#oh to be twelve again and experience all these games for the first time again

[sammym332]

them rpg girlies

hey my comissions are open

[joelscruff]

truth or dare (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

notification blog | kofi | in honor of my bestie han @swiftispunk who recently celebrated her birthday (and in honor of spooky season starting 🎃) i thought i'd step outside the boundaries of what i usually write and try something new. i'd also like to give a huge shoutout to @toxicanonymity whose entire masterlist greatly influenced my desire to try something like this. please heed the warnings!!! and as i said this is my first time writing anything like this so pls be kind 🫠

summary: a harmless game of truth or dare ends with you tied up in a certain mysterious neighbor's garage. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dubcon (reader is given a choice to leave, but not immediately), dark!joel, age gap (reader is college age, joel is in his fifties), unprotected p in v sex, use of restraints, ropes, spanking, degradation, sir kink, dirty talk (use of 'little girl' as a pet name), face fucking, rough sex, creampie, brief anal play, humiliation, inappropriate use of a household item (he puts a flashlight up her cooch), marking (with a sharpie), size kink (joel is much bigger than reader and can lift her), pls lemme know if i forgot anything word count: 8.3k

Your palms are sweaty, fingers sticking to your skin as you stand at the edge of the property with goosebumps already blooming along your flesh. The air is chilly, that end of summer evening air flooding your nostrils as a car drives past through streams of leftover rainwater, headlights blurring your vision for a moment. It passes quickly and you're alone again, standing on the street corner with a mixture of anticipation and dread filling your trembling body.

Everything had been fine about twenty minutes ago. A typical party with your hometown friends, one last hurrah before everyone splits off for the third year in a row to go back to their respective colleges, back to long lectures and underwhelming frat boys. It had gone the same way it always does when you get together - shots, secrets, schemes. No end of summer party could ever be complete without a game of truth or dare, not for your crowd anyway.

It had started simple. "Which one of us had the best glow-up this year?" "I dare you to text the last guy you slept with." "What's the kinkiest thing you've done with somebody?" "I dare you to show us the last nude someone sent you." Typical borderline adolescent challenges, things you all still followed through with despite being too old for the game - it's the principle of it, to indulge and pretend, if only for a little while, that life is as simple as it once was.

"Who's the last person you had a sex dream about?"

You'd twisted your hands awkwardly in your lap, felt heat rush to the apples of your cheeks. Usually a question like this wouldn't make you hesitate, but the subject of the answer had been a slightly embarrassing one. As soon as the name Joel Miller had fallen from your lips, you'd been met with screams and squeals and excited chatter from every direction.

"He's so fucking creepy though," one of your friends had said with wide eyes, palm over her mouth, "He gives off serial killer vibes."

"Oh please, he's not that bad," another had chimed in, "He's just a loner, kinda mysterious. I see the vision."

"Are we forgetting the part where he's old as hell? Dude must be in his fifties, at least."

"But that means experience."

"It could also mean limp dick."

"You guys are disgusting," you'd moaned, leaning back on your hands, "It was one dream, let's move on."

And they had. Briefly. Until it was once again your turn and they'd all rounded on you with cheshire cat grins and glinting stares. You should have known what was coming when you chose Dare.

"I dare you to go over to his house."

You'd resisted, of course. The dare itself didn't even make much sense; what were you meant to do? Go over and ding-dong-ditch his front door like a twelve year old boy? But it had only snowballed from there, all five girls tossing in their own thoughts and ideas, talking and giggling over each other. "She should ask him on a date." "She should just flirt a little bit, see how he reacts." "She could see how far she can get with him, maybe?" "Oh shit, that's good."

You could have always said no - there was no way any of them could force you to do it, even if it would have ended the party abruptly with grumbled complaints and a slammed door. But the more they talked the more you found yourself listening, letting the concept sink in, the images of the dream you'd had the other night flooding to the front of your mind. Mysterious and elusive Joel Miller, big hands covered in the motor oil he uses to tinker with his truck, trailing his messy fingers between the swells of your breasts...

They'd managed to convince you just by the reminder alone, though also due to the fact that they'd each tossed in a twenty dollar bill and stated that simply getting a kiss on the cheek would warrant a win. The prospect was intriguing; it would be a testament to your own desirability, your game. How far can you get with your quiet neighbor who probably hasn't touched a woman in years? Who'll probably fold the second he realizes someone as young and beautiful as you is interested in him?

"I'll do it," you'd said with a smirk, rising from the hardwood, "How hard can it be?"

Harder than you thought, apparently. Because now you stand a few feet from Joel Miller's house, loitering soundlessly at the edge of his front lawn, hesitating. The sun has gone down, turning the hedges along the side of his property into frighteningly tall shadows, dark and menacing. A light breeze flows past and you wrap yourself tighter in your well-worn maroon cardigan, shivering, staring at your boots and wondering if you can really bring yourself to do this.

It'll be so humiliating if he rejects your advances. On the other hand, will it somehow be less-so if he returns your flirtatiousness and you then have to reject him once you've gotten what you came for? How will that make you look? You're not even really sure why you care - probably because the man has done nothing to you whatsoever, nothing that would warrant such a foolish prank as this being played on him. It makes you feel bad, in a way. As much as you and your friends make fun of him, he really is just a man who keeps to himself - perhaps this is going too far.

You notice light flickering nearby, a reflection of fluorescents in the puddles of his driveway. You figured he'd be in his garage - it's where he spends most of his time, bent over the exposed hood of the truck he's seemingly been working on ever since he moved in at the beginning of the summer. You've never seen him drive it, never even seen him leave the property, but you've passed by the house on more than one occasion. You've seen the way he rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, forearms splattered black and grey, expression focused on the task at hand while sweat drips from his greying temples.

Having a sex dream about him really shouldn't have been that shocking, now that you think about it. The man is a mystery, sure, but he isn't ugly by any means.

You swallow down your qualms, picturing the faces of your friends more than likely smooshed against the living room window a few houses back, watching. As soon as you turn the corner, you'll disappear from view, obstructed by the hedges and the sudden darkness of night. You take one more deep breath, one last burst of chilly evening air into your lungs, and accept your fate.

--

He doesn't notice you walking up his driveway, taking slow and meager steps as you assess the open garage, the truck with its hood popped as usual, the flickering of the florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. He doesn't notice you, but you notice him. You spot a pair of steel toed boots and long denim clad legs sticking out from underneath the truck, hear the clink and clang of metal against metal while he tinkers with something down there, unseen. As you reach the garage it becomes apparent that you still have one last chance to end this before it begins, turn around and take the loss.

But you don't.

"Excuse me," you offer in a weak voice, teetering nervously at the edge of the garage door, neither inside nor out - neutral ground.

The clinking stops, replaced by the steady pounding of your heart in your chest, the heaviness of your breathing. You try to loosen your hands from their fisted forms and unclench your fingers, focusing on the stretch of flesh and bone while the legs beneath the car slowly begin to inch forward. He's not laying on any type of support, one of those wheeled contraptions you've seen other people use - no, he's simply got his back to the ground, a back and body that's slowly coming into view.

His black and green flannel rides up where he's been laying on it, as well as the grey t-shirt he wears beneath; as he slides out from under the car you spot a bare sliver of skin just above his waistband, a patch of hair that trails down into his jeans. A lump forms in your throat. When he finally peeks his head out, you swallow around it and try to remember to breathe.

Greying hair slicked back behind his ears, cheekbones smeared slightly with something black, scruff lining a strong yet soft jawline, a plump bottom lip, and those eyes... dark brown, almost black. It's the face that's practically been haunting you all summer, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.

His brow furrows as soon as he sees you, "Can I help you?"

It's not the first time you've heard him talk, but it's certainly the first time he's ever spoken directly to you. His accent is stronger than you remember, words slipping smoothly past his lips like butter as he eyes you from the floor of his garage, knees up, hands still hidden in the darkness. A few seconds pass before you realize he's asked you a question.

"Oh, um-" You haven't thought this through very far, that's for sure. What the fuck do you even say? You take a breath and remind yourself that you're good at this, have seduced your fair share of frat boys in the past two years with minimal effort and have never heard the word no. Sure, Joel Miller isn't a frat boy - far from it - but underneath his cold exterior he's still very much a man, and very much capable of falling under the spell of a beautiful woman. You hope, anyway.

"I was just taking a walk," you lie, "Saw your light on, thought I'd come say hi."

He stares at you blankly, like he's unsure exactly how he's supposed to respond - or perhaps he's already seeing through your façade. You take a step into his garage, poised at the edge as you lean casually against the opening.

"Honestly, um-" you push some hair behind your ear and attempt to look shy, though it's not a huge jump from how you're actually feeling, "I've been meaning to talk to you, before I go back to college."

At your words he raises an eyebrow and slowly brings his hands downwards, palms pressing flat against the dark concrete. You watch as he eases himself up and out from under the truck, and god he's tall - tall and broad and huge compared to you, a fact that sends a little flutter into your belly. He takes a step toward the work bench against the wall, eyes still on you as he reaches down and picks up a rag to wipe his hands, big and wide and streaked with oil. You remember your dream and feel a twinge in your underwear.

"Talk to me about what?" he asks, massaging the rag against his fingers.

You shrug as nonchalantly as you can, taking another step inside his garage, closer to where he stands at the work bench. You cross your legs in an attempt to show them off, stretching your ankle toward a spare tire on the floor and accentuating the sheerness of your black tights, the little run that splits the material at the inside of your knee, the hint of bare skin that peeks out beneath.

"Nothing in particular," you say, keeping your voice soft and steady but doing your best to keep that shy girlishness present, "Just... wanted to." You peer up at him from under your lashes and bite your lip, then reach out your hand for him to take. You say your name.

He assesses your hand but doesn't take it, brow still furrowed. "Joel," he replies, "And I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment. Don't really have time to talk." His voice is cold and gruff, absolutely no sign of interest or attraction - dammit.

"What're you doing?" you ask, tilting your head.

He continues to stare at you blankly, "What does it look like I'm doin'?"

Okaaaay, then.

You shrug again and take another step, turning to look at the wall next to you. Tools line the shelves, wrenches and screwdrivers and the like dangling rather precariously here and there, smeared in motor oil and dust. It's a mess but you'd be willing to bet that it's organized chaos, that he likes it this way.

"What's this?" you ask, pointing to a particularly large object, something that looks like a mixture between a pair of scissors and a wrench.

"Bolt cutters," he supplies you monotonously.

"Ohh," you say with a nod, leaning a bit into the confused pretty girl stereotype and hoping maybe he's a sucker for it, "And what's that?" You point toward a small cylindrical object, black and tactical, only a few inches long.

"You never seen a flashlight before?"

Oh. Right. "Woops," you giggle, "Sorry."

You turn your face to look at him sheepishly and he's still watching you, big arms now crossed against his broad chest - impatient. Well, this is clearly not working either. He's frowning, eyes so focused on your face that you feel almost naked beneath it, like he's staring into your soul. You clear your throat awkwardly and tug your bottom lip between your teeth, breaking your own gaze away from him and trying to find something else to comment on.

"So you've been working on your truck," you state, gesturing toward the vehicle as if only just noticing it was even there, "What's - uh - what's wrong with it?"

He's clearly not buying into whatever the fuck you're even trying to sell. He remains silent, eyes still on you, and suddenly it's like you've never even interacted with a man before - and to be honest, maybe you haven't. Frat boys are certainly not men by any means, and nowhere near in the same league as Joel Miller by a long shot, probably almost triple their age with a dark and mysterious aura that feels almost suffocating. He just stares at you, slightly unnerving, but also seductive in its own way, almost like he's challenging you.

"What do you want?" he asks blankly.

"I-I told you," your voice is already faltering, losing its flirtatious edge the more you realize how dumb of an idea this was, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, I got that," he says stiffly, "Why?"

You've already exhausted the avenues you thought might work, which means you've got one last chance before he sends you packing. With bated breath you take the final few steps toward him and - averting your gaze - you reach your hand out to touch his forearm with your fingertips. It's feather light, but you're suddenly very aware of the goosebumps that rise on his freckled flesh, the way the thick hair on his arms seems to stand on end the second your skin touches his. Okay, now we're getting somewhere.

"I think you're handsome," you murmur softly, feeling warmth rush to your cheeks when you realize that it's not a lie. And it really isn't. As your gaze gradually tilts up you catch a glimpse of the hair on his chest, peeking out from under his grey t-shirt. You spot his pecs beneath the fabric of his flannel, see the throbbing veins in his neck, the coarseness of his scruff, the sharp curve of his nose, and those fucking eyes - looking at you with a darkness, a lust, that wasn't there before.

He's not just handsome; he's fucking gorgeous.

"What're you doin'?" he asks you, that gruffness still present but being taken over by something else, something darker.

"Nothing," you breathe, still trailing your fingers along his forearm until they reach its apex and dip into the soft part behind his elbow, damp with sweat. You swallow, throat going dry as you stroke his skin with your thumb.

"Doesn't feel like nothin'," his voice is quieter, matching yours, and he tilts his head slightly as he continues to stare into your eyes, "Why're you really here, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. The word sends a burst of warmth to your chest, a smile to your lips. You unlock your eyes from his bashfully, watching your own movements as you trail your fingers back down toward his hand and wrap them around one of his fingers, so thick compared to your own. You squeeze gently, biting your lip again as you peer back up at him. Here it is. Moment of truth. You tilt your head up slightly, eyelashes fluttering as you lean forward to connect your lips with his.

Except, they don't connect.

Instead he pulls his hands away from you, brings them upwards and wraps them around your upper arms, squeezing tightly. Your eyes widen, confusion flooding your features.

"Turn around and bend over."

"W-what?" Shock doesn't even begin to describe the ice cold feeling that now makes its way through your body, edged with something else - something you can't explain.

"Turn around," he repeats, his big hands squeezing your arms even tighter - relentless, firm - as he peers down at you with a dark hunger in his eyes, glinting black beneath the fluorescents, "And bend over."

He does not give you another chance to obey - you're too frozen in surprise and confusion to do anything yourself. Instead, he uses the force of his weight on your arms to spin you on the spot, shoving you against the work bench. You feel one of his hands move from your arm to your back, pushing hard until you fold, warm cheek coming to rest against the cold wood.

"Wh-what are you doing?" your voice is meager, weak, and you feel him wrap one of his hands around both your wrists like it's nothing, pinning them against your back like they're simply twigs in his wide palm.

"What you're clearly fuckin' beggin' for," he replies gruffly, and you feel his other hand at your skirt, feel the brush of his fingertips at the hem as he reaches upward to grip the band of your tights. Your eyes widen and instinctively you pull back, pull away - he just pushes you back down.

"I'm not-" you begin, shock quickly being replaced with fear when you realize how easily overpowered you are, how fluidly he's able to tug down your tights and expose your ass to him, clad in only a black thong already lost between your cheeks.

"Oh, you're not, huh?" his voice is cold and stoic, angry, "You think you can play games with me, little girl?" His hand comes to rest against the swell of your behind and you suddenly feel his breath above you, hot in your ear, "Tell me why you're really here."

You try to lift your head up to look at him better but he just shoves you back down again. Panic floods your body, mixed with the unmistakable burn of arousal. You feel yourself twitch in your underwear, feel a sudden gush of warmth spill inside the fabric as he begins to trail his finger up and down the thin line of black cotton.

"I-I'm..." You're at a complete loss for words, unable to articulate anything, unsure of what exactly is happening - or about to happen. Two minutes ago you'd been sure he was about to tell you to leave, practically kick you out of the garage himself, and now you're not sure leaving is even a possibility.

He pulls his hand back and you cry out when it comes down to slap against one of your cheeks, a sharp sting and burn you hadn't been anticipating.

"Tell me why you're here," he repeats - authoritarian, firm.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out except a frightened squeak, something which clearly eggs him on even more. He spanks you again, harder this time, palm flat and wide against your pebbled flesh. The sound that slips past your lips is somehow akin to a moan of some sort, guttural and deep.

"I'll just make it harder and harder, sweetheart," he says then, and the pet name no longer contains the warmth it did mere moments ago; instead it's cold and detached, mocking. You're still reeling when his hand comes down to slap against you again, even harder this time, and your hands ball into fists behind your back as you let out another low moan. More slick gushes into your panties and it's impossible to deny that somehow, despite the fear twinging in your heart, you're so fucking turned on.

"M-my friends," you gasp out, and you feel him squeeze your abused ass cheek which you're sure is already dark with his handprint, "They- they dared me to see how far I c-could get with you."

He lets your words sink in for a moment, squeezing again - tighter, so tight that it hurts. You whimper against the wooden top of the work bench, legs shaking.

"So you came here to get fucked," he finally states.

"N-no, I swear, I-"

"Wasn't a question," he interrupts, and you feel his other hand tighten around your wrists, "You came here to get fucked so you're gonna get fucked, end of story."

