#fingerbanging on a desk

[hyunbunlix]

Paragon [hitman!Jeongin]

Characters: Jeongin, Bang Chan, older fem!OC, Lee Know (mentioned), Felix (mentioned), Hyunjin (mentioned) Rating: A/O for Adults Only Content Warnings/Tags: violence, murder, mentor/mentee to lovers, switch Jeongin, blowjob, fingerbanging, riding, raw dogging, power bottom Jeongin, cock-warming Word Count: 7,383 Summary: After years apart, a contract from Bang Chan puts Jeongin back in contact with the woman who established him in the underworld. He's forced to confront his feelings for her, not all of which are negative. Note: This is part of a larger John Wick AU, which can be found here.

Crimson Fox. But most famously, Gumiho. Names Yang Jeong In had earned across the world doing his job. And he was very good at his job. Because he was so good at it, very few people knew his face or his name, and instead knew him only by the aliases, by the names people whispered when they found the remains of his contracted kills.

            One of the few people who did know Jeong In’s name was Chris Bang, though few people called him that, either. Likewise, Chris knew Jeong In’s real name and never used it, not unless they were face to face.

            Which, right now, they weren’t.

            “I’ve got an interesting one for you, I.N,” Chris said. He had been in charge of negotiating Jeong In’s contracts for years, all to help Jeong In preserve his anonymity. In return, Chris could ask Jeong In to take people out at Chris’s discretion, and Jeong In wouldn’t ask questions.

            “What is it?” Jeong In asked, leaning back in the hotel desk chair. The call was voice only, as always, both of them using burners.

            “It’s an extraction,” Chris said. Jeong In frowned.

            “I don’t really do—”

            “I’m not done,” Chris said. “I know the target. They’re part of another operation that went sideways. Deep cover, all that. Their guys haven’t been good enough to get them out. You are.”

            Jeong In leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

            “Is it really worth it?” he asked. “I mean, if their guys aren’t good enough to pull them out, then what’s the point? Couldn’t this just happen again?”

            “It could,” Chris allowed. “But that doesn’t matter to me. I have a personal interest in keeping this one alive. This isn’t part of our annual arrangement, so don’t worry. You’ll still get paid. All you have to do is get in, send a message, and free the mark.”

            Send a message. That was Chris speak for “no restrictions.” Jeong In could kill anything and anyone other than the mark.

            He got a certain thrill when everything was a target. It felt good to let off steam and be indiscriminate sometimes.

            “I’ll do it,” Jeong In said. Chris chuckled on the other end.

            “Thought you might. See you in Seoul.”

Before Jeong In went into the field, he made sure to style his bangs back off his forehead. There had been a time in his life when he’d kept them short and out of the way, but he rather liked the shaggy look these days and didn’t want to cut them.

            For the first part of the infiltration, Jeong In went for stealth. Chris had briefed him thoroughly in person, and according to his intel, whole teams had fallen by the dozen trying to reclaim the mark, so clearly “guns blazing” wouldn’t work here.

            Chris had given him permission to send a message, and Jeong In intended to do exactly that before the night was out. He just wouldn’t be stupid about it. His first few kills were quiet with little resistance. A quick, clean shiv here. An easily snapped neck there. He didn’t go out of his way to hide the bodies (he didn’t have the time), but he wasn’t trying to alarm the entire compound, either.

           Eventually, though, they caught on, and he was ready. Hand-to-hand wasn’t his favorite, but he was still perfectly competent. There were so many ways a body could break, and he was versed in nearly all of them. He snapped bones, used men as shields to thwart each other, put bullets in brains and knives in organs.

            Send a message. Leave no witnesses. He had his anonymity to preserve.

            Finally, with blood on his hands and face, very little of which belonged to him, he found the door he was looking for, and the last man standing to guard it. Without ceremony, Jeong In fired from the hip, two in the body, then one straight-armed shot in the head, and the man collapsed. Jeong In exhaled, ejecting the magazine from his handgun to count the remaining rounds, before putting it back in and priming. He fished through the last guard’s jacket for the badge to get into the room. He scanned himself in with his left hand, gun still in his right.

            He needn’t have bothered. Whereas the prisoners he’d passed on the way here had been kept grouped together and casually guarded, this one was in solitary. All the muscle had been outside; within the walls, only the prisoner, strapped to a chair, was present. They—she—appeared unconscious, slumped forward in the seat. Unlike the others Jeong In had passed on the way, beaten and brutalized, the woman wasn’t in great shape but at the very least didn’t appear to have any broken bones.

