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==> Be the coolkid.
That’s nonsense, you’re already the coolkid. But it’s cool, no worries, you’re just so fucking popular that people try to be you all the time. But there’s only one coolkid named Dave motherfucking Strider, and it’s you. There’s not a whole lot for you to do on a Friday night in August, nothing you’d really want to do that involves moving much around your room ever since the air conditioner broke during one of your recent strifes with your brother (your katana got knocked out of your hand, forcing you to surrender, but had managed to puncture the main pipe to the ac unit on the roof of your apartment building. You both absconded inside before your neighbors could find out who managed to destroy the ac for the entire building.) So instead, you’ve got the window propped open and your fans on, sick beats pouring out of your speakers as you make some new mixes. Your practiced hands glide over switches and knobs, changing rhythms and making different noises while your mind wandered idly.
Bro’s not home, disappeared a few hours ago for his DJ gig at a club across the city, and likely won’t be back until tomorrow morning, covered in some girl’s lipstick or some guy’s… actually, you don’t want to think about where your brother goes on the weekends when he doesn’t make it back home. There’s a pang in your heart when you think about it, all the time he used to spend with you but instead now chooses to leave you alone for hours, sometimes days on end. But you’re not gonna let that ruin your free time now to do whatever the hell you want around the apartment, be it blasting sick tunes or playing video games or chatting with your friends until the early hours of the morning. Instead, you try to think of it as a way to make more art and get better at your hobbies. You can take care of yourself, anyways. You’re almost 16 years old, you know how the world works.
Your only friends are those who you managed to find through the internet, friends who you’d never met in person but are still the closest friends you have. None of the kids in school bothered with you, and that was fine by you. One too many bullying incidents in your younger years and the revenge exacted on the perpetrators left you a legend in the minds of your peers, no one daring to cross the path of the freaky-eyed-apparently-secretly-a-ninja boy. But you didn’t mind. You still had John and Jade and Rose, even if you couldn’t see them in person a whole lot. Rose came over for Christmas with her mom, and even though you two looked uncannily alike both your bro and her mom insisted you weren’t related. They were childhood friends as well, making it easy for you and Rose to bond as friends growing up before her mom moved them to New York. Even though your primary form of communication was through pesterchum, you two were still close, and she had even introduced you to your two other friends over pesterchum as well. It was a rare, fleeting feeling when you felt lonely with the absence of any physical human around you to interact with, but then you remembered your friends online and it all got better.
You still had Bro, even though he’d grown distant over the last few years. He’d taken to going out more on weekends, even when he didn’t have gigs across town or at private parties, and often wandered back in at ungodly hours of the morning reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. When you were younger you used to look forward to waking him up on Saturday mornings to watch marathons of cartoons, eating Lucky Charms straight out of the box and making fun of the characters on screen. The way you would cuddle on the futon and play video games, or when he tried to teach you how to sew smuppets before you knew what smuppets were, big hands covering yours and patiently demonstrating how to move the needle through the fabric, teaching you how to use your first set of turntables. You missed how close the two of you used to be. But around your 13th birthday he started to pull away, trying to teach you how to be a “real man,” strifing with you harder and training you for the real world, setting up deadlier traps around the house. But you still didn’t understand how it was supposed to ready you for the future by isolating him from you. Sometimes you just wanted to hang around him and play videogames like the old days. And sometimes you wanted more, you’d realized recently. More than just his hands on yours when teaching you something new, correcting your stance with a blade or knocking you backwards across the roof during a strife. More than once you’d caught yourself admiring the way his collarbones jutted out from underneath his tank top, the way his chest muscles sloped and flexed, how strong and powerful he was, completely in control of his movements and expressions. He wasn’t just what you admired; he’s exactly what you wanted, what you dreamed about in your hormone-addled brain. You wanted his hands on you more, to feel his body like you knew it used to be, full of hard muscle and slightly scarred tanned skin. You wanted to taste his lips, sometimes cracked from the unforgiving Texas heat and dryness, feel what the girls (or boys- Bro swung both ways, you knew it and never judged him for it, and honestly you knew you were batting for the other team too) felt when he went home with them after a night at the club.