"But I-"

Without any warning he suddenly pushes himself up against you from behind, the rough denim of his jeans pressing deliciously up against your exposed skin. You gasp, eyes going wide when you feel the long, thick shape of his dick between your cheeks, huge and hard. He holds it there, his free hand coming down to lay flat beside your head against the work bench.

"You feel that?" he asks, voice suddenly quieter but still full of that ice cold malice, "You feel that cock?"

Fuck. "Y-yes," you breathe, "I feel it."

"You have five seconds before i close this door and stuff you full, understand?" Suddenly all you can hear is the heavy sound of his breathing, the panting of your own, the thud of your heart where it presses painfully against the wood. He's giving you an out.

"I- I-" you swallow, brows furrowing when you feel his hand slacken around your wrists. You could pull away now, yank yourself out of his grasp and sprint down his driveway, return to your friends. Forget this ever even happened.

It's your last chance.

"Five," he begins, breath warm against your face.

Run. Just run.

"Four."

But why?

"Three."

Why don't you want to run?

"Two."

Why do you want to stay?

"One."

He pulls his hand up from the work bench and hits a button on the wall, eliciting a loud mechanical noise to your left as the garage door starts to close. You watch with wide eyes as your chance to leave slowly vanishes inch by inch until it's gone completely, and yet no part of you itches to run, to escape. There's nothing to escape from, you realize. You want to be here. You want him to fuck you.

As the reality of your situation starts to settle, his grip around your wrists tightens once again. You sense him reaching up somewhere above you, and you suddenly feel the harsh texture of what feels like thickly braided rope wrapping around your wrists. The realization that he's restraining you sends another pool of release into your panties, another faint squeak past your lips.

"You gonna stay still for me?" he asks, voice dark and clearer now in the silence of his garage, no sounds of rain or cars to disrupt you, "Huh? You gonna be a good girl?"

"Yes," you breathe, nodding against the wood.

"Say it."

"I'm gonna stay still," you promise, "I'm gonna be a good girl."

He finishes knotting the rope around your wrists, tight and uncomfortable against your skin. He pushes his groin up against your ass again, brings his now free hands downward to reach through your cardigan and squeeze your breasts. Your nipples are hard beneath the soft cotton of your shirt, no bra between the layer of material and your bare skin; he tweaks them in his fingers and you shudder.

"These are mine," he whispers in your ear, scruff nuzzling against the side of your face, "These tits, this ass," he drops his hands from your breasts to squeeze your cheeks again, "and this pussy." His hand drops to the puffy shape of your lips beneath your thong and you whimper. "Understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes, what?"

You're not sure what he's asking for, what he wants you to say. You take a guess. "Yes, sir," you whisper, and you feel him smile against your ear. Bingo.

He doesn't bother to pull your tights down the rest of the way; instead, he rips them, pulling them apart in his big hands and reaching inside to curl his index finger around the thin strip of your thong. He pulls it - hard - and it rips from you with a rough tearing sound and a painful sting, eliciting a loud gasp from you which he rewards with another spank.

You feel his finger slip between your lips for a moment, gathering some of your release before he pulls it away. "Juicy fuckin' pussy," he mutters, and you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone, vulgar in the quiet room. You have no time to ask about protection, no time to even really process how quickly this is already happening, before you feel the warm tip of his cock pushing against your twitching hole. You gasp again, hands furling under the ropes.

"Shh," he quiets you, stilling for a second, "Don't squirm."

"Sorry," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "I'm sorry."

"What're you sorry for?" he murmurs, feeding his cock to you in small increments, reveling in the noises falling past your lips. It's so fucking big, bigger than you'd anticipated - it feels like he's spearing you, splitting you in half, especially without much preparation. It stretches and burns, but the warmth of it, the way it pulses as it invades your body, just makes you gush even more. "Hm?" he continues, "What're you sorry for? You sorry for squirmin' or sorry you pissed me off?"

Your eyes roll back as he bottoms out, his pubic hair pressing coarsely against your pussy lips, heavy balls firm to your ass. You try to speak but it's hard to get the words out when you're so full, the wide tip of him pushing into your cervix.

"You a virgin?" he asks you then, voice changing for a moment, like for the briefest of seconds he's wondering whether he should have gone slower.

You shake your head quickly, "N-no," you manage to gasp out.

"Feel like a fuckin' virgin," he grunts, pulling out and then immediately slamming back inside. Your head bumps against the work bench, a groan falling from your mouth as he makes a home inside you. "Christ," he mutters, "Tight little thing. You feel me in your stomach, baby?"

You're not sure he wants you to answer, but it becomes clear when his hand slaps down on your ass cheek again and you cry out.

"Yes," you moan, then quickly amend, "Yes, sir."

"S'what happens when you come in here, actin' like a little slut," he suddenly reaches for your cardigan and yanks it off - it catches on your restrained hands and he simply rips it and tosses it to the floor, "But then again, you're not actin', are you? Huh? What's a slut like you doin' wearin' all these fuckin' layers?"

"I'm s-sorry," you repeat, already mourning the loss of your favorite sweater, now ripped to shreds at your feet.

"Sorry's not good enough, little girl," he breathes, thrusting into you again so hard that you yelp, cheek still pressed into the splintered wood of the work bench, "That's it, fuckin' take it."

He fucks you without any reservations, any inhibitions. Your legs shake and you can hear the slap of his hairy thighs against yours as he pounds into you relentlessly. You have no choice but to take it, the stretch of his huge cock becoming less painful the more he gives it to you over and over, the room full of the wet squelch of your pussy gripping him. He grabs your hips, fingertips digging into your bare flesh as he takes and takes; you wish you could see his face, wish you could see how he looks when he's fucking you, getting his pleasure. The thought makes you whine, tears streaming down your face as your body moves back and forth against the work bench.

It feels fucking amazing. You've never had a cock as big as his before, never been fucked so deep and so hard, like he doesn't care if he breaks you, makes you cry. He hasn't touched your clit and yet you already feel you could come from just this, just the relentless push and pull of his dick inside you. Unfortunately, just as soon as you feel your orgasm starting to build, he pulls out. Your brow furrows.

"Stand up," he orders, "and turn around."

You obey, relief overtaking you as soon as you're no longer bent at such an awkward angle. The moment you turn to face him you barely get a look at his face before he's reaching down and tearing your shirt in half - easily, like it's nothing. You don't even have time to wonder how the hell you're gonna get home with all your clothes ripped to shreds when his mouth is suddenly wrapped around your left nipple, and you whine at the sensation. You peer down at him, biting your lip and watching his wet lips suckle around the hard bud, beard scratching deliciously against your skin. Your hand aches to cup the back of his head but it's still pinned behind your back, tied tight beneath the rope.

"Fuck," you whimper, and his dark gaze flashes up to meet yours as he sucks, the hint of a smirk on his lips when he pulls away.

"Feels good, does it?" he asks, and seeing the words come out of his mouth is somehow more sinful than when you could only hear them, "You like bein' used?"

You nod almost immediately despite never having experienced anything like this in your life - though admittedly you've undeniably wanted to experience this, ached to have somebody take control, tell you what to do, make you do things. It's like you've somehow known subconsciously all summer that Joel Miller could be that person for you, despite never having said two words to him. It was just a feeling, an instinct, and that dream...

"Yeah?" he continues, and suddenly his hand comes up to cup your pussy, thumb finally pressing against your clit. You cry out, tears still trickling down your cheeks. "Said you were in college, right? You take any college dick up here? Be honest now."

You nod again, "Y-yes."

"How many?"

"I... I don't know," you breathe. It's the truth, and you can tell as soon as the words leave your mouth that it does something to him. He presses his thumb harder against your clit, two fingers slipping up inside of you.

"'Course you don't know," he murmurs, pushing them as deep inside as he can, making you whimper, "You wouldn't know, would you?"

Your thighs tighten together - squeezing his hand - and he just smirks again, curving his fingers and making you moan. Your lower back digs into the work bench as he stands, pushes you up against it and peers down into your eyes again with a hunger that's only getting worse. You assess his expression, the pout of his lips as he fucks you with his fingers, the focused lines creased into his forehead. So fucking handsome.

"You're not a good girl," he breathes, nose brushing yours, "Knew it from the day I saw you. You're just made for takin' cock. Am I right?"

"Yes," you whisper, nodding shakily and bumping your lips up toward his - he pulls away again and you can't help but feel disappointed, aching to feel his lips against yours.

"Tonight you're made to take my cock, that clear?" he continues, and you watch as his other hand travels downward to wrap around it - just out of your periphery. He's too close to you, crowded so much in your space that you know he won't like it if you break eye contact. You can tell by his arm movements that he's pumping himself at the same speed he's fucking you with his fingers, inhaling deeply, "I'm gonna ruin you, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not."

"Y-yes sir," you whisper, voice squeaking when he speeds up his fingers and pumps them in and out with fervor, thumb rubbing furiously against your clit. Yet again he brings you almost to the edge and then removes his hand completely, stepping back with a low chuckle when you whimper pathetically.

Your disappointment only lasts a moment because now you can see him, see the girthy length of him that's already been inside of you hanging out of his zipper, glistening with your slick. He's huge, tip dark and intrusive, beads of his own arousal dripping from the slit; your mouth waters. His eyes cast down to where you're looking and he smiles, dark and mocking.

"Never gonna see another dick like this, darlin'," he breathes, "So you better start showin' your appreciation." His eyes glint. "Kneel."

You're practically already on your way to kneeling before he says it, in awe of the sheer girth and shape of him. The second your bare knees hit the cold floor he's crowding you again, hand coming around to hold the back of your head.

"Open wide, baby," he murmurs.

Your jaw drops and he plunges inside your mouth quickly and seamlessly, making you gasp around his length as your eyes widen. You can't breathe, looking up at him with more tears already fogging your vision as he immediately slips into the depths of your throat with no hesitation. You gag, eyes bulging as you attempt to swallow around the intrusion, find your breath, but it's impossible.

"Yeah," he breathes, both of his hands cradling your face and holding you still as he lets his cock sit unmoving in your throat, "Yeah, that's it. That's what you're made for."

He only holds it there for a few seconds but by the time he pulls it out you're gasping for air, coughing and spluttering as tears stream relentlessly down your cheeks. He keeps cradling your face, tuts to himself as you try to get your breath back. The head of his cock bumps softly against your bottom lip.

"Not off to a great start, are we?" he murmurs, "Let's try again."

He pushes his cock past your lips again and you try your hardest not to gag, a little more prepared this time. The pulsing head of his cock situates itself firmly in your throat, the pubic hair at the base tickling your nose while his balls bounce against your chin. You look up at him with pleading eyes, watch as he stares down at you with nothing but malice in his expression, contempt. You're just a hole to him, nothing more.

He pulls out and lets you gasp another breath before he's shoving himself back in, hands moving back to hold your head firmly as he fucks your face. You don't move - you don't need to; he does all the work as he drags your head back and forth along his cock, hitting the back of your throat over and over again until you're gagging and practically sobbing for air. Your knees ache against the concrete floor and you know you'll have bruises tomorrow, know that you probably won't be able to swallow properly for a few days either. Somehow, you don't really care.

When he's gotten his fill he yanks himself out and allows you to catch your breath for a few seconds, throat constricting around nothing while you choke and gasp.

"Stand up," he orders, and even though you're still gasping for air you manage to bring yourself back up, legs shaking. Saliva drips down your chin, drooling from your mouth in long strands, but with your hands tied you can't make any attempt to clean yourself up - he probably wouldn't want you to anyway.

His wide palms are suddenly on your hips, and he picks you up and places you on top of the work bench with minimal effort, arms bulging. You're completely naked now save for your ripped tights while he's still fully clothed, dripping cock still peeking out past his zipper, covered in your saliva. He steps between your legs and pushes your thighs open, then slips inside of you once again in one short push, making you yelp.

"Oh, please," he grumbles, gripping your hips tightly and pulling your bare body taut against him, head hitting his chest, "We both know you can take it."

It's not like you have any other choice at this point. He fucks you harder than he had before, now that he has easier access, can pull you so firmly against him that his entire length is continuously swallowed up entirely by your dripping pussy. His nails dig into your skin as his cock fucks up against your cervix over and over, so relentless it's almost painful. It's overwhelming how huge he is, not just his cock but his body in general, the way he towers over you and watches your expressions as he takes what's now his.

"Poor little thing," he mumbles, bringing one of his hands up to thumb the tears on your face, "Never been so full, huh? It's okay, shhh," his finger finds your lips and pushes against them almost mockingly, like he's chastising you, "Shhh, this is what you asked for, remember? S'what you wanted." You shake your head but he just nods, "Yeah, it is. You wanted that cock and now you're gettin' it."

Suddenly you're being lifted from the workbench, carried in his embrace with his cock still buried deep inside. You cry out, wrists straining against the ropes, itching to wrap your arms around his neck and hold yourself up with more stability. His arms come up to stretch along the expanse of your back, holding you still and pulling you even closer. As if on instinct your legs bend upwards to wrap around his waist, curling around his lower back while he pistons inside of you without restraint, without mercy.

"Fuck," you almost scream, feeling the rough denim of his jeans scratching against your ass, the heaviness of his balls slapping against you over and over again, "Fuckfuckfuck!"

"Yeah, there she is, there's that little slut," he says, a smile spreading across his face, voice somehow calm despite the fact that he's pounding into you over and over, "Nothin' like gettin' fucked stupid to sort ya out, huh? Needed to be punished, didn't you, sweetheart?"

You don't answer, can't answer, eyes rolling back as he fucks you with abandon. Of course it's not a surprise when he lands a hard spank against your ass, grips your cheek tightly in his palm and growls roughly in your ear, "Answer me, little girl."

"Yes," you force yourself to gasp out, head tilting back, "Yes sir, yes."

"S'right," he mutters, and you suddenly feel the pads of his fingers against your clit, rubbing at an aggressively fast pace that sends depraved noises spitting past your lips, "Come on that cock, tighten up that little pussy even more for me, baby, come on."

It only takes seconds for him to make you come, your eyes rolling back as your body shakes and writhes in his grasp. He doesn't slow his movements, keeps fucking you deep and hard as your legs loosen at his waist and you flop like a ragdoll in his arms.

"Chokin' that dick," he murmurs, "Had so many cocks in this little hole and you're still the tightest thing I've fucked," his brow furrows as he watches your face, watches as your eyes flutter open and your jaw slackens, "And what about your other hole, baby?" You feel one of his fingers prod against your asshole, circle the rim as he continues to bounce you up and down, "Ever had a cock in there?"

You tense up a little in his embrace, eyes widening. At your reaction he slows his movements, still holding you upright and allowing you to just sit on his cock for a moment while he continues to prod your asshole, "I'll take that as a no," he mutters, "Think my cock'll fit up there?"

"It won't," you whisper immediately, shaking your head.

He assesses your expression, eyes trailing up and down your face calculatingly, like he's weighing the pros and cons. Your heart stutters in your chest and you feel that fear from earlier slowly begin to creep back into your psyche, hands shaking under the rope.

"I won't," he states, and relief floods through your body; you relax in his embrace, becoming aware again of his cock still buried deep inside you. He very carefully prods the tip of his index finger inside your asshole and your eyes go wide again, mouth opening in protest. "Yet," he amends, smiling coldly at you, "I won't yet. Not today."

He pulls his finger out and walks with you to the work bench again, places you down gentler than before and peers at you with something in his gaze that you can't place, a curiosity that wasn't there before. It's gone in an instant though, and then he's fucking into you again without warning, gripping tight to your hips and slamming back and forth until you see stars.

"You thought this'd be so funny, didn't you?" he growls, looking at you again with that detached contempt, black eyes locked with yours. He brings his hand down and starts rubbing your clit again, not caring that you only just came a moment ago. "Thought you'd come here, have your fun, and leave again. But it's not so funny anymore, is it? Huh? Is it funny?"

"N-no," you gasp out, overstimulated to the point of even more tears as you squirm and writhe on the work bench, pussy aching from the insistent way he's pounding you and the relentless rubbing of his fingers against your clit.

"S'the last time you show up here tellin' lies," he mutters, "Understand me? Any time you come into my house from now on you're gettin' fucked, got it?"

"Y-yes," you cry, hands futilely attempting to ball into fists behind your back, and he shakes his head.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir!" you scream it, and just as the words pass your lips he stills inside of you, cock twitching as he starts to come. Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open as his hand sends you into another climax just as he reaches his. Your head falls against his chest and you hear him groan above you, feel the way his cock pulsates and throbs and spits his cum in long and heavy spurts. Your thighs twitch and you feel his hand at your back, pulling you in close as he cups the back of your head.

You stay like that for a moment without speaking, your heavy breaths the only sound in the garage other than the rain now pelting heavily against the door. You swear you can hear his heartbeat.

"Good little girl, warmin' my cock," he murmurs in your ear, and you're still catching your breath, eyes closed, sobs wracking from your throat repeatedly. "Full o'me, huh? You feel all that, baby?"