            Jeong In didn’t have time to puzzle the treatment out, however, because, at that moment, she lifted her head, and his heart about stopped.

            “Blackbox?”

            There was a layer of blood and grime on her exposed skin, her clothes torn and hair filthy, but it was unmistakably her.

            The woman that had set him up in this world, crafted his reputation. The woman who had given him his name. He’d always been a magnificent marksman, but when he first started out as a teenager, no one had wanted to take a chance on someone so young and untested. She had helped him craft his mythos, made him into one of the most prolific killers of his generation, and instilled in him the need to always keep his identity—both face and name—separate from the work.

            It was thanks to her that the world knew who the Gumiho was. All he’d ever had to do was live up to the hype she generated.

            And he did.

            She lolled her head back as though she couldn’t believe it either, a parched laugh slipping through cracked lips.

           Finally, she leveled her gaze, a smile that looked a lot like a grimace on her face. “Hey, Kit,” she said.

            Jeong In wanted to tell her not to call him that, not anymore, but couldn’t bring himself to speak as he freed her from her binds, the core of his being humming with anger and something else.

            When she was free, he paused to drag his last kill to the back wall, dipping his gloved thumb in the pooled blood and signing the wall GUMIHO in Hangeul. She didn’t ask what he was doing, because the signature had been her idea first, all those years ago.

            He handed her a handgun he’d taken off a body on the way in.

            “There shouldn’t be much resistance left on the way out,” he said. “Let’s go.”

On the way to the Seoul Continental Hotel, she insisted they stop at one of her many drop boxes. There she picked up some cash, a set of clothes, an ID that Jeong In could see at a glance most definitely did not have her real name on it, and a stack of gold coins.

            “The least I can do is pay for your stay,” she said. “Consider it my thanks.”

            “I don’t need your thanks,” he said. “I’m already getting paid.”

            “I insist,” she said, and wouldn’t budge. After they arrived and booked their room—since Jeong In no longer trusted her enough to let her out of his sight—the concierge sent one of the hotel physicians up to tend her wounds. She sat in her undergarments while the doctor closed and patched the various small wounds she’d been dealt. Jeong In was still surprised by the lack of grievous injuries. The worst of her condition appeared to be dehydration and malnutrition.

            When the physician left, she disappeared into the washroom to take the world’s most careful shower. Once Jeong In was certain her ablutions were well underway and she wouldn’t be bursting out anytime soon, he took the opportunity to remove his blazer and button-up shirt so he could peel his Kevlar vest off his sweaty body. After putting the other two layers back on, he pulled out his phone.

            “Did you know?” Jeong In hissed the second Chris picked up, not even giving the older man time to greet him.

            “Know what? I take it by the massacre reports I’m getting that it’s done?” he asked. Jeong In fought the urge to growl at him like the animal so many people thought he was.

            “Of course it’s done,” he said first. “I know Blackbox. Or knew her, I guess. I never thought I was going to see her again.”

            “No,” Chris said, and Jeong In could tell he was being sincere. “I didn’t know. Blackbox and I have helped each other out in the past, and I’m counting on her to help me in the future. That’s all it was. I had no idea it was personal to you. I’m sorry for giving you the wrong impression. I don’t want to risk alienating you, either. I genuinely didn’t know.”

            “Okay,” Jeong In said. He heard the water shut off in the bathroom. “Thanks. I have to go.”

            “Be careful,” Chris said before Jeong In hung up on him.

            After a few minutes, she came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and hair damp. She looked a lot better just having the layer of grime gone.

            “You really don’t have to stay with me,” she said, dropping her old clothes into the trash and liberally applying lip balm. “It’s the Continental. The chances of anything bad happening to me here are slim.”

          “But not zero,” Jeong In snapped. “How likely is it that this shit happens all over again? Chris sent me in there because your guys were getting massacred left and right trying. How certain are you this won’t happen again?”

            She sighed, a weary, heavy sound that almost made Jeong In feel guilty for lashing out at her. Almost.

            “Now that I’m vulnerable, those chances are pretty high. But I know better now, and while I wish my contacts weren’t dead, I have to believe it was worth it. I got too comfortable, I think. They’ll almost certainly try again.”

            “Then I’m not fucking leaving you alone,” Jeong In went on. “You know there have been no fewer than three incidents on Continental grounds in the last five years, right? The chances they’ll come for you here are low, but not zero. I’m not going to let my work be undone.”