Your turntables kept spinning, a beat pouring out on its own after your hands had stilled, lost in your thoughts. The music changed subtly into one of Bro’s mixes, pre-programmed onto the board for you to mess with long ago, but often just listened to when you were feeling particularly lonely to feel closer to him. You continue to remember his hands, calloused fingers and leather fingerless gloves hiding soft palms. What you would give to have those fingers, those gloves touch your face, your body… your hands mimic the hands in your mind, teasing at the edge of your shirt before ducking underneath and ghosting over your chest, fingers feather light over your nipples, making you clench your jaw. Enough teasing, you thought, and impatiently moved your hands lower to palm your half-hard erection through your boxers. You ignore the little voice in the back of your head telling you how wrong it was to feel this way about Bro, your guardian, the one who raised you, but fuck it, this is your mind and your fantasy and there will be no kink shaming here, especially not in a house filled with pornographic puppets.
Your mind settles on the puppets, and you think about the care Bro puts into making them, care that he should be giving to you, and you wonder with a spark of spite what was so special about a smuppet that took your Bro away from you. Wait, you think, maybe I can just grab one and find out…
Suddenly your heart is in your throat as you contemplate taking one of Bro’s smuppets from the living room. Just one of the ones from a corner, one that he’ll never miss from the vast piles of plush rumps littering the apartment. You glance at the clock- 11:36, no one is home but you and Bro shouldn’t be home for a few more hours, if he bothers coming back at all, so with a devious smirk creeping its way onto your face you slip out of your bedroom and down the darkened hallway towards the living room. You peek around the doorway to the kitchen, lightly dodging a trap and duck into the living room, plucking a neon orange plush rump from the back of a pile in the far corner next to the tv. You race back to your room and push the door shut, locking it if only to help yourself feel better about the situation, because if Bro really wanted in he’d find a way through the lock.
You bite your lip and look down at the orange smuppet in your hand, fingers moving over the felt and feeling the fibers, the stitching, the stuffing as it rounds out two perfectly round globes of the rump, pressing your thumbs into the crack between. To your surprise, the fabric parts to reveal a chamber similar to that of a fleshlight. Not that you’d actually seen one in person before, but based on your late night internet searches it certainly felt like the kind of container meant to stick your dick in, soft silicone lining on the outside squeezing gently when you slide a finger in experimentally. Holy shit, Bro really goes all out for this nonsense. What the fuck else kind of crazy shit does he do for his website and why the FUCK would you think of this shit in the first place? Ok nevermind let’s just get this over with…
You tell your brain to politely fuck off so your other head can do the thinking for a while as you walk over to sit on your bed with the new toy. It turns you on a bit, thinking of doing something you know Bro would probably ruthlessly mock you for if not outright kill you for “ruining the merchandise,” the thrill of it sending blood to your cheeks. What would Bro say if he were here? These puppets were what made up his whole puppet porn empire, what paid the bills and made sure you had a roof over your head and pizza in the fridge.
You’re not entirely sure how it started, but you remember him making puppets by hand late into the night when you were much younger, we’re talking preschool age here, back when you two lived in a smaller and even shittier apartment than the one you’re in now when you had to share a bed in the lone bedroom. He found he couldn’t hold down a full time job and care for a toddler at the same time and hadn’t been hired as a DJ yet, so on a suggestion by Roxy, Rose’s mother, he started crafting smuppets by hand and selling them to eccentric loners on the internet. After the first few shaky months, his site started getting a lot more traffic and you guys were able to afford nicer things- a new pair of shoes, a new Xbox, your own set of turntables. Bro patiently taught you everything with each of your new toys, and you’re back to thinking about his hands on yours as he’d execute a sick flip on your shitty skateboarding game, demonstrate a new beat or scratch on your turntables, strong hands guiding yours, his chest pressed up against your back, his breath tickling your ear when he spoke, and sometimes you could hear the smile in his voice before you could turn and see he’d gone back to his usual impassive stone; it was the only time he let on that he was proud of you. It shouldn’t make you this happy, knowing you’ve pleased him in some way, and only makes you want to it more, to have more of him, to be with him more. Shit, you realize you’re starting to sound like a lovesick nutcase, so you cut that shit out. We’re supposed to be masturbating here, doofus. Right, down to business.