You can only nod against his chest, wrists still straining against the rope as your toes curl somewhere below you and your body continues to shake. His cum settles warmly deep inside and your eyes roll back a bit when he pushes in further, like he's trying to keep it inside for as long as he can.

"Guess I found a new little cum dumpster, huh?" he whispers, carding his fingers through your hair, "I'll have to say thank you to your friends, or -" he pauses thoughtfully for a moment, "maybe I'll just have to send 'em a little message back with you."

You pull your face back from his chest, peering up at him with tired confusion. He reaches down and pulls out one of the drawers of the work bench, coming back up with a sharpie. You watch with fluttering lashes, unable to stop him - and not really wanting to - as he uncaps the marker and pushes your hair out of the way to write something across your chest, the cold tip making you jolt slightly.

"Shh," he murmurs, "It's okay, I'll untie ya in a sec."

It doesn't take him very long to finish writing whatever it is on your skin, and then he's slowly pulling his cock out of you. You whimper at the loss, thighs twitching as you peer down and watch his softening length slip past your hole, followed by a steady stream of his cum. He quickly reaches up and pushes what he can back inside, thumbing it back in carefully while the reality of what's just happened really begins to settle. You just let a man in his fifties tie you up, use you, come inside you, and write on your chest.

"Can't have all that slippin' out yet," he mutters, "Now, what can we use?" His eyes dart up to the shelves above you and he reaches up to grab something; when his hand comes back down you see the pocket flashlight from earlier, see the slightly flared base and know almost immediately what he's planning on using it for.

For some reason - whatever reason it is that you stayed here after he gave you an out, whatever reason you really came here in the first place - you don't protest.

He brings the flashlight downwards and quickly removes his hand from your pussy to replace it with the wide end, slipping it inside with only minimal resistance. You whimper and he hushes you, brushing his nose against yours as he assesses his handiwork.

"That should do it," he murmurs, then peers back up at you and pushes some stray hair out of your face "You keep that in there 'til you get home, okay?" His eyes have softened a bit, looking more similar to the way they did when you first showed up - is this the real him? You honestly have no idea.

You don't say anything, just nod slowly, feeling the anxiety from earlier begin to sink in yet again. How are you going to get home when you have no clothes? How are you going to explain to your friends what happened? How can you tell them - or show them - what you let him do to you?

These questions are clearly none of his concern. You watch as he backs up and gestures for you to stand with him; you do, with beyond shaky legs and the cold metal of the flashlight between your thighs.

"Turn around," he orders.

You feel him untie the rope from your wrists, essentially ending your time here - whatever it even was. It somehow doesn't feel real. You let them hang limply at your sides, feeling embarrassment flood your cheeks as you turn back around to look at him. He's watching you with a smirk, arms crossed - his dick is back in his jeans. He looks no different than he had when you arrived.

"Now get the fuck out," he says, dark eyes glinting once again under the flickering fluorescents, "before I change my mind."

--

The air is still chilly. The road is still wet. But thankfully, there are no cars.

You don't know how you manage to get home without anyone seeing you - hunched over, naked in the darkness, avoiding the streetlights, trying to ignore the ache between your legs and the icy intrusiveness of the flashlight still lodged inside of you - but you do. Your palms are sweaty again, heart pounding at the thought of your friends coming to greet you at the door, for the shock and confusion and screaming to begin - but that doesn't happen.

The moment you're back in the house you pull a jacket down from the coat rack and cover yourself, tiptoeing past the living room and waiting to be accosted by the friends who put you in this situation to begin with. Instead, they're nowhere to be seen. You hear the faint echo of laughter from the kitchen, hear the sounds of glass clattering and a fridge being shut. It's like they've already forgotten you even left, like the game meant nothing, and they've already found something new to entertain them, something better.

As if your futile attempt at getting a kiss on the cheek from Joel Miller is already something lost in the past.

And, you think, as you shakily climb the stairs and creep into the bathroom, tear the jacket from your shoulders and stare at your bare chest in the bathroom mirror, see the dark permanent lines that read TRUTH OR DARE...

Maybe that's how it should be.

[billthedrake]

FISHING TRIP

(mmmmh)

(hmph) Can't sleep either, buddy?

[quietly] No sir.

Guess this bed is kind of hard.

It's not that Dad. I'm... well, I'm kind of horny.

When are you ever not... oh jeez, yeah you're rock hard all right. I thought I took care of this bad boy pretty well.

You did, Dad. Only, I was thinking how we have the place all to ourselves. Not having to hide this.

We have all week, Will.

It gets me hard hearing you say that, Dad.

(growls in bedroom voice) Well, we have all fucking week, son.

I like hearing you cuss.

Yeah?

It's a strange thing I guess, but growing up you never did around us. Even if you got real mad.

(Breathes excitedly) I'm fucking you, Will. So you'll probably be hearing a lot of inappropriate things from my mouth.

Fuck!

God that dick's so hard... pressing into me. Come on, son, feel me up.

Love it Dad.

Scoot closer... there, that's it. Feel your old man's cock.

It made me sir.

Damn straight. Made you and took your cherry.

Best night of my life Dad.

(Kisses)

Fuck... you're pretty hard, too, sir.

Listen to who's talking like a sailor now.

(Laughs) I remember you grounded my ass the first time I dropped the f-bomb.

You were testing our authority. Cocky little shit.

I was just craving some attention, Dad.

(More kisses)

Damn, boy. You kiss your cheerleader girlfriends like that?

Unf, fuck.... I usually have to go softer with them, Dad. More like this... (soft, slow kissing) See...?

You can feel it, right, Will?

Oh yeah. That made you even harder. Jesus, that cock is like steel now, Dad.

Can't believe I can get up again already, actually. I'm 48 and not a teen.

You're a stud, Dad. A real fucking stud.

Damn... those fingers feel nice, son. OK if we just take our time? Just feel each other like this before getting to the main event?

(chuckles) What's the main event, Dad?

You know damn well, you little tease.

(More kissing, longer this time)

You like that, sir.

Goddamn, buddy. That cheerleader kiss of yours drives me wild.

Is that what is, Dad? The "cheerleader kiss"?

I'll say. French kissing your father like we're on a first date.

Oh fuck!

Guess that's your magic button, buddy. I can feel that steel rod in my fist twitch like crazy.

One of my buttons, sir. You keep showing me more.

It's just day one of our fishing trip.

Almost day two. What time is it even?

I dunno. Three? Four in the morning? We've not even been here twelve hours and we've already had sex twice.

Gonna make it three times, sir?

Grr... fuck, yeah. (kisses) You know, your mother and I never have sex three times in a night.

Real honeymoon sex, right, Dad?

You got it, buddy.

(more kissing)

Nice, Dad... I think you're getting the cheerleader kiss down, yourself.

(chuckles) I got some more experience in the sack than you, remember?

I can't forget. You got a thirty year head start on me, sir.

Hmm... damn you have an incredible bod, buddy. Just leave feeling ya up.

Feel away sir. Won't ever get sick of it. Promise.

(Kissing)

I'm leaking now.

Yessir. So wet.

Hm, why don't you climb on, buddy? Or are you too sore?

A little sore. But a good sore, you know?

I do.

(Surprised) Dad... you ever... you know, get fucked?

It's been a while, buddy. But there have been a couple of men who've done me like that. Years ago.

Maybe I can... if you'd let me.

It's probably gonna happen, son. This week. But right now, I really need inside ya.

Yessir.

Inside my baby boy.

Not a baby anymore, Dad.

That you're not, kiddo. Big stud jock.

God, you're so hard... and wet.

My lacrosse jock son.

(chuckles) You like being a lacrosse dad?

In more ways than one. I love being there for ya, Will.

I love having you there, Dad. At the games. And after.

Fuck. You're so tight. Even still.

I'm glad. Want this to be good for you, Dad.

You have no fucking idea, baby boy.

Three times in one night, Dad. I have a pretty good idea.

I'm gonna have a hard time keeping up with you, stud.

We'll see Dad. You can hold your own... fuck, you feel big.

I'm not too big, son.

You try sitting on one this size. Shit.

We don't gotta, kiddo.

Like hell we don't. Just let me go slow.

You got this, Will.

Unngh.

That hole is real fucking wet.

You made it like that, Dad.

What did you call it? Honeymoon sex.

Fuck!

Oh yeah, you're opening up for me buddy. Yeah... just like that.

Fuck me, Dad.

And we got a whole week of this.

A whole fucking week, sir.

If I can get it up after a day of this.

We'll probably need some sleep too, Dad.

Probably.

(bed rocks)

God, yeah, Dad. Pump into me.

Ride me, son. Ride your daddy.

I love holding onto you, sir. All of you.

I'm not a lean young jock like you.

You're perfect, Dad. All of you.

(bed rocks harder, springs squeaking)

God fucking damn.

Ung! You got some real power behind that beef. Fuck!

(grins)

(lets go of his cock)

Too much?

Don't wanna cum yet. At least not before you.

It's gonna take me a little longer this round. Sorry, kiddo.

Take as long as you want, Dad. You're in me, and that's all I care about.

Fuck, that ass is incredible. Wet and silky.

Better than mom?

You should ask me that, kiddo.

I know. Just like getting you worked up.

(bed squeaking)

Holy... fucking... shit... son!

UGGGH

(bed sounds slow down, then stop)

Whoo... let’s take a break.

Yeah.

(soft kissing)

Gonna roll us over buddy.

Yep. You're more a missionary guy, Dad?

At least to finish off. I like doing the driving, you know.

Yeah, I know.... UNNGH... fuck yeah, Dad. Nail my ass.

You... got it... kiddo. Daddy needs a fuck.

Not been four hours since our last.... oh shit.

That your spot, kiddo? Daddy gonna punch your spot?

(incoherent moans)

Let it out, baby boy. Just us up here in this cabin....

Oh Dad! Oh fuck.

Father and son... fucking like bunnies. Like newlyweds.

I'm gonna...

Let it all out, son.

Oh fuck, OH FUCK!

Your dad's cumming too, Will. Cumming up your sweet hole.. GODDAMN!

(heavy breathing, then kissing)

That was incredible, Dad.

You got that right, son. Jesus.

No... don't pull out yet.... I like having you on top of me.

I'm not too heavy?

A little, Dad. But I like it.

Oh fuck... shit. I can feel your cum between us.

Ha. I can smell it too.

(kissing)

You getting sleepy, buddy?

Not really. I guess we have an early morning ahead. What time we gotta get up for fishing.

There's probably not much fishing gonna get done this week, is there, buddy?

No sir. Just fucking and sleeping.

Six more days of it.

You're getting soft, Dad.

I told ya, buddy. I'm 48. And that was round number three.

No, I like it. For real. Like feeling you slip out of me.

You're something else, kiddo.

Can I ask a favor of you, Dad?

(settles back down onto the mattress) Sure, Will.

This week, sometime... I want you to share a secret with me.

You mean something other than the fact I'm fucking my own son?

(chuckles) Besides that.

I'll think it over. Think of something.

Tired?

Fraid so. You drained it out of your old man.

Just tell me if I'm being a pest at any point.

You're not being a pest, Will.

(softly) You asleep, Dad?

(groggy, deep voiced) Not yet. Not far off.

Can I feel your cock one more time?

Um hm.

Nice. I like feeling it soft too. My dad's cock.

Hmmm.

Love ya, Dad.

Love you, too, son.

[raythekiller]

Can I have a BEN drowned nsfw alphabet?

🗒 ❛ NSFW Alphabet ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Ben Drowned

#Notes: what yall so horny for (← also horny)

pronouns used: none, gn! reader

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

A - AFTERCARE

Gets super clingy. Doesn't want to let go of you, even if you just wanna get up to clean yourself. He just buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you tight while asking you not to leave.

B - BODY PART

He's a chest guy, boobs or no boobs. Just loves laying his head on it or maybe playing with your nipples.

C - CUM

As mentioned above, since it's his favorite body part, it's also the one he loves coming on the most. Don't worry, he'll lick it clean after.

D - DIRTY SECRET

He gets off to hentai pretty regularly. He doesn't even know why and won't let ANYONE find out about it. He's pretty embarrassed, which is rich coming from him.

E - EXPERIENCE

Again, he died when he was like, twelve, so the most "experience" he ever got was from watching porn, which is... Not great.

F - FAVORITE POSITION

The classic cowgirl. Absolutely loves seeing you ride him, hands grabbing at your hips like his life depends on it. Might get a bit too desperate and thrust up if you're teasing him too much.

G - GOOFY

After he gets over the first-time embarrassement, he's back to being his silly and cocky self. Will probably crack a few jokes and you both just have to stop to giggle for a few seconds before continuing.

H - HAIR

Doesn't have much body hair generally, so he doesn't bother with grooming. It's still blonde, but a little darker than his hair.

I - INTIMACY

Honestly, though he doesn't admit it, it means a lot to him that you're willing to do something so intimate with him of all people, so while he seems to not take things so seriously most of the time, he genuinely appreciates it and is willing to do anything to satisfy you in return.

J - JACK OFF

Avid masturbator, to the point where it's a little concerning. Gets horny super easy, so he just takes it out on the socks.

K - KINKS

Here's my full post for his kinks.

L - LOCATION

Mostly his room, since it's more private and he doesn't have to risk anyone walking in, but honestly? If you're up for it, he'll do it just about anywhere. He can't say no to you.

M - MOTIVATION

In all honesty, anything gets him horny. A new outfit, a lingering touch, a seductive look or whisper and he's gone.

N - NO

He's pretty subby, so he wouldn't do anything to hurt you or that could possibly upset you, like humiliating you or being a bit rougher while domming. Even if you assure him that it's fine, he just isn't comfortable with it.

O - ORAL

Prefers receiving because he has no idea on how to give and is kind of insecure he isn't going to be able to satisfy you this way. Though, again, if you want him to, he just can't say no.

P - PACE

He's not slow, but definitely not fast either. He wants to savor every thrust, every bit of you squeezing around him. Unless you're the one controlling it, he's gonna go pretty easy on you.

Q - QUICKIE

Pretty big fan. Just a quick one in-between rounds of whatever game he's invested in at the moment. Loves it when you ride him as he's playing, too, trying to keep quiet so his teammates can't hear him whimpering.

R - RISKS

He's pretty reluctant to try anything new, honestly, and he considers you suggesting it a sign he's not satisfying you currently. He's a little insecure due to his lack of experience.

S - STAMINA

Can last for about 2 or 3 rounds. Anything more than that and he's crying from overstimulation, begging you to slow down.

T - TOYS

Doesn't own any, surprisingly (unless you count the body pillow he fucks every so often), but doesn't mind using them on you if you have any.

U - UNFAIR

He tries to be a teasing bastard, he really does, but his body betrays him. He has no self control when he's horny and will always budge before you do.

V - VOLUME

Oh, he's quite loud. More so whimpers and whines, but when he moans it's fairly high pitched as well as shaky and a bit breathy, he simply sounds desperate. W - WILD CARD

Jerks off thinking about you for months before actually trying to make a move, watching you undress before going to sleep through your computer screen while he strokes his cock. X - X-RAY

Not too big, about 7.5 inches. Pretty fair girth for the size as well. Y - YEARNING

Horny all of the time. Will beg to fuck you in the middle of any occasion, genuinely doesn't care if it's inappropriate for the moment, he's hard and he needs your help with it. Please? Z = ZZZ

Falls asleep minutes after coming, which is one of the reasons why he doesn't want to let you go once you're both done. He wants to wake up in your arms.

[remyfire]

❛ you can be rough. i can take it. ❜ - Beejleo!

Subtle Smut Starters I love you indulging me. Bless you :D I am a happy puddle rn

BJ says it for a lot of reasons, really. The anticipation that's gnawing at his bones. How Leo has been looking him over for the past ten seconds like he's a twelve-course meal. The twisting somersaults of his gut, more frantic than any gymnast he's ever seen, leaving him hovering in this space between hunger and nausea. There has to be more than the slow, edging tease that Leo likes to take him through, more than the waiting game they'll fall into when they're sitting on opposite sides of the fraternity house's living room while one by one their brothers trail off to bed. He doesn't know how much more he can take of the chess game. If he doesn't get slammed to the ground like a running back, he's gonna explode.

"You can be rough. I can take it."

But the moment the words slip out of BJ's mouth, Leo's eyes snap to his. He can practically hear them click into place. And as a very familiar smirk wanders its way across Leo's face, BJ's heart takes off.

"What do you think rough is?" Leo asks. His tone dances melodically over the words, brushing over BJ's skin like hot coals. "You think 'cuz you were a jock, you know the meaning of the word? Huh? Mr. Varsity-Track-and-Field?"

"C'mon, I'm not a kid," BJ blurts, then immediately regrets it. It doesn't matter that Leo's only a year or two older than BJ. Somehow he can still make him feel like he's twelve instead of a freshly minted eighteen. Leo chuckles, shaking his head, and it drags BJ until he toes the edge of humiliation. He rolls his eyes as he shoves at Leo's chest.