            She looked at him, a knife’s edge in her eyes now. “Why do you care, Jeong In? You did your part. You get paid either way.”

            Hearing his name, his real name, on her tongue for the first time in years changed his anger very swiftly into something else, a grievous wound he hadn’t realized she still had the power to inflict. He was practically vibrating as he glared at her, incredulous. How could she say that to him?

            “Because I’m not fucking losing you again,” he said. “I’m not. I don’t care if you thought you did it for my sake, because I would be better off without you. Even if it was true then, it’s not now. I’m not going to just walk away now that I’ve found you again, especially now that I know you’re in danger and have maybe two allies left that you can actually trust. You can’t fucking get rid of me again. I’ve had it with you running away from me.”

            She stared at him, speechless for the better part of a minute.

            “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no idea it meant that much to you.”

            “No, you didn’t,” Jeong In said, bitter now. “You never asked me, either. And that hurt me the most.”

            There it was. The name of the feeling. Seeing her again, dredging up all those old feelings and memories, pained him. He hadn’t known he could still feel like that. He thought he’d buried it a long time ago.

            And now he couldn’t re-bury it.

            “If you had just bothered to have a conversation with me, you would have known I didn’t want to go. I wanted to serve with you. I wanted to protect you. But you determined unilaterally that parting was best, that it was too dangerous for me to walk your path with you. You didn’t even give me an option. You just disappeared and let me drown. I hated you. I fucking hated you for that,” he said. What had once been scarred over was gaping again, a wound as raw now as the day she’d dealt it.

            “Jeong In, I—”

            “You abandoned me. But your reason is gone. I’m capable now. Capable enough to carry us both. So what will your excuse be this time? Or will you not even have the decency to give me one?” he snapped. Now that it was all coming up, he couldn’t stop. He’d held all this inside for years. She could at least have the decency to listen to him now. She owed him that.

            “I don’t think I deserve a second chance,” she said finally. Jeong In got up from where he’d been sitting on the bed and stalked up to her.

            “Didn’t you hear a damn word I just said? You don’t get to decide that! I do!”

            “Then what do you want from me, Jeong In?” she asked, her voice barely a breath, and he was close enough to hear it.

            “To be with you,” he answered, the bite gone from his voice. It was all he’d ever wanted from her. “I don’t care about the form it takes. I’ll be your friend. I’ll be your weapon. I’ll be anything, just don’t throw me away again. Stop punishing me.”

            She put her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly to her. He was a little taller than her now, as well as broader and stronger. He no longer knew which of them would win in a fight.

            But he had no desire to fight with her anymore.

            He wrapped his arms around her middle, holding her snugly against him, unwilling or unable to let her go.

            “Okay,” she said against his shoulder. “Okay.”

            He swallowed hard. “Okay,” he echoed.

When he woke the next morning, Jeong In half expected her to be gone. The trust wound she’d dealt him was something he’d never fully recovered from and would take a lot of effort on her part to heal.

            But no, she was still in the bed to his right, sleeping soundly. She had to be exhausted from her ordeal. There was a little cut above her eyebrow, bruises on her cheek and near the bridge of her nose. The lip balm seemed to be working.

            He checked the time on his phone and determined it was late morning. Gently, he reached over to shake her shoulder. She whimpered and curled up in the blankets, hiding half her face from him.

            “Noona,” he murmured, smoothing her hair away from her forehead and kissing it. A few moments later, she opened bleary eyes that eventually focused on him. “I’m going to have food sent up. What do you want?”

            “Something easy,” she murmured, her voice muffled in the blanket. “I haven’t had real food in weeks.”

            He hummed a soft acknowledgment and got himself out of bed to make the call down to the concierge. He’d gone to bed in a plain t-shirt and compression shorts the night before, and he pulled his real clothes back on after the order was made. There was no movement from the bed, so he assumed she’d fallen back asleep. Jeong In received the food and started on his portion. He wasn’t willing to leave the room even to take a shower until she was awake.

            Was he paranoid? Probably, but if the goons came back for her, Jeong In wouldn’t leave her defenseless. Killing wasn’t permitted on Continental grounds, but not everyone followed the rules.

            When he had nearly finished eating, she dragged herself out of bed and came to the table. She reached for a water bottle before anything else and drained it. Jeong In didn’t realize he was staring at her throat bobbing until it had already been way too long.

