same situation. That’s what the writers should have implied. 

But do they? No. It would be more understandable if Ruri Kazama had possessed Chime and was this demon in his head, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Ruri Kazama is confirmed to just be Chime’s alter ego.

I don’t actually know why I made this, but, I was just kind of pissed that I actually searched this up and the developers didn’t really show it