Leo seizes him by the jaw and slams him against the wall.

"Says the guy who can barely grow a fucking beard. Look at that baby face." As Leo turns him this way and that by the chin, BJ falls straight back into the ocean of desperation. The undertow's too strong. He tightens his grip on Leo's hem, seeking some kind of stability so he won't drown. But when Leo pats him firmly on the cheek—hard enough to sting—BJ's knees almost buckle all the same. "So sweet. So naive."

It's not the first time that BJ's felt the entire galaxy hold its breath for a moment, this suffocating ache in his chest. It's not quite anger. It's a prelude to it. An appetizer. As the air crackles inside his ribs, he waits to see if this is the day the frustration finally grabs hold of him and uses his body to put Leo Bardonaro back in his place. He's starting to think neither of them would mind. But just as he's flirting with the idea, Leo thumbs over BJ's bottom lip and leaves the sensitive skin branded by his touch.

"Then again," Leo purrs, "you are the little slut who got hard during your hazing."

God, what comes next? If BJ pushes for more, will Leo deny him? Leo never seems to need BJ as much as BJ needs him. He can shrug off so much of his own desire if it means that he has BJ miserably hard and wanting. "Leo..." His hand scales his slim waist higher and higher until he palms his ribs. "Please."

Leo tilts his head. "Please what?"

He doesn't fucking know. A creature lives in that crackling chasm right beside his heart, something fitful and hungry, and he's not yet learned the language to describe what it needs to be satisfied. He has to pivot instead. "Listen, if you're so sure I can't handle whatever you've got to give me, why don't you prove it?"

"Oh, I never said you couldn't handle it." Like a spider dangling from a silk thread right above its prey, Leo holds himself still, fingers bruising his jaw, thumb resting gently on his lips, a contradiction in terms. But when BJ catches Leo's thumb between his teeth, something breaks through. Sparks burst from Leo's eyes and shower BJ in heat. "Y'know what they say, Beej, college is all about new experiences."

When Leo yanks him by the jaw, his fingers could slip off BJ's skin and leave him free. They could, at least, if BJ didn't immediately yield to the command, if he didn't let himself be pulled in. Too many things happen in rapid succession—he's twisted around, his arm's pinned behind him, he's shoved, his cheek scrapes the wall—and when Leo exhales hotly against his scalp, BJ throws his head back with a weak groan.

"This isn't rough," Leo murmurs raggedly as he wraps his arm around BJ's shoulders. "Not really. But you're gonna scream for me anyway."

BJ's never been physically restrained, never experienced so much as a facsimile of it, but he finds himself grabbing another fistful of Leo's shirt so he remembers not to escape. He wants it, he wants it, wants to know what it's like to be completely under somebody else's control. Shocky breaths pulse out of BJ arrhythmically while Leo gropes him through his trousers. "Fuck... Y-You're not..." There's no response besides how Leo's other fingers pop open two of BJ's shirt buttons, then slither beneath the fabric and along his undershirt until they find the bare skin stretched taut over his collarbone. "You're not gonna hold back forever, are you?"

An almost soundless chuckle tickles his hair. "Oh, pretty boy, I'm gonna ruin you."

As BJ arches into his touch, he wonders not for the first time how Leo became so confident in handling a man like this. It's more than just a fella who learned how to suck somebody off in a fraternity house. He doesn't fumble as he works at BJ's belt, at his button fly, and when BJ instinctively spasms at the smooth slide of those digits easing inside of his briefs, Leo simply tightens the arm around his shoulders and keeps him right where he wants him. They both know BJ is physically stronger but Leo doesn't seem to be the least bit bothered by it. And sure, maybe he's bluffing about ruining BJ one day—maybe he's figuring it out as they go along too—but with each passing second, BJ doubts it more and more. Someone taught Leo everything that he knows, and for whatever reason, Leo's just as happy to pass it along.

Leo grabs BJ's cock none too gently and gives it such a sharp tug that the drag of skin on skin singes him. "H-Hey, c'mon," BJ mumbles, wincing, his body seizing up as Leo yanks again, again. "At least lemme spit in your—" A white-hot light explodes inside him as Leo sinks his teeth into BJ's throat. "Fuck!" He's shocked he's not spewing blood from his carotid.

The growl rattles straight through his veins, snatching away his capacity for intelligent thought. There's nothing but Leo, just him and the terrifying rush of pleasure-pain that BJ's fighting somehow to make sense of. It's like... Jesus, it's like a savage muscle strain that tears through the fibers in his thigh with jagged fangs when he's got the finish line in his sights, when he has a rival so hot on his heels that he could spit on BJ. When he thrashes like a mouse caught in a cat's jaws, Leo digs his nails into BJ's shoulder, and as he forms the three stabbing points of the most demented scalene triangle, the first endorphins overtake BJ.

Shit, shit, he can't stop now, can't keep himself from trying to fuck into Leo's fist while he whines. BJ gets his free arm flat against the wall, just something to rest on, but the moment he finds it, he's driven to bite it too, muffling the sounds he never planned to make—barely thought he was capable of producing. Something about Leo's instant sweet hum is like praise to him. Satisfaction. It creates a feedback loop where BJ's cock finally dribbles enough slickness that the handjob melts into a glide, smooth as a dream, this fanfare that's supported by the nails scraping welts over his chest and the line of bruises being drawn down his neck and the copper-flavored warning from the thin skin under BJ's tongue, growing and growing, building and building, never fucking ending, how the fuck do people not know this kind of thing is possible? This cocktail of sugar and spice that's turning his Stanford premed brain into nothing but exclamation points?

When Leo lifts his head and sucks in a deep breath, like he's been holding it, he curves his hand around BJ's throat to hold him still, and the press of his thumb against that first raw hickey loops itself around the weight that just barely restricts his ability to inhale, and it's this— It's more than— It's everything. An asteroid slamming into him. Shockwaves straight into his pelvis.

He doesn't realize he's shouting until Leo muffles him with his palm.

He's so overwhelmed by it all that his orgasm is practically an afterthought. It's like it's not even the ultimate endpoint. And that's terrifying in and of itself, really, because what the hell is supposed to come after the wave of pleasure breaks? BJ's still quivering in the wake of it but unable to move. To speak. Is there more pain? Did he do it right? God, he didn't do anything at all, merely stood here and took it. What if that wasn't the correct response?

He's already on the verge of hyperventilating—zero to sixty in half a second flat—when Leo turns him around, pushes him flat against the wall, and...kisses him.

They don't kiss. Leo kisses whoever his flavor of the month is when she's visiting campus. BJ kisses Peggy, of course, because he can't imagine a world in existence where he would ever want to stop kissing Peg, and especially in these treacherously extended stretches of time where they're long-distance while in college. Kisses are for their potential futures, not the temporary cure for loneliness.

And yet Leo's soft lips are brushing over BJ's all the same, tiny movements that ratchet his tension back down inch by inch until he can barely keep himself on his feet. And he never wants it to end.

"C'mere, c'mere," Leo whispers between smooches, trying to coax BJ toward the lumpy bed.

Even through the fog, BJ can feel his hardness digging into his thigh. He knows what that means. Knows what Leo needs too. But when his barely responsive fingers goof up the effort to undo Leo's belt, the amused click of Leo's tongue between his teeth makes BJ scowl. "Lemme do it."

"That's for later, stupid." A harder yank makes BJ give up his mission, instead trailing after Leo like a puppy. "I gotta check you out first."

"When later?" BJ demands through a slurring tongue.

"When I say so. Christ." Leo drags BJ onto the bed with him. "You're so precious when you're stubborn." He bullies the pillow so he can sit against the wall, then lets BJ collapse bonelessly on his chest.

As much as BJ wants to get his hands on Leo—see this through to the end—he has to admit that his whole body is shimmering anywhere that they're touching. He seems to have full license to nuzzle the soft, fine material of Leo's shirt and paw at it all he wants as long as he lets Leo forcibly tip his head to the side so he can examine BJ's throat, then pull back his neckline and thumb near the welts he left there.

Either seconds or hours later, Leo finally sighs. "All right, you'll live. Didn't break the skin anywhere."

BJ absently puzzles through whether that's a good thing or not. "You could've."

"Oh, I will, Beej. Trust me." Long fingers slide through BJ's hair and fill his head with cotton. "I know you can take it."

Maybe one day, BJ will figure out why those words are somehow sweeter than any adulation he's ever received. But right now they make him grin and bury his face in Leo's neck where nothing exists but Leo and the gentle scratches he's leaving on BJ's scalp.

[lakesbian]

Does Alex still have a near-death Behemoth experience in your au, or is he just lucky enough to avoid the whole Situation

oh, he abso-fucking-lutely has a near-death behemoth experience. alec killing himself for aisha is an incredible culmination of his character arc. it's like.

his dad fucked him up. his dad fucked him up so badly that he can't feel things in the same way as everyone else anymore, so badly that he has no emotional literacy for what he does feel because he had to repress every last drop of it to survive. everyone else gets to have a fire inside, and he's running on smoldering charcoal and fumes.

he's seven and he hates his dad. he's eight and he hates his dad. he's nine and ten and he really fucking hates his dad. he's eleven and twelve and he's high all the time so he doesn't have to think about how much he hates his dad and his life. and then he's thirteen, and he's running away, and he wants revenge. he wants to be able to look down at his dad from a throne and know that he's better than him, and he can't hurt him anymore, and he's free and safe and stronger now.

he's trying to heal, although he doesn't know enough about himself to realize it. he's trying to be a better person than his dad, one who cares about people, although he doesn't know enough about himself to realize that, either--he just knows that sometimes he does things for other people he doesn't feel like doing just because it feels like he should.

there is still very little that keeps him getting out of bed every day. he's alive because he semi-enjoys the smallest things, like good food and video games, and because he wants revenge.

he can't imagine why taylor wouldn't want revenge on sophia. he doesn't understand why he wants to hurt sophia for abusing taylor so badly, doesn't understand why he's thinking about his dad while he's doing it. he doesn't understand why it bothers him that sophia has a family that loves her and she doesn't even appreciate it.

but anyway. Then He Meets Aisha. and then he has just one really good thing going for him, and it's the best person he's ever met. she's funny. she's interesting. she's the only person that ever talks to him. as aisha put it, they had heart-to-hearts between two people who didn't have much heart left to go around. they shared each other, just by talking. she even lets him use his power on her--intimate in the closest way he knows how, intimate in a way that lets him feel something.

and then he's at the behemoth fight, and the best person he's ever met is about to die.

and he doesn't really see a point in being alive anymore, not if she's gone. the revenge wouldn't be worth never getting to see her smile again. the best person he's ever met deserves better than going out like that.

so he kills himself for her. it's not a guarantee that she'll live. he kills himself for the fractional chance that she'll make it.

he'll never know it, but she does survive. and, to be clear, that was an Absolutely Fucking Insane situation for her. she's thirteen, and alec was her first Thing. but more importantly, he was the first and only person who's ever really seen her. and he liked what he saw so much that he killed himself for her right in front of her.

so. she kills his dad for him.

she says that the best part of him would've killed his dad, and she's right. she knows that the part of him that would have killed his dad is the part of him that cared, that had a drive for something. she knows that his impassivity is a tragedy, and she puts that into his memorial statue--comedy/tragedy masks, but the tragedy mask is replaced with a bored mask. she's not the type of person to care about revenge, but he gave up his life for her, and so she returns the sentiment best she can by doing what he always wanted to do with his life for him. she kills the person who fucked him up, and then she leaves all of his wedding rings at alec's memorial. proof that she has gotten back at the cause of the tragedy for him. she tries to become everything they could've been together if he hadn't died for her.

the fundamental question of this AU, then, is this: what would have happened if alec hadn't died? how would he have turned out if they were allowed to finish growing up together? what would he be like if he was allowed to keep healing, if he had taken that culminating action for aisha and then kept living?

it does Absolutely Rock on a storytelling level that he dies, and that's because of what the action which leads to his death Means for him as a character. this AU isn't about sidestepping that, it's about "okay, so you do the biggest thing. and you're still here. what the fuck do you do with your life now?"

(answer: get kicked in the shins twenty times by a very upset aisha, go on a road trip to kill your dad, learn how to cry again for the first time in 7 years, do the only thing you ever wanted to do with your life and experience the new and wonderful terror of having to find something else to keep living for, accidentally reluctantly adopt your 13ish siblings, and, most importantly, pull some mad fucking pranks on taylor when she visits brockton bay for her 18th birthday)

[batz-surveys]

15.

Do you know anyone who has died in battle? No.

What is your hobby/collection? Haha, I have so many. I collect coloring books and love to color. I love to write, so I have kept a journal since I was about twelve or thirteen and I love to write short stories. I collect action figures if they're from X-Men (specifically Nightcrawler) or A Nightmare On Elm Street. I have a bazillion Squishmallows because I collect them. I love collecting food themed Hot Wheels/Matchbox cars. I love doing makeup and have quite a big collection of eyeshadow palettes. I love anything Kirby and I love playing video games. There's just so many things I'm into! And this is just the tip of the iceberg, but these are my most favorite collections and hobbies.

Have you ever accepted a helping hand from a stranger? I think the last time I asked for help was when I was shopping at Walmart and my husband went into the dressing room or the bathroom, and I asked for something off of the top shelf from some guy in the aisle that was tall. That was so long ago because I haven't been to Walmart in forever. Who is your favorite person in your immediate family? If I absolutely had to choose, I'd say my older brother.

What kind of pizza toppings do you like? I usually just like cheese, but if I want toppings, I go for pineapple and banana pepper. Don't knock it 'til you try it! It's perfectly, sour, salty, tangy, and sweet. Who was the last person to make you do physical labor? The kids at the school I work at. I'm always cleaning up behind them.

What is your favorite piece of furniture in your living room? Our couch. It's so big and comfortable and three of the seats recline, and there's cup holders!

When was the last time you traveled by plane? Haha, not since I was like nine years old, I think. Where is your favorite place on Earth, thus far? I don't think I've been there yet. But if I absolutely had to choose, I would have to say New York City. I love to visit (most of my family live there or near there) but I couldn't live there. Why is marijuana illegal in the U.S.? *sarcastically alarmed* Because what would pharmaceutical companies do?! No, but really. I have no clue. I mean, I have a few ideas and I've even read some shit, but I won't say it here. Who did you last share a bed/bedroom with? My husband. When did you first take a shot of alcohol? Like a shot of something hard? Because I had beer for the first time when I was like ten, haha. I snuck a sip of my dad's and it was so disgusting to me, I never did it again. But then, I turned sixteen and had a shot of vodka for the first time. Where did you sleep last night? My bed in my apartment. Why are you wearing whatever it is that you are? Because I love my Halloween pajamas. They're so comfortable. Who last took you out on a date? My husband. When was the last time you went on an adventure? Please, explain it. Last Friday, we randomly took a trip to Myrtle Beach and we just ate, and walked around a part we've never been to, and then ate some dessert at this really cool place. Then we headed back home. Where would you like to experience the best cuisine? Italy. I love Italian food. Why do your parents keep pictures of you around the house? They don't. All our family photos are tucked away in boxes. Who can you always count on? My husband. What is your favorite way to eat an egg? Scrambled. Why is it difficult for some people to whistle? I'm not sure. I learned how to whistle pretty quickly. Who is your Godmother (if you have one)? I don't think I have one. When did/will you graduate high school? 2007. Where were you during the 911 attacks? I was home, waiting for my mom to finish ironing my school uniform. I remember sitting in my room, waiting for my mom to bring in my uniform, and I heard her yell "oh my God, oh my God." She's from there, so is her side of my family, and I just remember her urgency to get the phone and call my Grandma to see if everyone was okay at the moment. Who was the last person you had sex with? My husband. What are your ticklish spots? I'm not ticklish. I hate being tickled. It doesn't make me laugh, and it just makes me feel awkward and sick. When you have an orgasm, is it real or not? It's real, but I won't lie and say I've never faked it in the past. Where is the craziest place you’ve had sex with a person? Oh jeez, I don't know if I wanna go there. But, just because I'm super honest on these, and it's not THAT crazy, I would say in a moving truck, on the side of the road, haha. Who do you wish was still in your life? What do you miss about that person? When will you see that person again? There are a lot of people that I wish were still in my life, both living and dead. They were great people. Where would you like to have sex with someone? In our bed. Describe your best sexual experience. Oh man. Probably one of the first nights my husband spent the night with me, back when we had just become boyfriend/girlfriend. We had so much sex, and it was just really raw, and hot, and at some parts it was just beautiful. And how attentive he was to me; it wasn't something I was used to. He made sure I finished, multiple times, before he even got there himself. I'll never forget that night. Describe your best drunken/high experience. Hmm. I can't seem to remember. Perhaps it was because I was drunk and/or high, haha.