            “How are you feeling?” he asked, as much a distraction for him as it was genuine interest.

            “Sore, but much better,” she said, spearing a piece of cucumber with a fork. “I haven’t slept comfortably since I was captured.”

            “Why were you down there?” Jeong In asked.

            “Chris didn’t tell you?”

            “No.”

            She chewed the vegetable, frowning.

            “That’s a little rude, considering it was a favor to him.”

            Jeong In frowned too.

            “What was?”

            “The deep cover op. I was in there for him. He wanted info on a couple of guys in that outfit, including the boss. He knows them. Or he did. I didn’t think I would get caught. We lost a lot of resources trying to pull me out. His and mine, both,” she said.

            “Well, there’s no way he’ll be pulling that shit again,” Jeong In said, uncapping his own water bottle.

            “No,” she agreed. “He won’t. Is he in town?”

            “I don’t know,” Jeong In answered genuinely. “He was yesterday, that’s all I know for sure.”

            She put her hand out, and it took Jeong In a moment to realize she was asking for his burner phone. He got up to fish it out of his bag and put it in her hand. Chris’s was the only number in it. She dialed, put it on speaker, turned the volume halfway down, and placed the phone on the table between them.

            “Hello?” Chris greeted in Korean, expecting Jeong In on the line.

            “Surprise, bitch,” she said in English. Chris laughed, which Jeong In didn’t expect.

            “Hello to you, too,” Chris said, his Australian accent standing out compared to her American one. “You sound better than expected.”

            “Did you skip town already?” she asked, getting right to the point.

            “Yeah. Looks like our Fox didn’t need any backup,” he said. She snorted.

            “Well, you’d better turn around. I expect you in the Continental’s bar no later than 8 o’clock tonight. Don’t make me wait,” she said.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Chris said, chuckling. “Wouldn’t want you taking your anger out on poor Kit.”

           Jeong In bristled. Chris wasn’t supposed to call him that. Only she ever called him that.

            “Don’t worry, I’ll save it all for you, Bang. You’re the one who almost got me killed, after all,” she said. Chris clicked his tongue on the other end.

            “Fair enough,” he said. “See you.”

            He hung up, keeping the last word for himself. Jeong In took the phone back.

            “Bitch,” she muttered, still in English, though her tone wasn’t exactly sour.

            “What’s with you two?” Jeong In asked, nudging the conversation back into Korean.

            “Begrudging allyship,” she said, cramming an apple slice in her mouth.

She and Jeong In didn’t leave their hotel room until 8:15.

            “I want Chan to sweat,” she said tersely, really leaning into the A, and Jeong In was surprised by the personal, almost joking use of the name. How was it that all three of them knew each other, yet none of it had ever come up in crosstalk? What other secrets were they all keeping from each other?

            When they walked into the bar, Jeong In half a step off her left shoulder, he felt like the last few years had never happened. This was exactly how it had once been—Jeong In under her wing, deferring to her leadership, being her trigger when she needed him. She sat down across from Chris, and Jeong In sat to her left.

            “Congratulations to the happy couple,” Chris said, the beginnings of a shit-eating grin on his face.

            “Shut the fuck up,” Jeong In said at the same time that she muttered, “Chris, please.” Jeong In was now unsure whether he believed Chris’s disconnect from the situation.

            “The guy you wanted is a fucking rat,” she said, getting to the point. She raised her hand to flag down a server. “I’m not sure you’d want him even if you could separate him from the boss.”

            Chris sighed. “I was starting to suspect. He’s two-faced, that one. He wasn’t always that way, but this life changes you.”

            “You’d have a better time fixing things with Lee Know than you would poaching the Smiler.”

            Chris made a displeased sound in his throat, schooling his features into neutrality as they ordered drinks. The server had the audacity to card Jeong In, and his compatriots had the audacity to snicker about it.

            “Poor baby boy,” she teased as the server walked away. She put her hand on the back of his neck and squeezed gently. It took a concerted effort for Jeong In to bristle instead of melt.

            He definitely thought he’d left his crush on her in the distant past. Chris tossed a look between the two of them that Jeong In couldn’t read.

            “Did you find out anything else?” he asked, steering the conversation back to where it had been before.

            “Oh, yeah,” she said. “If you’re determined to use somebody, you’re better off going for Hwang. His loyalty can be bought. He’s a lot like this one.”

            She gestured to Jeong In with her head as she said it, and he scoffed.