You lean back against your headboard, fiddling with the puppet in one hand while the other snakes its way under your shirt, sliding it up and over your head in one motion, tossing it to the ground. Your unoccupied hand makes its way down to your boxers, teasing your erection through the fabric, heel of your hand pressing into your throbbing cock. You imagine his hands over yours, his voice a low rumble in your ear, “Come on lil man, let me show you something you’ll like,” your breathing gets faster, when did the room get so hot? You whimper softly as your grind into your palm, imagining it’s Bro’s hand instead. In your mind, he flashes a wicked grin at you, accepting the challenge to crack your cool façade that he worked so hard to teach you, to make you come undone. You know it because if you ever got the opportunity that’s what you’d do to Bro- crack open the mask, see the side of him no one else got to see, see what noises you could get out of him, bring him to the brink with you and watch him crash over it, knowing it was all because of you.
His hand slides back up to your waistband, teasing for only a second before sliding them down and off swiftly, exposing your throbbing member to his fiery gaze. Your imagination supplies his face with an expression of pure want, orange eyes glowing like embers as he appraises your flushed body before swiftly taking your cock back in his hand and squeezing gently. You let out a moan and this earns you a slow pull up your shaft, and he runs his thumb through the beads of precum at the tip before swirling it around your head. He feels your shaft more than jerks you off for a few more strokes, watching your face and reveling in your responsiveness. Then he bends down slowly and kisses you from your chest to your collarbone while still stroking your cock slowly, twisting on the upstroke every once in a while. He bites down on your collarbone and you let out a yelp, surprised more than hurt, accidentally thrusting up into his hand at the same time. You groan as he licks at the marks he just made, smirking against your skin. He kisses up your neck until he’s breathing in your ear, his breaths coming out faster than normal, but not as uncontrolled as yours. “You like that, huh?” he growls low in your ear, sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine. “Just wait, there’s more where that came from.” He nibbles at your ear and picks up the pace with his hand on your cock, squeezing just the way you like. Heat pools in your belly as you feel yourself become painfully hard, and you realize foggily that you’re hearing embarrassing little mewling noises coming from somewhere, and it’s probably from you, though you’d later deny it if anyone asked.
Then suddenly he stops, and you whimper and buck up into his hand for a second until he chuckles and pulls back to look you in the eyes. “Not so fast, kiddo. Got more to show you,” he smirks, and outside of your fantasy world you force your hand to stop tugging on your dick, shivering in anticipation at the next move. Your hand fumbles blindly for your nightstand and knocks some items to the floor before your hand closes around the bottle of lube. You fumble with the cap and quickly squirt some of the cool liquid onto your fingers, then close your fist around your cock once more. In your mind, though, Bro did all that for you, making a show of slicking you up. Once the lube warmed up on your body it became less awkward and you started to enjoy it, jumping straight to frustrated that he wasn’t moving fast enough to get you off like you wanted. You thrust up into his hand to show your impatience and he chuckled.
He grabbed the forgotten smuppet from somewhere else on the bed and moved his still-slick fingers around the edges of the rump, sliding them in to coat the inside with what was left of the lube. You looked on in anticipation, biting your lip, still unsure that this was a good idea.