[agentshades]

*****Alan Wake 2 Spoilers ahead******

***You Have Been Warned***

I cannot express to you all how many *e m o t i o n s* I have tied up in the We Sing/Herald of Darkness chapter of this game. If you are only getting in on the Remedy fandom with Alan Wake 2 (welcome, by the way) then you may not fully understand how incredible it is that Alan Wake 2 happened at all and may not have the full context for how much that song and sequence represents.

Back in 2010 when Alan Wake was first released, Remedy had originally planned to follow it up immediately with a sequel (hence why it ended on such a cliffhanger.) But this was the early 2010s. Multiplayer was king, and EA was doing stupid shit like saying "Single player games are dead" and Microsoft, Remedy's publisher at the time, had zero interest in doing a single player sequel, especially not with an IP they did not own, like Alan Wake.

So years passed with those of us who loved the first game essentially left to conclude it wouldn't ever get a sequel. We had a decade of teases, references, and nods that Remedy hadn't forgotten about us but it seemed like the stars were never going to align for poor Alan. It got even worse for a while when musical rights issues caused the original Alan Wake to be pulled from stores and become literal abandonware for a while. You could not legally buy the game. Not great for hopes of a sequel.

So for the sequel to finally, finally happen and incorporate everything Remedy has learned over the years between AW1 and AW2, take it all one step further, and then to include a fucking *20 minute choreographed interactive rock opera celebrating everything that is special about Alan Wake* just floored me. I've shed tears over how beautiful it is. It feels like Remedy literally singing from the rafters that no matter how bad it got they never forgot about us and that now that they can finally make the game they've wanted to make for over a decade they're going to celebrate it as much as we are.

That little *grin* on Alan's face at the very end after his cheeky sip of coffee from an Oh Deer Diner mug says it all. In the middle of everything, in a capitalist hellscape where artistic integrity and actually making stuff that makes people happy seems to constantly fall victim to parasites in corporate board rooms we got it *this.* We got the game we'd hoped for and not only did it live up to our expectations it blew them out the God Damn Window. I'm probably going to finish the game tonight, based on the climactic vibes I'm getting, and I literally felt myself getting emotional in the car on the way to work today because I will never get to experience this for the first time ever again and that moment is almost over.

And if you are looking to support Poets of the Fall as Old Gods of Asgard they dropped the single of Herald of Darkness today, so maybe give it a listen or twelve and let them know how much we appreciate their work!

[tjemegames]

HSR: 2.4.1 AS, 2.4.1 PF, & 2.4.2 MoC Recaps

Another patch has come and gone which means it is once again time for me, your resident yapper, to talk about my endgame experience.

As previously mentioned in my last EGC recap post, the format for these has changed; I’ll be walking you through my thoughts and feelings for the last cycle of all three modes in this post. The sections were drafted out on the days that I completed the challenges (unlike past recaps), so you’re getting a better insight this time around.

I’ve also started filming my clears for the highest level of each mode because it seemed like a fun thing to include: the videos are meant to be a visual representation of my struggles/triumphs within the hardest parts of endgame. These videos are not guides; they’re just the raw footage of my completion runs, and solely intended for the enjoyment of anyone who might be interested in that type of thing. The videos are hosted on my YouTube so I’ll embed all three of them here (the section headings will also lead to them just in case something glitches out) for quick access.

As always, apologies for the image distortion: long photos and Tumblr do not mix well.

Alright, with all that out of the way, the yapping begins under the cut!

2.4.1 Apocalyptic Shadow

Dominated Evils was a very fitting name for this cycle of AS. Overall, it wasn’t very difficult to complete; I got my twelve stars within a total of three challenge waves!

I probably could’ve finished with two waves, but I decided to try the follow-up buff; relying on Aventurine was not the way to go here, I should've changed to the basic atk + additional dmg to weakness broken enemies buff. I won’t lie to you, DHIL dying (I wasn’t paying attention to my shield duration) and Hanya being slower than Tingyun during my initial attempt were also large factors in needing to reset. Once my relics were adjusted accordingly, I was able to put in a decent attempt.

Aventurine was very helpful for resisting Kafka’s domination and avoiding being frozen by the elites. I'm glad that the eff res buff from his shields worked in my favor on this side; if DHIL had gotten cc’d it would've set me back even more than I already was with the bad plays I was making. I should've reset when I messed up my rotation at 1655 AV, but I was being stubborn, so it is what it is.

Here are the builds I used for IV-I:

The Doomsday Beast felt much easier to deal with. Not sure if it’s because the team was better or simply because I was able to dispel any cc that happened with Gallager. The ease could also have been attributed to the fact that I didn’t have to think about skill points (thanks to Boothill’s e1) and knew exactly how my rotation was going to go regardless of how things played out. At the end of the day, this side carried the overall run and, ultimately, got me 27 points over the score that I needed to get. I could always try again to see if a better score is attainable, but I’ve already gotten the rewards so there’s no incentive left to make that worthwhile.

These are the builds I used for IV-II:

800 jades down, and two more endgame modes left for this cycle. Hopefully we’re in for another queen sweep!

Oh hey, look who’s back. Aha. So, there may not have been any incentive to try for a better score, but that didn't stop me from being motivated into doing so by the DHIL clear one of my discord friends did. Since I'm not usually one for “casual gaming” (which is not causal in the slightest), I only gave myself 12 reset attempts to achieve as high of a score as possible on IV-I:

First three resets: +203 points, bringing me up to 3198

Next three: +97 more points, taking me up to a grand total of 3295 (yippee!)

Last six: absolutely abysmal, I got endlessly cc’d and DHIL/Tingyun got obliterated every other run

Sadly, I couldn’t get to 7K points like I had been hoping, but I’m still pumped to have gotten as close as I did. And, on top of that, taking a second crack at IV-I allowed me to get new (shorter, far less embarrassing) footage of my DHIL clear. Doing so meant that I had to re-edit and re-upload the video for it; that was probably for the better though, nobody needed to watch me poorly battle Kafka for twelve minutes...

Anyway, that’s officially a wrap on AS for this patch!

Um, hey again. When I was reviewing the challenge data for the last set of attempts, I realized that I never changed my chosen buff for the first side (please hold for the internalized screaming at my unintentional self-sabotage.) Naturally, I gave AS one more shot with the correct buff equipped:

First reset: +46 points, bringing me up to 6973

Final reset: +153 points, making a grand total of 7126 (yippee! but with more excitement)

Over 7K points achieved! I'm free, for real this time. Can't believe I let the casual gaming demons get to me for Apocalyptic Shadow of all things. I think it's safe to say that I've sufficiently played though this mode for this patch. I'm interested to see what they do with the next one. My money is currently on having to fight Yanqing. We'll see if I was right about that in the next one of these.

What’s poppin’? It’s been two weeks, and I found myself back in AS because I rolled a great new piece for my resident dragon boy, Mr. Daniel Heng, the cuntiest dragon on the silver rails. I can’t add the build showcase here—I’ll hit my image limit early if I do—but trust me when I say it was a solid upgrade: the head rolled well enough to bump me up by 51 places on the SeeleLand leaderboards. I’m currently ranking in the top 1% of DHIL players (in my area) using the same build—number 26 to be exact! The new ranking motivated another set of runs out of me and I was able to increase my overall AS score by 102 points:

IV-I: Kafka vs e2 DHIL, e2 Hanya, e6 Tingyun, e0s1 Aventurine (3515 points)

IV-II: Doomsday Beast vs e2s1 Boothill, e1s1 Ruan Mei, e1 Bronya, e6 Gallagher (3713 points)

Totaling out for a final grand score of 7228 points with 25 cumulative challenge attempts! Great stuff, a genuinely fun time: Apocalyptic Shadow is quickly working its way towards being my favorite of the endgame modes. Since I’m quite satisfied with how everything played out, that’s a wrap on this section!

I also recorded a Honkai: Support Rail bonus run of IV-I with E4 Dan Heng (4-star) if you’re interested in seeing that!

2.4.1 Pure Fiction

Words of Deceit was [redacted colorful complaining]. I didn't think it was possible for my hatred towards PF to increase, but here we are. I’ll admit that it was partially my fault for being both sleepy and hangry. I’d argue that it was mostly the whimsicality's fault for being rather ineffective overall, felt like sabotage to me. It's fine though, I managed to obtain all twelve stars within ten attempts (yippee!)

Clearing this time around would've been a lot worse without team suggestions from discord—big shoutout and thanks to the folks there for their encouragement and assistance!

So, this PF was the fastest I've ever cleared. It was also the most frustrated I've been whilst playing this mode. Usually, the struggle only applies to stage IV; this time around, stage III was the reason for my infuriation. I sincerely don't know what came over me, but I was malding enough to have to force myself to go back to sleep. I tried four different teams and couldn't hit 60K points: the closest I came was just over 59K and that was with all of my focus and Frankensteining together better builds for every character that I tried to use. It was tragic to say the least. Ultimately, sleep, food, fresh eyes, and the 8th attempt were the saving graces that allowed me to move on to the true challenge, stage IV.

Stage IV took significantly less tries; I only ended up taking two attempts to get the three-star clear! Aside from having to change my buffs and making sure that my speed tuning was right for IV-II, I didn't have to put in all that much effort. Still a bit baffled by that if I'm being honest: I thought I was in for a very tumultuous experience considering how the previous stage had gone. Thankfully, that was not the case, and I can move on from this for the time being.

These are the builds I used for IV-I:

Some of Herta’s stat information is incorrect because she was actually lvl 60 at the time of this run; Fribbels only generates maxed out showcases and I wanted the pictures to match. :)

These are the builds I used for IV-II:

Not the best, not the worst. I got it done and that's really all that matters. Another 800 jades added to the Sparkle funds!

Well, well, well, look how the turn tables. Hello again, it's been a few weeks since wrapping up my clear. I pulled Sparkle, motivating me to go back into PF for some casual gaming (I know, two endgame modes in a row—I've stumbled down a dark path this patch.) This third round of attempts went much worse than I was hoping for. I did manage to get a better clear, so I decided to have that be my representational video instead. It took so many tries that I'm afraid to go look at the updated info on Hoyolab. I think it's better for my overall happiness and sanity if I let that remain a mystery—high score chasing at its finest (I have so many regrets. Why did I do this to myself?)

In the end, I was able to increase my score by 4129 points:

IV-I: Kafka vs e1s1 Ruan Mei, e0 Seele, e0s1 Aventurine, e6 Herta (40000 points)

IV-II: Cocolia vs e1 Bronya, e6 Asta, e6 Gallagher, e6 Serval (27805 points)

I went through a good amount of team lineups, relic swapping, buff changing, and character upgrading to make this happen. Desperate times called for desperate measures, I was so hung up on getting a better clear that I leveled Herta to 80 and 6/10/10/11'd her traces. I had not planned on doing that for at least a couple more patches since her relics are still a bit trash, but it was the most effective option that I had at the time. Doing so made getting to 40K points on IV-I possible, which was most of the point increase, so I'd say it was worth it.

Now, IV-II was painful. I can't explain my thought process here because there wasn't really one to begin with. Serval gaming is fine for what it is. I genuinely do not think that it was possible for me to hit 30K on this side at all. Don't doubt that I tried every sensible double dps comp that I could, because I did, and failed miserably. Swapping Aventurine and Gallagher didn't work; using Sparkle didn't work; hell, even stealing the entirety of Seele's team didn't work! I don't know what else I could've done… and I'm over it, so we're moving on.

At the end of this excursion, I don't have anything good to say about PF. It does not spark joy for me. Hopefully that changes some day; Himeko will save me once she decides to grace me with her presence, she is the vital unit that I am missing to achieve greatness. Until then, I'll just have to ride with it. I'll keep working on my characters and, eventually, clearing will go better for me.

That's a wrap on this section. I'm 1000% burnt out on PF after this whole ordeal. I don't want to think about it anymore.

2.4.2 Memory of Chaos

The Big Sleep was a snoozefest: I got all twelve stars without any resets this time around! And I four-cycled floor XII for the first time! You absolutely love to see it. I can't believe that just nine months ago I couldn't even get through floor VIII without wanting to cry from frustration. Oh, how the times have changed.

Since this challenge flew by with ease, I don’t have much to say about it. I was a big fan of the buff this time around; I love it when the buff is universal and aligns with pretty much anyone I want to play with. I foresee a lot of casual gaming in my future.

With the help of my newest addition, Sparkle, I was able to clear the first half with renewed efficiency. Daniel and Hanya have been separated after nine months of partnership, it feels so good to no longer have to hyperactively think about my skill point usage. I knew that Sparkle was going to be a large upgrade for my DHIL team, but I didn’t think she would shave off four cycles worth of turns (and I haven’t even finished her build yet! Like huh??? She’s great, I’m a big fan.)

Here are the builds I used for XII-I:

The second side faired just about as well as the first. Boothill shredded Aventurine down before he even got the chance to take me into a showdown. As much as I love Aven, I hate his boss form, so it felt incredibly satisfying to enact my revenge on him after struggling so much against him the first time he was introduced into endgame. No more are the days of having to make Jingliu brute force her way through the dice rolls (thank the Aeons!)

These are the builds I used for XII-II:

Another one for the books! Got the final 800 jades for this patch, this time to be added to the Feixiao funds (yes, I’m pulling for her now. You may call me a hypocrite this once. I will be betraying Danny boy by going for a new and improved wind hunt unit. This is a stain on my pride as a four-star Dan stan; unfortunately for him, Feixiao’s hot, clever, strong, one hell of a badass General with dope animations and a back tattoo that fucking glows, brother. What kind of gay would I be if I didn’t at least throw a solid 50 or so pulls in her direction? Have you seen the lesbian kryptonite of a banner lineup that’s coming in 2.5?? It’ll be a miracle if I go into 2.6 with any savings at all!)

Surprise, surprise, the prodigal gamer returns. Did you really think I was going to one and done this mode after casual gaming all patch long? Not much to report aside from going back in with my original teams to try for a cleaner run. My efforts were well worth it, I managed to shave off a cycle from my original clear, netting me with my first ever three-cycle in MoC 12 (yippee!)

Whoop whoop! We're officially wrapped on all the endgame modes for 2.4! What a yapfest this was, I cannot believe I prattled on for this long. If you made it all the way here, thanks for sticking with me until the end. I'll catch y'all in about six weeks for the next recap.

[naminethewriter]

Monstrously Simple Days at College

Chapter Three: Don't Disturb the Witch

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Story Summary: Humans and Monsters live together in harmony and that means they all get to go to college together. Roman, Remus, Janus, Virgil, Logan and Patton are big group of friends that may be a bit chaotic with all the different monster cultures they hail from. College itself is hard too, but with them all supporting each other, it can’t be that bad, can it?

Content Warnings: Janus is irritating Logan on purpose but it is part of their friendship and Logan isn't too annoyed by it

~~*~~

It took Logan only two weeks to get over their annoyance of a summer spent doing nothing but rituals and potion brewing and get back to doing those things in his free time to satisfy his curiosity. Thankfully the college provides small laboratories for the witch students to use that are shared between a group of four to five. Logan has managed to book the room for twelve hours to use it undisturbed and they are determined to make good use of it, especially since Remus is busy with its own project.

The potion recipe he had selected for today would take up almost all of the allotted twelve hours with a little time designated for clean-up after, so they are working on a strict schedule. Which is why as soon as they enter the room, they get to work. He sets up the book holder by the cauldron and uses a fire spell to ignite the wood placed underneath the huge metal container to get it heated up and ready to boil the water he adds next. Afterwards, he bustles from cabinet to cabinet to gather the ingredients he’ll need and neatly arranges them for later use.

They get absorbed into their work immediately. Potion brewing is a very routine process that Logan enjoys immensely – at least if it’s for their own ambitions and not just because the coven decided they had to help out.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, Logan had enjoyed the experiences he’d made over the summer, a lot of it had been fascinating and he’d learned a lot but there was also a lot of mundane, easy and repetitive task sprinkled in between that he could have done without.

But that was in the past, now he has a potion he is actually excited to work on to brew.

Several hours into the process, Logan is busy carefully counting how many times he’s stirring the tincture when the door to the laboratory opens.

“I have this room booked until 3am, so whatever it is you need, do it quietly and get out, please,” Logan says without looking up and while he continues to count. The door closes again, and they assume the other party left. They are proven wrong as a hand comes into view that glides along the edge of the cauldron, sharp claws scratching against the metal. Thankfully for them, it was not currently boiling and as such not hot to the touch.

“Hey Logan,” a familiar voice purrs before Janus is suddenly hopping to sit up on the cauldron’s edge to Logan’s right, his sharp grin only a short distance from Logan’s face. His wings keep him stabilized on the edge, one of them lightly tapping Logan’s left shoulder.

“Janus, I do not have time for your games right now,” Logan sighs, risking a short glance up to his friend, who just continues smirking at him. “I thought I made myself clear that I was busy with this potion for the rest of the day.”

“Oh, relax a bit Logan, you’re working too hard!” Janus laughs, lightly bumping his shoulder against Logan’s. “Taking a break won’t kill you.”