            “You’re the one who made me like this,” he protested. “I would have been perfectly loyal if you hadn’t decided I was no longer worth the effort. Just ask Chris. We’ve had a working relationship for almost four years and I haven’t crossed him a single time.”

            “He’s got a point,” Chris said. “I.N has a moral compass, busted as it may be. From what I hear, Hwang is a fucking psycho.”

            “You’re not incorrect,” she relented. “But he’s a psycho that can be convinced, if not necessarily reasoned with.”

            “Convinced how?” Chris asked, quieting down when their drinks arrived. He then ordered the most expensive meal on the menu.

            When the food orders were taken, she pulled out a phone and waggled the screen in Chris’s face.

            “Ask me nicely, and I’ll ask him nicely,” she said. Chris’s jaw dropped in time with Jeong In’s.

            “How did you get that?” Chris hissed as she tucked the phone away.

            “How do you think? I had to let him murder half my contact list. Hwang fancies himself an artist, though what he could be making with all that red I can’t possibly imagine. Suffice it to say he enjoys a sacrifice to his genius,” she said. “I let him do that, and he kept me from getting beaten into ground beef in there.”

            “That’s quite the visual,” Chris said, entirely deadpan. She shrugged.

            “Hwang took pity on you?” Jeong In asked. That would explain why she didn’t have any broken bones despite how badly beaten other prisoners had been. If Hwang had taken a liking to her, then pissing him off would have been more than enough deterrent to the others. Like Chris had said, Hwang was a fucking psycho. He’d been known to put a bullet between people’s eyes for the barest perceived offenses.

            She nodded, looking a little conflicted about it, herself. “Yeah. I don’t think I can take all the credit for it, though. He was trying to get back at the Smiler for something, and I just happened to help out with it before I got caught. Doesn’t matter, though. If I’m going to keep a working relationship with both you and Hwang, then the Smiler is off-limits, Chris. Whatever’s between the two of them is personal.”

            “Lee Know it is, then,” Chris sighed. “Damn it. I really didn’t want to have to talk to him directly.”

            “Bad blood?” Jeong In asked. Chris nodded.

            “Very.”

            The conversation moved to lower-stakes topics as they ate, and Jeong In was grateful for it. He didn’t need any more revelations or threats to their lives today. Finally, a little after 10 PM, they released Chris to get back on the road, and the two of them went back up to their room. Jeong In tossed his blazer over the back of a chair and unbuttoned his dress shirt.

            “To the best of your knowledge,” he asked, “did Chris lie about any of that?”

            “He didn’t,” she said. “It’s a complicated web with Lee Know. He and Chan used to be close. I don’t know exactly what happened. But I do know I don’t intend to put myself in the middle of it ever again.”

            “Good,” Jeong In said. “It might be important to him, but it’s not worth your life. If you weren’t able to cut that deal with Hwang, you might be dead right now.”

            She swallowed, looking at the floor for a moment. “I know. I’m lucky to be alive.”

            She looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t. Jeong In hung his dress shirt and blazer in the closet and approached her in his dark t-shirt and pants. She looked at him curiously.

            “What is it?” he asked, reaching to touch her arm. He’d meant for it to be just a reassuring graze, but feeling her there, solid in front of him, prompted him to wrap his fingers gently around her bicep.

            “I’m lucky that you came,” she said. “And I’m . . . I’m lucky that you stayed.”

            He wasn’t sure why that of all things made him bashful, but he blinked shyly at her, suddenly unsure of what to say.

            “You could have decided to leave me there,” she said. “When you saw it was me, you could have turned your back and left.”

            “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said. “And not just because of the payout. I hated you, noona, for what you did. But hate like that is only possible if you really cared first. Hatred, to me, has always felt like rotted love. It’s hard for me to explain exactly how much I cared about you back then, and how I wasn’t able to let go of it after all this time.”

            “I shouldn’t have done what I did,” she said. “I shouldn’t have treated you that way, like I knew best and you knew nothing . . . I shouldn’t have shut you out. I’m sorry, Jeong In,” she said, and he knew she meant it.

            He hesitated for a moment, reaching to hold her other arm, too. She didn’t move, only watched his face.

            “There are people who say everything happens for a reason,” he began. “I always thought that was bullshit, but . . . As much as it hurt, as much as I hated you . . . Noona, I met you when I was seventeen. I think . . . I think if I hadn’t been away from you all these years . . .”