Your eyes shot open in the real world and found your hands had mimicked imaginary Bro’s movements, your left hand holding the smuppet hostage by the neck while the other awkwardly fondled it’s innards. You decided not to think about how weird this all was and instead focused on the novelty of how forbidden it was to use one of Bro’s toys, how this was it, you were really going to make this happen. Before your conscience could catch up you pressed the tip of your dick to the inside of the plush rump, having to pull it open on either side so you didn’t get fleece on the sides of your dick. Last thing you need is rug burn on your naughty bits. Then you began to push inside.
The sensation was odd, but not completely unsavory; the silicone squeezed the sides of your cock gently while the lube allowed you to slip in easily, and before you knew it you were all the way inside. You closed your eyes again and allowed imaginary Bro to take over, the smuppet in his hand and his body hovering over you, watching you like a hawk. He gives you a moment to adjust before slowly dragging the smuppet back up your shaft, almost popping it entirely off of you before thrusting it back down harder, and you gasp in surprise at the pleasure it brought you. This might not be so bad after all.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
You nod and pant heavily, waiting for him to move the smuppet again. When he doesn’t, you look up into his face- were you missing something? He looks back at you with the same lustful expression in his eyes, and you know that he feels the same about you as you do for him. He wants you so bad, and this is just a warm up to what he really wants to do to you.
“More, Bro, please,” you whimper, wiggling your hips to try to snap him out of his reverie. He takes the hint and begins to move the smuppet faster, thrusting it so that the rump bounces softly into your balls and thighs. You curl your fingers into your sheets as the smuppet bounces faster, the sensations of pleasure as it grips your cock with just enough friction to drive you gradually more insane, small moans of pleasure coming out of your throat. Your hips begin to move on their own, pushing up to meet the smuppet as Bro pushes it back on to you, impaling the stuffed toy with your pork sword (you snigger at that one but keep going anyways). On one particularly harsh thrust you hear a loud squeak and you freeze, your eyes snapping open in a panic. Okay, you know you’ve been making some pretty strange noises during this whole ordeal but that definitely didn’t come from you, it wasn’t even human! It sounded more like… a squeaky toy? As the idea dawns on you you groan internally and push into the smuppet just the slightest bit more. It lets out another squeak and you roll your eyes. Really, Bro? Your bizarre sex toy monstrosities needed squeakers too? You take a moment to decide you’re just going to keep going anyways, not gonna stop when you’re this far along, and you seriously doubt any of your neighbors are gonna mind the noise- they never complain, even when your music is up so loud it rattles the windows.
You pull the smuppet up off your cock again and thrust in with more force, and your imaginary Bro smirks and pushes the puppet onto you harder, like he’s trying to get it to squeak more. You flush when you realize he’s doing it on purpose to fluster you, and groan when you realize it’s working and sends you further into your spiral of pleasure. Before you know it you’re thrusting back into his hand again as he works the smuppet around you, occasionally squeezing around the outside of it to give you a little extra friction, drive you a little closer to the brink. He leans down over you again and lavishes attention all over your neck, your chest, your jaw, your cheeks, becoming tantalizingly close to your lips but never actually kissing you. You’re fairly sure such an intimate gesture would drive you off the edge completely, but just like your orgasm he keeps denying you until you realize what he wants- he wants to hear you go insane, to beg for it, plead for it with more than just your body, he wants your voice. After holding out for as long as you can, until the sensations on your dick border on painful they’re bringing you so much pleasure, the words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them.
“C-come on, please, so close Bro, let me come ple-aaAH!” you come with a cry, your back arching up off the bed as you spill into the silicone chamber within the smuppet. Heat and light and darkness swirl around you as stars explode behind your eyelids, all sensations coming together at once to create a symphony of pleasure. After a few moments your rigid limbs turn slack and you slump against the bed, Bro softly pressing a kiss to your lips before he disappeared from your imagination completely, your mind filled with nothing but the warmth of the afterglow of a good orgasm.
A creak on the floorboards outside your door alerts you to a presence one second too late before your eyes shoot open and you see that your door has been opened, your real Bro standing in the doorway with an impassive expression on his face, but a tightness in his jaw you only see when he’s really, really pissed.
“What the FUCK, Dave?!”