“If it eases your worries to know, I have taken several breaks as there are times in the process of brewing this potion where it has to rest and is not to be interfered with. I have eaten adequately and hydrated myself. But right now, I need to concentrate.”

“Concentrate on what? You’re just stirring in a circle.”

“Yes, and I need to do so precisely 500 times. So I am counting.”

“What are you at then? 54? 167? 349?”

“I know you are attempting to throw off my count, Janus, and I do not appreciate it. Please leave and find someone else to entertain you.”

“Aw, but Logan!” Janus pouts very dramatically and not at all sincerely. “I barely have had the opportunity to spend some time with you since the semester started! Remus has been keeping you all to themselves and I’m missing my friend!”

Logan is not about to fall for their dramatics.

“If you are so keen on spending time with me, you should have brought it up to me in my free time. I am working right now and would appreciate if you no longer disturb me.”

“So cold! I am saddened beyond belief! How can you be so indifferent to my attempts to simply spend time with you.”

“If you insist on spending time with me right this minute, then I would suggest a type of parallel play where the two of us engage in different activities while in the same space. If you would like to read a book, I will not mind you remaining in the room. As long as you let me continue with my work.”

“You’re no fun, Logan,” Janus groans, leaning harder into Logan’s side this time which almost interrupts his steady stirring.

“I am not in the mood for your jokes, Janus,” Logan presses out through grit teeth as he tenses his arms to keep the stirs even. “I am busy. Respect my boundaries or I will make you do so.”

“Uhhh, that sounds like a challenge, Logan.”

“It is not, Janus. It is an ultimatum. Leave now.”

“What could you possibly do to make me leave when you’re so busy with your counting?” Janus hops down from his perch and stalks around Logan, his wings fluttering in excitement. “You’re stuck in place, aren’t you? Unable to take your eyes off of your work for more than a fraction of a second. And don’t most of your spells need at least one free hand?”

“They do indeed. Thankfully for me, that makes 500.”

Before Janus can react, Logan pulls his staff out of the potion as that’s what he was stirring with, and with his left hand he pulls something out of his pocket.

“Now, wait—” Janus starts objecting but is cut off as Logan blows a handful of dark blue dust in his face. He starts spluttering and tries to wipe the stuff off of his face but quickly, he feels his consciousness fading.

“Wha—” he mumbles. “Wha’ di’ you dooo?”

“It’s a simple sleeping spell,” Logan explains matter-of-factly. “Judging by the rings under your eyes, it seems to me like you need the rest.” Janus glares at them but before he can retort, his knees give in and Logan quickly casts a levitation spell to catch him. They carefully float him over to the large window where the last beams of the setting sun spill into the room. The wide windowsill is covered with pillows and blankets as many a witch tends to spend a night in the laboratory while working on a more complex spell or potion.

Janus is slightly snoring in his sleep by the time Logan lowers him down on the comfy cushions and pulls a blanket over him.

“You really should find a healthier way to cope with your insomnia,” Logan whispers as they watch their friend sleep. “I will talk with the others about this tomorrow.”

Then they go back to their potion. They still have another five hours of work ahead of them after all.

[dragonjesterwrites]

Okay I've had this unique idea for Sundrop(and by extension Moondrop). What if a young adult reader entered the daycare. Not because they needed to stay there but because they want to see Sundrop who's been taking care of them since they were little. The two of them always had a huge bond. The reader's parents never really spent time with the reader and kind of neglected them always ignoring thwm or pushing them onto someone else so the reader would often find themselves spending long ours at the pizza plex after school and the reader felt like Sundrop and Moondrop were better parents then their biological ones but all of a sudden they stopped going around age 10 because they moved. Sundrop and Moondrop had a tearful goodbye with the reader. Now they're an adult and living independently they took a trip to relive the experience they had at the pizza plex and to see Sundrop and Moondrop again, going to the daycare. Sun at first doesn't recognize them but after he does it's a tearful(figurative in Sun's and Moon's case) reuinion.

Here you are, dude! So sorry this took forever, I went through like, five drafts before finally picking one 😅😂 but here it is!!

Sun and Moon as Parents (but to Reader this time)

~~~~~

"Sign there, there, and there."

The height of the stack of safety waivers you had to sign for a simple weekly pass to the Mega Pizzaplex was highly concerning, to say the least, but you elected to ignore the bad feeling in your gut. You'd basically spent your whole childhood in the Daycare, you doubted you were going to manage to, as the papers put, 'suffer loss of limb, life, or brain matter' in a single week.

Besides, you were excited. And nervous. But you pushed that second feeling down and away, too, scribbling a final signature down before handing the papers back to the robot working the passes desk.

"Thank you, paying customer. Pass is being deposited." The robot stuck out its hand, and a colorful, plastic card was printed out of its palm. "Please take your pass, and have a Faztastic day."

"Thanks, mate." You said, taking the pass and offering the robot a smile and a wave.

The robot said nothing, but indicated for you to wait with one finger, knelt down, grabbed something, and then offered out its closed hand to you. Curiously, you held your own hand out underneath, and it deposited two circular pins into your palm- Sun and Moon.

"Oh- oh, shit, thank you." You said, staring wide-eyed at the pins before back up at the robot. "How did-?"

"Next customer, please." The robot interrupted, no longer looking at you, and you blinked at it, taken aback, before shrugging and moving out of the way.

Well, that was… odd, but you weren't complaining. Once you had pushed through the turnstiles, you made your way to an unoccupied section of bench, slinging your backpack off as you sat down.

You affixed the pins to the cloth of the pack, right next to the pins of their generic counterparts. Once done, you smiled down at them fondly, before turning to look up towards the right-side escalators.

Even after all these years, you still knew all the routes in and out of the Superstar Daycare. It was so close- up the escalators, to the right, down the hall, through the shutters, and down the slide- but you couldn't go yet. It was twelve thirty-two, which meant it was snack time, about to be nap time.

Moon had always been grumpy with adults who interrupted nap time, shushing them and sending them away before returning to you all. You didn't want to bother him or Sun while they were working, and besides, you didn't have any children with you- be a bit odd to show up to a daycare as a lone adult.

Nah, you'd wait until just before closing at six. It wasn't like there was any shortage of things to do, either- you'd been saving up for this for awhile, and treated yourself to a VIP pass; unlimited access to all attractions and arcade games, and you intended to take full advantage of the offerings.

For the next few hours, you did just that, immersing and distracting yourself with lights and sounds, arcade beeps and blended crowd chatter and rock music.

At present, you were wandering around the arcade with a mess of tickets under one arm, looking for any particular game to jump out and catch your eye, when an announcement startled you out of your idle search.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the time is now five fifty, the Superstar Daycare will be closing in ten minutes. I repeat, the Superstar Daycare will be closing in ten minutes. Please come and pick up your children, if you have not already. Fazbear Entertainment can not be held liable for lost or…"

"Oh, shit, I'm gonna be late." You muttered, beginning to jog for the exit. A group of young kids emerged from between a row of arcade machines, chattering amongst themselves, and you strode towards them. "Hey guys, I gotta run and can't turn these in. Want 'em?"

The kids stopped, surprised, looked at the tickets, then amongst themselves, then back at you, faces breaking out in grins. "Hell yeah. Thanks." One of the girls said, sticking out her arms. You handed them over, then booked it for the exit, hearing them begin to squabble over the bounty behind you.

You made it to the Daycare hallway just a minute before it closed, passing a line of parents and older siblings carrying or pulling along young toddlers and babies. One toddler was fussing, reaching out with little hands to the brightly painted shutter over their parent's shoulder. The parent was ignoring their child's upset babbling, mouth drawn and eyes dull, and annoyance flashed to life as you passed them. Would it kill you to comfort your kid?

You knew you were projecting, the situation all too similar to your own- maybe the parent was exhausted, maybe this was a habit of the child, but still, you couldn't help feeling more sympathetic for the child.

You shook it off and continued down the hall to the shutters, thankfully still open. Voices floated through, and you hurried to get closer, until one voice, louder and distinct from the rest, made you stop in your tracks.

"...oh, she's always an absolute delight to have, Ms. Tilley. So creative!"

"...Sun?" You whispered as you padded closer to the open shutters, spotting him. His head turned from the woman and child in front of him, to you, making you freeze, and he tilted his head, but then the woman asked him something and his attention snapped right back to them.

"Absolutely!" He crouched down to the child's level, holding out his arms, and the little girl embraced him, squeezing him tight. "Aww. Mr. Moony and I will miss you too, Sam! But we'll see you soon, alright? Mr. Moony says sleep well!"

He chuckled and stood, taking the girl up with him, and handed her off to her mother, waving them goodbye. The pair returned the gesture and headed your way, and that's when Sun stepped forward and looked directly at you.

"Well, hi there, friend! Can I help you?" He called. "Do you have a little superstar enrolled with us, or do you perhaps need directions?"

He didn't recognize you. Made sense, it had been over a decade, and you were an adult now. But it still hurt a little- he and Moon had practically raised you, after all.

But would that mean anything to them? They'd probably half-raised plenty of neglected kids; daycares were notorious for that sort of thing, and Sun and Moon cared for hundreds, probably thousands of kids a month. This was- this was stupid. He probably didn't even remember that far back. Maybe you should just leave.

Anxiety and crushed hope left a bitter taste in your mouth when you spoke. "S-Sorry, I was just… looking for the bathroom."

"Oh, I see! Right back down the hall on your left, friend." Sun said, sounding slightly distant. Probably tired of dealing with dumb adults like me all day.

"Thanks." You said, offering a lame wave and turning to leave. You'd made it maybe ten steps before your name- your full name was called, hesitantly, quietly, but curiously.

You stopped, looked over your shoulder, a little bit of hope rising in your chest. "Yeah?"

"Is that… really you?" Sun asked, taking a step forward, then another.

You smiled, turned fully around. "It's really me."

Sun gasped, then began to hop up and down, giggling and clapping his hands. "Firefly! I haven't seen you in- in years! C'mere c'mere c'mere-"

You laughed and ran over to him, backpack thumping on your back. He extended his arms out, and you eagerly took the hug, sending you both staggering a bit and making you giggle. His arms embraced you, and he squeezed you tight, before he took your shoulders and pulled away, looking you up and down.

"Oh, Firefly, it's really you! Look at you!" Sun exclaimed, before he abruptly straightened, one large thumb brushing wet across your cheek. "Oh, oh, little comet, why are you crying?"

"Happy tears." You assured him with a wobbly smile, letting out a choked laugh before hugging him again. "I missed you two."

"...We missed you, too." Sun whispered, returning the hug.

"For a second there, I thought you'd forgotten me." You said, covering the pang of hurt with a joking tone, but suddenly he was pulling back, holding your face in his and gazing up at you from where he knelt.

"We never forgot about you, little comet. I promise." He said, sincere as anything. "Why, we watched you grow up! I just didn't recognize you at first, because, my goodness, you're an adult now! Look at you!"

"I am." You chuckled, rubbing away the tears with the back of your sleeve. "Got my own apartment, have a college degree, pay taxes, and everything."

"You do?" He shrieked excitedly, leaping up and catching you by surprise. "I'm so, so proud of you! Oh, you've got to tell us all about it, come on-"

And that's how you found yourself sitting in a colorful chair now far too small for you, in the Daycare that hadn't changed since you'd left for the last time, recounting the past decade of your life to Sun over a plastic tea set. His tea parties had been your favorite when you were little, and you found your heart swelling with appreciation whenever he poured more imaginary tea from the red teapot into your yellow daisy-patterned cup. Such a little gesture, but you'd thought maybe he wouldn't, given that you were no longer little, yet he showed absolutely no hesitation in doing so, and it made you happy beyond words.

But there was one difference that had stuck out to you since you'd first walked into the Daycare lobby- Sun, himself. His clothes were worn, with grey stains, stubbornly lingering after what must have been dozens of repeated washes. His casings and rays, vibrant yellows and oranges in your memory, were now pale, revealing scratches and smudges and even hairline cracks. It looked like he hadn't been washed in weeks, or repainted in years.

A horrible thought occurred to you. You'd done some research on the Pizzaplex before making the long trip over, and noticed the negative reviews piling up for the Daycare. Going back, Sun and Moon had always had a handful of bad reviews; typically relating either to their perceived gender or appearance (as if either one was somehow their fault), but as of late, parents had been focused on the two's worn-down casings and even behavior. If the cash flow stopped… somehow, you doubted FazCo would be putting Sun and Moon into a nice retirement home.

Your heart squeezed, and you reached out to take his hand, your previous sentence trailing off. You looked down at his fingers, seeing the scratches went all the way down to the endoskeleton knuckles. There were nicks in the wires, and some were wrapped up in electrical tape. "Sun… what are you and Moon going to do, you know, in the… the future?"

"What do you mean, Superstar?" Sun asked innocently, taking a pretend sip from his blue cornflower cup. The plastic cup rattled slightly against his silicone teeth, and you frowned as he cleared his non-existent throat and set it down.

"You know what I mean."

"I certainly don't." Sun insisted with a chuckle, though he shifted his hand in yours, and began to write something with his thumb into your palm, distracting you from his next words. "But anyway! Where were we? Ah, right…"

s… c… p… e…

He stopped, thumb circling idly thrice, before restarting.

E… s… c… a… p… e.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, and his words stuttered as he urgently tapped your palm, before writing something out much more quickly.

C-a-m-e-r-a-s.

You nodded, forcing a neutral expression and not allowing yourself to glance around for them. W… h… e… n… ?

While he chattered on about the day's activities, he wrote into your palm, giving the basics of the plan he and Moon had concocted- sneak out through the roof escape hatch they'd broken the lock on, then secure shelter and get the other animatronics out.

They hadn't found good shelter yet, though. They needed a lot of electricity, you knew that much.

You hesitated, listening to him talk a minute or two more, concentrating on nodding and smiling enough to look natural on the cameras, then switched focus and quickly wrote into his palm.

W-a-n-t-s-t-a-y-w-i-t-h-m-e-?

Sun's head snapped towards you, blinking owlishly before his rays began to pop in and out excitedly.

A…r…e…y…o…u…s…u…r…e…?

"Absolutely." You whispered, squeezing his hand before beginning to write out your address.

~~~~~

"Hey, I'm going out!"

You waited patiently by the door for a reply, gaze landing on the framed photos that filled the wall beside it. You smiled, before turning to look in the general direction of the kitchen when you heard Sun reply.

"Okie-dokie! Where ya headed to, Firefly?"

"Uh, just to the local coffee shop, meeting a friend." You replied, your face warming despite yourself.

Moon's head popped out from the kitchen- you'd brought them enough parts to build them a separate body years ago- and he looked you up and down, eyes glinting in a way you'd come to understand meant amusement.

"A 'friend', hm?" He asked, and the heat in your face doubled.

"N-" You began pointedly, but you were interrupted by Sun's excited shriek.

"You're going on a date!?" He exclaimed, bounding out of the kitchen to scoop you up. "Oh, you've got to tell us all about them! What's their name, what are they like? Where'd you two meet? At work, or-?"

"Sunny, they're going to be late." Moon said, and you shot him a grateful look as Sun set you down with a gasp, immediately taking to smoothing your outfit out.

"Oh, oh, yes, you're right. Sorry, Superstar! I just got so, so excited! But I'll save my questions for later, you go on now!"

"And be safe." Moon added, before disappearing back into the kitchen. "Text us if you need. And no fooling around."

"Dad." You said, amused and exasperated. "It's a first date! At a coffee shop!"

"Aw, he's just worried about you, Firefly!" Sun assured, giving you one last pat across your shoulders. "And so am I! Drive safely, okay? And text us when you get there, and when you're leaving?"

"I know, I know- and I will, I promise." You said, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. He hugged you even tighter, gently bopping his faceplate against the top of your head with a loud mwah.

"Thank you, Superstar." He said, before abruptly letting go and spinning you, pushing you towards the door and making you laugh in surprise. "Now go, go, go! You want to make a good impression so you cangetmarriedandgiveusgrandkids!"

"Sorry, what was that last part?" You asked, mortified, but Sun just made an unsure noise as you stumbled out onto the porch.

"Hm? Oh, I'm sure I didn't say anything. Love you, be safe, have fun~!"

You hadn't even made it to the car yet, and you were already dying of embarrassment- but you had to admit, you thought as you cast one last smile at the front door before opening the car, it was nice to be looked out for.