            God, was he really doing this? Was he really going to try to say this to her?

            His grip on her arms tightened a little, but he was careful not to hurt her.

            “I think with the time we’ve spent apart, it makes it less weird for me to confess to you now,” he said finally.

            He expected to see her walls go up then, for her to remove his grip and take a step back from him. But instead, she simply held his gaze, looking thoughtful.

            “I liked you then,” Jeong In added softly. “And after the events of the last two days . . . It’s clear to me that I still like you now. I’m . . . I’m sorry for putting you in such a strange position. But if I’m going to be in your life again, if you’re going to consent to have me around, I thought you should know.”

            “Thank you,” she said. Gingerly, she removed her arms from his grasp, but instead of moving away like he thought she would, she reached up to tenderly trace the lines of his cheekbones and jaw, finally letting her hands rest on his shoulders. “In the interest of getting things out in the open, I suppose I should give my side, too.” He nodded, urging her to continue. “Obviously, there’s no way I would ever be with a teenager. Even working in the shitty half of the world where we literally get away with murder, that shit is disgusting. I’ve had people killed for it.”

            “I know,” he said. “You let me practice on some of them, remember?”

            Ah, the days of his supervised hits. He was clearly deranged if he was able to look back on those memories with fondness.

            “But when you came into my cell yesterday, I honestly didn’t recognize you until you spoke, and even then I thought I had to be imagining until you put your signature on the back wall. Now that I’ve had more time to look at you, of course, the foundation of your features is the same, but my god, Jeong In.” She paused, laughed to herself. “You grew up to be a fucking stunner.”

            He gave a surprised laugh, grinning bashfully, avoiding her eyes for a moment. He’d murdered more people than he could count, yet here he was, blushing because the woman he liked thought he was handsome. What a set of priorities.

            “Thank you,” he said softly. She squeezed his shoulders, and he met her eyes again.

            “I guess what I’m trying to say is,” she said, “if you wanted to kiss me, I wouldn’t stop you.”

            “I want to do a lot more than kiss you,” he said, unable to rein in the honesty now that they’d started. She raised her eyebrows at him, but the curve of a smile remained on her lips.

            “You’ve only been back in my life for two days and you already want to stick your dick inside me?” she asked with what was hopefully faked incredulity.

            “I woke up in the same bed as you this morning. There aren’t many people in the world I trust like that. Believe it or not, I don’t get laid very often,” he admitted. Her smile took on a bit of solemnity.

            “Yeah . . . Yeah, I believe it. It’s difficult to make connections way down here,” she agreed. “But you’re sure? This isn’t too weird for you?”

            “I’m sure, unless it’s too weird for you,” he said. Her smile broadened.

            “Such a gentleman,” she said, wrapping her arms lazily around his neck. Almost instinctually, his hands fit against her waist. “But not a perfect gentleman, I hope.”

            “I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he said, and then his mouth was on hers. It started out gentle, slow as they felt one another out. Despite what he’d said, Jeong In did do his best to at least start out a gentleman, enveloping her lips with just enough pressure and fervor that she would be able to feel how much he wanted this. She returned his kiss in kind, one of her hands moving to cup his jaw, the other splayed across his back.

            As Jeong In started to lose himself to the kiss, he grazed her lower lip with his tongue, begging for a taste of her. She opened her mouth to him, deepening the kiss, letting him dip his tongue into her mouth. She tasted sweet, like the fruity drink she’d had with dinner.

            He moaned into her mouth, his hands trying to press her body closer. She hummed approvingly, kissing him until they ran out of air and broke apart, panting.

            “Yang Jeong In,” she said, a soft teasing note to her voice. “I didn’t know you’d be the type to get hard just from kissing.”

            She was right; he had started to get hard, the outline of it pressed against her pelvis thanks to how close they were. He breathed a short laugh.

            “Only when it’s with someone I really want,” he said. “And I really want you.”

            “Then you’ll have me,” she said, and kissed him again.

            Jeong In realized then she’d been holding back, letting him lead, making absolutely certain this was what he wanted. Now that she’d gotten confirmation, he could feel how badly she wanted him, too. Her kisses were deep, insistent, teasing him with the idea of her tongue in his mouth but never quite committing to it, the faintest graze of teeth against his lower lip making him gasp a soft moan. All the while, she had a hand creeping slowly up the back of his shirt, exploring his skin and tormenting him with the slightest drag of her nails.