[altruistic-meme]

intrigued by time travel au and laurent stabs damen (ofc he does) 👀👀👀

>:) oh you chose two of the best ones

Time Travel AU

this is pretty heavily inspired by a wip im reading now, though only as far as the setup for the plot. which is, essentially, that a modern day Laurent somehow finds himself transported to ancient Akielos, where he comes across Prince Damianos 👀

i have so many plans for this as far as like... what is the story saying, what themes and meanings the story is telling. and there are two main things: 1. no matter how much you want to, you can never change history and 2. history is written by the victors.

it's also going to be my first attempt at really writing a tragedy! it's going to have an unhappy ending! i should not be sounding so excited about that. but i kinda am. i almost never read unhappy endings. i think it will be a fun experience.

i also get to write part of the history of Akielos for it, twice, and it's such an exciting prospect to me

laurent stabs damen

>:)

>:)))))

so this is the fic that i went "oh this will be easy to turn into a silly little oneshot" and am now at 4k words and am currently expecting the story to hit around 40k-50k :')

all because i went "what would happen if Laurent showed up on the battlefield at Marlas, found Damen and Auguste's fight, and stabbed Damen to protect Auguste?" i have now looked into armistices, ceasefires, peace treaties, and friendship treaties, what they are, how long they take, as well as a few examples from history. just so i could have a timeline for a fic that i meant to make like 7k max.

BUT as i have some written, you get an excerpt of my favorite moment so far!!

“I’m trying to save his life.” Again, it was not what Laurent had expected to hear. Clearly it wasn’t what Auguste had expected either, because his jaw slackened before he covered it again with a glare. The Akielon continued, “He’s, what?  Twelve?” “Thirteen,” Auguste replied, his eyes flickering over to Laurent.  “Thirteen,” the Akielon repeated. “And how many battles has he been in?” “None.” A hesitation. “One, now, I guess.” “He doesn’t know the rules of engagement, then.” Auguste shook his head. That wasn’t strictly true, Laurent did know them. Mostly. But he had never actually been in a duel before. And he knew that Akielos had different rules than they had in Vere. They were all about fairness and honor.  “I don’t think he would have attacked me, had he known,” the Akielon said, and he sounded so sure. “I would have,” Laurent said from his position behind a sword. The soldier tightened his grip but didn’t press any harder into Laurent’s neck to make him be quiet, as he might have had Laurent been a soldier himself. The prince turned to look at him, his expression curious. Laurent continued, “You would have killed him.” A hum. “I would have,” he agreed. Laurent glared at him, but the prince had turned his attention back to Auguste. “Lack of awareness doesn’t matter in Akielos, though. He still broke the rules of engagement, whether or not he knew what he was doing or the consequences.” “So why is he still alive?” Auguste asked, the words sounding like they were being ripped out of him, rough and frustrated.

[ WIP FILE GAME ]

[soundofseclusion]

Pokemon Series Retrospective, Volume 1: Yellow

After the break: a Gen 1 kid talks about coming back to Gen 1 twenty years later.

Background

My first Pokemon game--quite possibly my first game ever--was Pokemon Blue.  As a kid, like most kids born in the 90′s, I was obsessed with Pokemon.  I collected the cards, I owned about a billion VHS tapes of the anime, I saw the movie in theaters.  But I didn’t own a Gameboy until the GBA came out, when it was given as a present and became my first video game console.  With it came a copy of Pokemon Blue, and that copy is sadly lost to time, but having owned that cartridge was what cemented my love for Pokemon.  Arguably, Gen 2 was what captivated me more, but this isn’t about Gen 2.

My memory of it as a kid is somewhat limited, but I know that it was able to immerse me, and I know I managed to plow through it guideless.  My final memory with Pokemon Blue is wandering into Cerulean Cave in the post game and getting my team wiped by a Venomoth.

After Blue, I owned several copies of Red, Yellow, Gold, Crystal... whatever I could buy for ten bucks at the secondhand shop near my apartments.  I was enamored with seeing other peoples’ save files, but also with playing through the games over and over again with new teams.

My memories of the game are rose-tinted.  It was one of my first video games, after all.  But I’ve known in the years since I first played Gen 1 that it is dated.  I’m aware of the weird and broken mechanics.  I’m aware the game is balanced horribly.  I’m aware it’s busted in multiple ways.  But despite that all, I can’t help it.  I'm firmly in the territory of “Gen 1 Enjoyer.”  At the least, I was, but does that still hold true after playing Yellow in 2022?

Present Day

Yeah.  I still think Gen 1 is a good experience.  With several caveats.

I’ve already established that this Gen is broken.  Psychic type is obscenely powerful due to several oversights.  A small number of Pokemon are just objectively superior to every other Pokemon.  The inventory system is terrible, as is the Pokemon box system, as is the PC item storage system.  You can’t see what moves do in-game.  Everything is slow and clunky and takes like twelve too many button presses.  I have more gripes but I think it suffices to say that I can see the problems with the game.

In spite of that, yes, I think the game is fun.  And, to get this out of the way first, at least in part because it’s janky.  Sure, it sucks that inventory-management and HM use is a slog, and that certain Pokemon get left in the dust, especially when one of those Pokemon is supposed to be your special little buddy throughout Yellow (I found myself, on multiple occasions, staring at Pikachu’s stats and saying “oh my God, I wish I didn’t have to stick with this guy,” which, I know, you don’t have to, but how in the hell are you going to play a game called “Special Pikachu Edition” with a Pikachu that follows you and can interact with you and knows how to surf in a mini-game and decide not to use it?). 

...But it’s also kind of funny.  It’s funny that psychic type Pokemon basically have no weaknesses due to glitches and oversights.  It’s funny that Pokemon like Snorlax can destroy and tank everything with ease.  It’s even funny that you can get your entire team wiped by any Pokemon that can inflict status effects or use multi-turn moves (or, in some cases, both at once).  It’s the kind of stuff that makes you roll your eyes with a smirk and waggle your finger at the screen.

But that’s not the main reason I’m still a Gen 1 Enjoyer.  I like Kanto.  I like the Gen 1 story.  It doesn’t have a grand, sprawling, high-stakes story the likes of which we see in future generations.  But the world is fully realized.  I believe in Kanto as a region, with areas that connect to each other seamlessly and unlock with a pretty open-ended progression.  I believe in the world of Pokemon, that these people bond with Pokemon, that there are clear consequences to allowing the antagonists to exist unimpeded, that there is a deep corruption running through the society which demands attention.  This is the first time we see the recurring issue of: “why this kid?”  But that’s just the nature of Pokemon games, and the stakes are certainly lower here than they tend to be later on.  It at least makes some sense that you’d get roped into this, with the incompetency of the police force and the way your progress is actively halted by Team Rocket’s bullshit.

To unpack two things from that last paragraph: first, progression.  It’s pretty open-ended, with most roadblocks being something you need to directly react to, instead of which disappear after, say, a gym is completed.  Most progression is locked behind things like Snorlaxes, needing an HM, guards blocking the path, Team Rocket needing to be knocked down a peg, etc.  Second, consequences.  It can’t be ignored that this game talks about death a lot.  Not just in creepy Pokedex entries or random lore; you’re confronted with the fact that Pokemon die and that people mourn them.  The presence of death goes a long way coupled with the fact that this game world feels actively hostile towards you.  You’re frequently locked into encounters you can’t escape from, trainers are often really aggressive towards you, it’s very easy to end up in battles which you are severely underleveled for, and you’re constantly surrounded by wild creatures which are absurdly powerful (albeit this is true for all generations).  I think the only other game that has attempted this vibe is Legends: Arceus, which leans into it from a gameplay perspective. 

I like both of these things, progression and a world with consequences, but more than anything, I like that this game still makes you feel like a kid on a big adventure.  It captures the feelings of exploration and discovery that I felt playing any video game as a kid.  Even as someone who’s essentially memorized every beat of Kanto’s storyline, I still felt it fun to progress, to explore the tucked away corners of the map, to enter a dungeon and find a legendary Pokemon.  I still enjoy Gen 1.

[musingmemories]

“Mind tricks...?” Voiced in a guttural scoff, an echo of confirmation. Uncertain if it was because she was offended that any attempt at that she might've had were immediately deemed poor, or the accusation she'd stoop to such behavior in the first place. Surely the latter... because in truth Lucy Gray’s intention to play mind tricks would’ve been poor. Even if absolutely necessary. Lying never came easy. Always part of it coming from a place of truth. She cared too much, too passionately. Sparked from the depths of her soul, her ribs a hearth, and carried through every time the situation presented it to her. This one included.

Presently, in swift falling condemnations, frustration carefully stoked by Coriolanus. He knew about Billy Taupe. The parts of Lucy Gray’s broken heart she could share freely, admittedly still withholding a great deal. “… you think I made that up?” She struggled to keep her voice from cracking, like a pin dropping her voice felt far away, separated from herself an out of body experience. Lying, spinning the tale of a story of heartbreak that'd left her broken and still mending... how dare he. "You truly don't know me at all then, sugar. Because I wouldn't go back to Billy Taupe for all the money and glory in the world." That bridge had been burned to ash, dust scattered along the sands of time... unlike the path Coriolanus offered her, monetary value unfortunately what balanced this life on it's scales of judgement.

Tipping, weighed between them and neither keeping score.

It wasn't real. Verbally admitted by Coriolanus. What was a token, his mother's compact offered had been nothing more than a prop. So why didn't it make her feel better but like her heart sank deeper in its currents? Lucy Gray felt her tongue leaden, gaze avoidant to hide the creeping blush of rosy pink from showing on her darkened complexion. And to hide the hurt in her eyes causing chocolate orbs to darken in shade. "You know how the Capitol works, you know what your audience likes..." His audience, the us versus them mentality of the Capitol and a penchant for the drama and theatrics, preferring what brought about the unexpected, the breathtaking.

For someone like Lucy Gray who was a singer and performer, you'd think she'd understand. Instead... Coriolanus turned the tide on her, attempted to coax out the truth before he gave his every single time. Like playing an infinite game of chess and Lucy Gray the pawn. "I was— am— being a realist, Coriolanus. What future could we possibly have?" One that he didn't have anymore now that he was here in Twelve, so he claimed. Just like the rest of them. "This isn't a life fit for anyone." Scrounging for trade and food, scraping by just to survive… couldn’t he see that? He was better off without her, basking in the glory of his tribute being crowned the Victor.

But oh how Lucy Gray loathed herself for the sick satisfaction she felt hearing there wasn't a Capitol woman for him to share that all with. Selfishness following the admittance of there being only her.

Her.

All at once, Lucy Gray couldn't breathe. The world stopped with it, noise falling to a ringing akin to that of a tuning fork, shrill and faint. Easily a lie told in the form of the sweetest poison, a reminder to protect the salvaged pieces of her previously broken spirit. Gullible, naïve Lucy Gray who believed that love could conquer all. Revoked, effortlessly, swiftly driving that knife into her heart further with the conclusion it'd all been a mistake. A flip of a coin, sky blues turning stormy, and Lucy Gray knew she was losing Coriolanus again. "We aren't deceiving..." She couldn't speak for the districts in their entirety, defending the Covey in a quick breath and sounding like she was defending all. Yet she was the one making things difficult for him. "It's the way you speak, Coriolanus. Callin' the districts deceiving, the way you claim you're now stuck here because of me when you made that bed to lie in. You'll never accept this as your life, and your tarnished soul will be forced to wander and wonder what if after being blessed with delusions of grandeur. Would you truly be happy here if this was the rest of your life and not desperately clawing for a way out?" Like the rest of them controlled by the Capitol?

"Don't give me that either, Lucy Gray. Your poor attempt in mind tricks." Because he was convinced, that's what she was trying to do; play some sort of mind game with her listening to tunes he wants to hear line. "Maybe he has a lot to do with it." he pressed, "Since it's a possibility you just led me on so you could come back and resume life with Billy Taupe and that's why you won't admit why don't want me here." He didn't care it sounded so accusatory, because in his mind it was almost close to just being the truth of what she was up to.

"Apparently, you aren't listening either." That could seemingly go two ways. "Like the other Victors and their mentors..." he repeated in offense, it was like everything he had felt had been a lie. "Then, it wasn't real. Like I said... that night I came to give my mother's compact. You tried to kiss me and I didn't let you, because I had to ask if it was real. It wasn't. It was all just for your benefit, Lucy Gray. Since to you... we were just a mentor and a Victor." he mocked bitterly, chest feeling heavy, blues flickering to the sky. Similar in color, but the sky above them was clear unlike the skies in his hues with a terrible storm brewing behind them. "Besides that, I have no future now other than being this the next twenty years. A Peacekeeper, stuck in district twelve." With Lucy Gray changed– all done so pointlessly. "There isn't a Capitol woman," he retorted angrily, because there wasn't and she was putting words in his mouth, "there's just you." the rest of his sentence flies out of his mouth before he can think to stop it from ever being said. His heart pounded harder now knowing what he had said, going humiliatingly silent. So he swallowed tightly, retracting with something harsh to crush looking like an idiot since it was clearly all so one sided.

"But my mistake there isn't. My mistake for thinking I could follow someone like you here. My mistake for thinking you weren't deceiving like every other person who's district." Yes, Lucy Gray had stated several times she wasn't district, she was covey... but that made the insult even richer. She may as well be, since she was acting exactly how Grandma'am and his father had put it. "Why are you trying so hard to make it not be for me?" Why is she trying so hard, to put it in his head he isn't right for her? The question is driving him insane.

[mamamittens]

Put on a Show (+18)

BuggyXReader (Gender neutral attempt)

I tried really hard to write full on smut without an assigned gender, but don't be surprised if it makes more sense as AFAB (sorry, but for safety reasons you really should not be shoving anything up your ass without prep, pro tip). There is a general assumption reader is very flexible and strong. As should be expected of someone who regularly does aerial silks.

I was lowkey making a joke with myself when the idea first popped up, but if nothing else, this is descent smut practice. Hope the Buggy simps appreciate.

Warnings: Voyeurism, grinding, dirty talk, authority kink, definitely a lowkey bondage kink, Buggy is an ass man here, unconfirmed/no prep anal/or/vaginal sex, and creampie.

Oh! By the way, a "Shill" in a circus is someone that pretends to buy tickets or participate in a show/event/game to remove anxiety for someone else being first so they can make more money! Seemed fitting for a nickname at the time ;)

@lilmissofficial hope this has you convinced lmao (let me know if you'd like me to remove this tag btw, I couldn't ask before I posted)

Word Count: 2,137

There were times you wanted to take the immaculate silk ribbons you were intimately familiar with and use them to strangle the absolute fuck out of your captain.

The prideful man likely thought you and everyone else was dumb as a rock with his piss poor excuses about your presence on his crew. You didn’t really have much in the way of fighting experience. And sure, your impressive upper body strength could be considered an asset—but it was painfully obvious that you were not a part of his crew because of your strength. No. You were definitely on board solely because Captain Buggy was massively turned on by your command of endless silk fabric.

If you could see the hard on while spinning and tumbling in and out of intricate knots, there was no way anyone else was missing that. Somehow no one was saying anything though, which told you that either there were bets going around or everyone was literally that stupid. Including your captain.

But no.

According to your illustrious captain, you were a secret ace in the hole. A veritable death from above!

And to be quite honest, you were ready for the pretense to be done with already before one of you dies from figurative blue balls. There are only so many times you can provocatively do the splits at perfect eye level for Buggy’s elevated vantage point before you gave up on life itself. It might be a little easier on both of you if he didn’t insist on watching over every practice performance you did as well.

But no. As captain, it was his duty to insure the safety of his whole crew.

In truth, he clearly just had a voyeurism kink.

And you had enough of his shit. It was time for Buggy to either man up and confess or stop watching your ass like it was made of solid gold.

Which lead you to this moment. Staring up the seemingly endless twin length of silk as you tested its anchoring high above. It would be very un-sexy of you to smash your face into the ground instead of his chest after all.

There was a flash of color in one of the higher balconies, signaling the arrival of your captain. At times, you suspected he haunted the practice area specifically to ensure he never missed a performance. But it was just as likely he was using Haki to track the general location of his crew. Seemed sneaky enough for him, even though he clearly thrived in the sheer drama of a show. And you were about to put on one hell of a show for him.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped the fabric in both hands and lifted yourself up. Legs swinging out to catch on the silk in wide loops around your legs, hooking into convenient footholds under your feet. Twelve feet in the air, you pushed out your chest, hands keeping you from tumbling forward, spine arched perfectly as you dipped your head back. Slowly, you pushed your body’s half circle form until you were standing again. Then tipping back into a spin so you dropped several feet.

Catching on a knot of silk around your leg just in time.

Slowly, sensually, you twisted and carefully ascended again. Taking care to occasionally perform a split or spin on the silk so it wasn’t obvious what you were doing. And then you were several feet above Buggy, pretending like you hadn’t seen him yet. Completely unaware that your deep split with loops of silk around your thighs and calves put you on a perfect display.

Then you dropped suddenly, sliding down until you caught the silk in your hands, arching your body back and up so you were face to face with Buggy’s shocked expression. You gave a sly grin, pushing out until your noses almost touched.

“Enjoying the show, captain?” You whispered, watching his face flush a deep red that almost matched his nose. He was unusually dressed down today. Carefully crafted ‘captain’ outfit nowhere to be seen. A simple stripped shirt and baggy pants he clearly preferred to sleep in. Blue silky hair pulled back into a ponytail instead of fixed into his hat. He still had on lipstick though, which was almost reassuring.

Even with the distinctive tattoo on Buggy’s face, he looked almost naked without the rest of his usual outfit.

Blustering and surprised, Buggy stammered for a moment.

“O-Of course! Y-You’re as skilled as ever! As expected of one of my valued crew members!” Buggy declared.

You continued giving him a sly smile, eyes narrowing as you slowly grew closer, head tilting to avoid his nose.

Stopping just shy of his lips.

“I’m glad you like the show. Captain.” You breathed out softly before pulling back suddenly. You almost laughed as his body swayed forward unconsciously. “I suppose I should get back to it though. I’m sure you have more important things to be doing right now.” You teased airily, swinging your upper body back around.

Conveniently displaying your ass at perfect eye level.

You yelped at the sudden grip on your inner thigh, yanking you back towards your captain. A single, disembodied gloved hand firmly latched over the tense muscle. Surprised, you tilted back again, arching your spine to face Buggy at an appropriately conversational angle.

He looked flustered and pissed.

“And what the hell was that? You trying to test my patience, Shill?” Buggy hissed. You laughed a little, shaking your head.

“No! Of course not, captain! Just practicing control for the next show is all!” You excused. Buggy’s eyes narrowed further. His hand squeezed harder, jerking you closer.

“I didn’t think you were making so little you’d need to work for extra tips, Shill.” Buggy growled. Buggy… he looked genuinely pissed at the idea you’d kiss audience members as part of an act.

Taking leave of your senses, you cracked a wide smile you knew would piss him off.

“Of course not, captain! But you specifically seem to enjoy a little teasing as part of a show so~?” You sighed, tilting your head and pressing your luck even further, “Not that you ever want to participate—But if it bothers you that much, I can go back to keeping my distance.” You started to return to your previous position, back complaining from holding the pose for so long. The hand on your thigh slid over to grab your ass, Buggy’s other hand catching your head to pull you in close.

Buggy’s lips slid over yours in a harsh press, face noticeably hot as he locked eyes with you. He pulled you in closer still, your legs untangling from the silk so you fell forward, sending him into his back. He grunted but refused to let go or relinquish the kiss. Finally, you pulled away, hands braced beside his head as you looked down in shock. His lipstick was smeared around his lips, undoubtedly coloring your own as well.

“I don’t recall saying you could stop.” Buggy grit his teeth, hands firmly planting on your ass to squeeze the toned muscle.

“You never really said to start either, captain.” You mumbled, still a little shell shocked that he actually made a fucking move. Maybe there was hope for the both of you yet. Buggy smirked.

“Cocky little shit.” His hips bucked under you, grinding his erection against you, “This clear enough instruction?”

“I don’t know… Mm—” You moaned softly at the growing heat in your body from the harsh friction through your leotard, “I-I’d hate to disappoint you.”

Buggy flipped you over, hands reluctantly leaving your body to hold himself over you, hips still grinding against you.

“If I’d known all it would take was a little hands on action, I would have done it while you were tangled in the air.” Buggy hissed, “You look so fucking pretty in silk, you know that? I think this is a close second though—hng! Yeah. Keep making that face, Shill~”

Buggy gripped your thigh, guiding your leg over his waist. Clothed erection grinding into you hard enough to draw a choked moan. You bit your lip as Buggy smeared his lipstick over your exposed neck, kissing the skin with hot, open bites. Your heart was pounding against your chest with every harsh pass of his cock, the friction nearly shoving you up the floor if it wasn’t for his firm grip on your body.

“C-Captain—Fuck~!” Buggy laughed at you, tongue eagerly sliding over your panting cries.

“I can feel how hot you are for me. Good.” Buggy slipped his hands under your ass again, firmly grinding his cock into you as he ruined your leotard with his precum even through his pants, “Keep being so sweet and maybe we’ll do an encore.” Buggy joked despite the raging hard on he kept forcing to slide between your thighs.

He pinned you to the floor with his whole body, fingers sliding the fabric covering your crotch to the side for a more intimate grind. His own pants falling down enough so his cock began to smear precum over your thighs and sex. Thickness trapped between your bodies as he went faster. Pressing his body into yours harder.

“Oh-oh—oh~! Fuck Buggy please! Hng—I-I ca-can’t keep—Ah~!” You shook, hot liquid smearing between your bodies as you came. The heat seeping between you both as Buggy kissed you again, tongue deep in your throat as his cock twitched, cumming hard in the wake of your cries. His hips kept grinding into you, prolonging the sparks along your skin as he tried to kiss you even deeper.

Reluctantly he pulled back.

“Hah… Have I made myself clear yet?” Buggy asked, watching with heated eyes as your mixed cum pooled underneath you, sliding between your thighs and cheeks.

Panting, you smirked, instantly earning a warning look from Buggy.

“I-I don’t know Captain… I think the message needs to sink in a little… deeper.” Buggy grinned, canting his hips back.

“If that’s what it takes~” Buggy cooed, before thrusting his cock to the base. You screamed in surprise, the sound muffled in an unexpected kiss, “I thought this is what you wanted? Can’t handle taking orders? That’s considered mutiny, don’t you know?” Buggy licked up your neck as you sucked in a sharp breath. Your body burning from the sudden thickness.

Buggy pulled out, breathing in your sigh of relief before snapping his hips back to slam into your ass.

You moaned in sharp bursts as he fucked you hard, driving his cock as deep as it would go before his hips bounced off your ass.

“Ah! A-Ah~! Ha~h! C-Ca-ah~pta-ahn~!”

“Fuck that’s more like it~! Not so cocky now, are you?” Buggy laughed, “Is it too much? What are you going to do about it? Cum? Good.” Buggy drove his hips faster, delighted as you keened.

“B-Buggy~! Ah-hnnngg—fuck oh-oh-oooh~!” Your mind was in shambles as your body steadily began to burn in a much different way. Fire growing in your stomach as he split you open, eagerly fucking you through another orgasm.

You screamed as the pleasure took a sharp turn under the ceaseless onslaught. Your hips burned as Buggy pushed your thighs apart into a split, hips forcing your waist up so his cock drove your lower spine down into the floor. Despite not appearing very strong, his grip was unmoving, pinning you in place for his cock to drive you over the edge again.

“Who’s your captain? Who’s fucking you this good? Tell me.” Buggy spat, hot breathe beating over your exposed neck.

“Y-Y-oh—fffuck it’s you B-Buggy~!” You rambled, moans breaking your sentence apart until it was almost incomprehensible.

“That’s fucking right it is! C’mon, show me how good you feel—” Buggy kissed you deeply again, griding his cock against your sweet spot, “One more time for the finale, Shill. I wanna feel you squeeze around me again.”

You slammed your head back against the floor as you shook in his hold, unable to move away from the burning of his cock in your walls.

Finally, Buggy slammed his hips against you, cock spilling deep as he groaned into your lips with gritted teeth. Hissing as you squeezed him hard with a soft moan.

“F-Fuck… I-I’m guessing this is a more… hah… private show?” You laughed, body sinking down in exhaustion.

Buggy gave a sharp laugh.

“Ain’t no one got enough berri to pay for a show like this.” Buggy kissed your cheek gently before whispering into your ear, “I expect a repeat performance though. Can’t afford for you to get rusty. Captain’s orders.”

“Yes, Captain.” You promised with a dizzy grin.

Thank fuck you knew how to put on a show.

The encore was to die for.

[bmodiwrites]

for the au ask game!

— steddie soulmates AU, like you only see in black and white until you touch your soulmate for the first time

Oh, I love this one! Thanks for sending it my way. As a color blind person, I think this is a really interesting concept. It ended up being a lot longer than I intended - sorry not sorry? :P

(i)

It's important to establish right away that there is some free will involved in the whole soulmate thing. How the person feels about the idea of having a soulmate determines how quickly the visual change sets in.

For Steve, the change is instantaneous. He's a twelve year old kid in a brand new town, just trying to fit in. Up until they got to Hawkins, Steve's family moved from place to place quicker than Steve could get through a school year. His dad says they're here to stay now, but Steve's not one to get his hopes up. The town hasn't blown him away so far, anyway. Though that quickly changes when Steve meets Eddie. He's in seventh grade so recess is the only part of the day Steve gets to really have to himself. No one's interested in making friends with the new kid, anyway.

There's a small tree by the edge of the basketball court that Steve's been hanging around since the beginning of the school year - like always, he makes his way over there. That day was different, though. Steve notices that someone's sitting there halfway across the basketball court, pausing just long enough to get hit by a rogue pass. The kid who threw it tries to apologize, but the glint in his eye is too bright for anything to be accidental. Steve trucks on, rubbing the back of his head. He's distracted enough to forget about the person sitting in his usual spot until Steve's once again getting hit, though this time, it's entirely his own fault. He reaches out to grab the boy's shoulder and is completely taken aback. Steve's only ever heard color described by his mother and her explanation is absolutely nothing compared to the experience. Suddenly, Steve sees skies and trees - absolutely everything - completely differently.

In true Eddie Muson fashion, he fights against the establishment. Which makes sense because all Eddie's ever seen of soulmates is disappointment and sadness. His mother died before he could remember her, making his father a shell of a person who could care less about Eddie who's an exact replica of a woman that brought color into his life and went right ahead and took it away in one fell swoop. He understands to an extent why his father can't stand him. It doesn't take away from the neglect and abuse Eddie's gets over the years, but he's not completely dense. When he ends up with his uncle, Eddie doesn't even try to get Wayne to talk about a woman that never came around. He's been against soulmates since he was old enough to piece together his dad's drunken rambles. When Steve comes into his life, he digs his heels into the soul shifting change that starts to set in. The boy is adorable and wide eyed, looking at him with a surprise that Eddie immediately tries to hate. He has to, if color starts to set in, he's done for.

(ii)

No matter how Eddie feels about it, there's no going against fate. As the years pass, he can't deny that the world gets a bit bright every time Steve comes around. Eddie's done enough damage over the years to keep some space between them but Steve is so resilient that Eddie's noticed the younger boy can't quite stay away. Eddie's overwhelmed by the fact that he finds it endearing, so he makes the visit hell on Steve. It's almost ritual now, to insult the boy enough to ruffle his feathers and send him on his way. The affection he feels when Steve doesn't even try to hide the smile makes Eddie physically ache. Never mind the fact that Eddie is starting to notice that Steve looks goddamn good in what he now knows is blue. It must be his favorite color because he wears it all the time. Eddie is proud to say he's able to hold off on crumbling to pieces until he's twenty - that's a whole seven years he fought to hold back something he ultimately couldn't control. It's too much to come so close to dying without getting to see Steve blush under him. The day Eddie kisses Steve, he's awake from a coma for the first time in weeks.

Steve never knew frustration until he met Eddie. For Steve, the world is a different place completely center around a boy with dark brown hair and eyes that look like his daddy's whiskey. It's the most glorious thing to happen to Steve and he's slightly taken aback by the rough treatment he receives from the person who suddenly makes his world go round. He's loathe to admit that he cries his little heart out for nights on end for the first little while - it takes time for him to realize that Eddie's not really fight against him, he's trying to take on the world at large. It's not until high school that Steve's aware enough to grasp that concept. It takes a while still, though, for him to stomach the harsh way Eddie could so easily turn on him. Until it becomes the sort of game Steve can play to his advantage, every mean word and hardened look is a direct shot in the heart. Thankfully, his entire being is in tune with Eddie, so he starts to notice when the old boy can't fight fate any longer. It's at the worst time possible, but Steve's been waiting for the day that Eddie finally comes around. They fight and save the world and it's almost perfect except Eddie is in dire condition and it's weeks before Steve sees the chocolatey brown eyes. He's so fucking surprised when Eddie wakes up that it takes him quite a while to respond to a kiss that's so many years overdue.

(iii)

Once that dam breaks, there's absolutely no turning back. Steve's been waiting his entire life to be with the person that makes the world such a vivid place. Being with Eddie makes everything look like a movie in the best definition it can be. The longer the together, the sharper the color is. It's so rich that Steve sometimes gets overwhelmed by just how beautiful the world is. How beautiful Eddie is. And damn, he is - after he recovers, his eyes are bright and his cheeks hold a permanent red in them that makes Steve's entire body light on fire. He loves Eddie so much that it makes the kids sick, often getting him made fun of. It's worth it, though. Steve loves Eddie in his black leather jacket with the crisp white of his shoes. It's a sort of contrast that Steve never thought to miss from life before when shades of gray covered the world. Eddie makes Steve's life something that's filled instead of half empty.

Eddie never figured he'd be the type of person that loves with his whole existence, but as it turns out, he is. Despite how hard he tried over the years to keep him out, Steve's been there and is so easy to incorporate into his life that holding out the way he did seems silly. Uncle Wayne starts to set out a third plate at the dinner table and calls Steve son like he first did when Eddie came to stay. It makes watching Steve smile worth all the pain he knows he's in for somewhere down the line. He tries to keep that little bit of negativity in his life, to keep him honest, but having Steve in his life is too damn good. He's the colors of the rainbow packed in bold hair-dos and clothes that bring so much flavor to Eddie's life. Steve loves yellow and blue (because Eddie likes him in it) and he's the brightest when they're tangled up together alone, but also when the kids, any of them, are around. Eddie never thought he'd be one for fatherhood but he's starting to like the surrogate dad roles he plays with little weirdos that are just like himself before the taint of trauma sets in. Despite the fact that they've tangoed with death so many times, his children are so brave in the way they live their lives.

(iv)

Things really get serious when Eddie decides he can't be away from Steve long enough to drive between their places. He's sure his uncle is all that sad to see him go, anyway. They find a small house on the outskirts of Hawkins - since all of the kids are able to drive now, Eddie doesn't feel bad for the small commute they all have. There's a yard and a small garden and a porch that Steve likes to sit on in the mornings with hair still fresh from sleep and coffee in his hands. It's sappy and gross but Eddie loves Steve fresh from the covers - he's red and dark brown and fresh from hours of lying in Eddie's arms. Though Eddie always has to leave for work at the library relatively early, he's always happy to be a little late if it gets him a glimpse of his other half's easy beauty. If marriage were legal for them, Eddie's sure he'd be petitioning for a license faster than anything. He loves Steve with a surety that makes it hard to understand why anyone would think his love for the man is anything other than pure and real and the most perfect thing Eddie's every experienced.

Steve's blown away by Eddie's idea to live together - he's been sure that Eddie's glacial pace was around to stay. Their place is like a promise that keeps on giving every single day. The house is beautiful and the look on Eddie's face when he comes home for the day is worth every single glare and stare the man ever gave them in an attempt to deny them this happiness. Steve's long past worrying whether Eddie's going to rebel against things - their lives are much to wrapped up in each other's to think that anything could separate them. Steve's happy to know that Eddie likes to be the little spoon in the wee hours of the morning where monsters like to come out to play. He feels safe in Steve's arms when darkness starts to set in. Despite how weird it sounds, Steve knows that forever exists in that comfortability. The family that matters and the people he loves take him and Eddie for who they are. It's nice in the simple way that on a nice day, the sky was blue. For the first time in his life, Steve is sure of something.

(v)

Regardless of the validity of the gesture, Eddie decides to buy Steve a ring. It's silly, he knows that. Steve isn't much of a jewelry person that way that Eddie is but there's something to be said about sentimentality. Their life is permanent, there's no doubt about that. They share a mortgage and bills and grown ass adults that will always be their children. Some day, if Steve wants, Eddie thinks he might like to raise a few of their own. So, a ring means nothing, yet he craves the sight on Steve's finger like Honeycomb and chocolate milk on Saturday mornings. He gets it made, because what sort of nerd would he be if he didn't? It's gorgeous and perfect and just right for both the colors of their skin. Eddie's matching on is nestled next to the one he can't wait to give Steve. He rallies the troops and plans a big night out of it.

Though fate is sometimes kind, there are things that can't be helped - like trucks losing control on the highway. Steve's not able to discern what happens as he's loaded into the ambulance - his only concern is making sure that Eddie knows he's okay. Of course, since it's not legal for couples like them, Steve's parents are the first people notified. He almost laughs at the nurse when they inform him that they wouldn't be coming to the hospital. Steve is quick to give them Eddie's number and waits impatiently for him. Other than the concussion and broken foot, he's okay - but there were moments he thought he wouldn't be. It's a relief to see Eddie's wide eyes as he comes through the door. He's dressed in his best jeans and leather jacket, looking like their night he'd planned was going to be something special. It's too bad that Steve's stuck in a hospital bed, because he's thinking about peeling Eddie out of those pants and nows just not the right time. Eddie's got tears in his eyes and it's sad to see him so distraught. Things are still woozy enough that a black box being thrust in his hand is hard to make out until Eddie taps on the top, drawing attention to it again. Steve's not out of it enough to not realize what it means. His head is nodding before the box is opened and Eddie asks a babbled out version of a future that Steve never wants to live without. It doesn't hurt, either, that he's always had a thing for rings on Eddie's fingers. Steve can stand the heavy weight on his left hand if it means that Eddie wears one that matches.

Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts that would happen in a story.