            “Fuck,” he muttered against her mouth, which she quickly captured again, both her mouth and her nails more insistent now. He had to break the kiss when his back arched slightly, her scratches lighting his nerves on fire, making him groan.

            “Why don’t you take this off for me?” she said, picking at the hem of his shirt. He nodded and obliged.

            The way she looked at his body made him shy and eager all at once. She looked like she wanted to eat him alive, and he’d let her. She explored him with her hands—his slim waist, his defined abdomen, his broad chest and shoulders. He felt nearly lightheaded, like he’d been holding his breath for a minute and a half out of fear of breaking the moment.

            “God, the job has been kind to you, huh?” she teased, tracing along the ridges of his abdomen, stopping exactly where his waistband did. He wanted her to go lower so badly.

            “It keeps me active,” he breathed.

            “Mmm,” she hummed, her expression mischievous. “I’d like to keep you active, too.”

            “Please,” he said. She bit her lip to keep a fiendish grin from splitting all the way across her face.

            “Don’t worry, baby,” she said, pressing close to him to kiss along his jaw. “I won’t leave you wanting.”

            She led him to the bed, laying him out. Her hands trailed over scars old and new on his skin, examining them with her hands before she kissed them, every one she could find. Jeong In could hardly believe someone would be so tender with him of all people. When she finally got all the way down to his waistband again, his cock twitched up, straining against his pants.

            “Want me to take these off?” she asked, tapping a nail against his belt buckle.

            “Yes,” he said automatically.

            “You don’t think that’s kind of unfair?” she said, teasing now. “I mean, I haven’t taken off anything yet.”

            “I don’t care,” he insisted. “I want you to look at me. I want you to play with me.”

            “What a good boy,” she praised as she undid his belt, then his pants. She hooked her thumbs into the waistbands of his pants and underwear simultaneously, and he lifted his hips off the bed to make them easier to remove. She tossed the whole bundle to the floor, then took her time to simply marvel at him.

            “Goddamnit,” she sighed, laying a hand on his chest and trailing it down, down, until she held his cock in her grasp. “Every bit of you is gorgeous.”

            He fought the urge to cover his face with his hands. Why did her compliments make his head feel so fuzzy?

            “I’m happy you like me,” he said meekly, a faint smile on his lips. But then she started to work his cock in her hand and coherent thought suddenly became much harder. He lost his grip on it completely when she lowered her mouth to his tip. She hummed appreciatively around him, the vibration shooting straight through his length. He groaned, bucking his hips up to get a little more of himself in her mouth.

            She pulled back, a dab of pre-cum mixed with spit clinging to her lower lip. “Eager, are we?”

            “I thought that was pretty obvious,” he said. She laughed softly as she situated herself better between his legs. She put her tongue on his shaft, licking him preemptively before she took him in her mouth for real. Bit by bit, she gradually bobbed her way all the way down his length until he was poking her in the back of the throat. He grunted, and she made an amused sound, muffled thanks to her full mouth. Jeong In couldn’t make himself stop staring. After several slow drags to get them used to each other, she started to move faster. Jeong In gathered her hair in his hand to keep it out of the way, and that only made her even more eager.

            Finally, groaning with every pull of her lips and tongue, Jeong In couldn’t take it anymore, pulling on her hair to get her to relinquish his cock. She drew back, split dripping from her mouth and onto his erection, making it slicker than it already was. He choked back a whine at the sight.

            “Are you okay?” she asked him.

            “Yeah,” he managed. “It just felt really good and I didn’t want to come like that.”

            Her gaze switched from curious to coquettish in an instant. “Oh? How do you want to come, then?”

            He sat up, reaching to cup between her legs with his hand. She gave a heavy sigh, grinding down onto his hand.

            “Get naked for me?” Jeong In asked. She nodded, getting up to do exactly that, dropping her clothes onto the pile with his. She’d barely made it back onto the bed before Jeong In moved up, slipping his right hand directly between her legs, his left pressing against her lower back to bring her closer. As he started a slow exploration of her folds and the wetness that had gathered between them, he parted his lips to take her breast in his mouth. The little whimper she made was all the encouragement he needed, sucking gently while his tongue ran repeatedly over her nipple. Her fingers were in his hair, and he glanced up at her, taking in the way her eyes were blissfully shut.

            They sprang open with a gasp, however, when he slid a finger inside her. He moved to her other breast, determined to treat them fairly, while he pumped his finger in and out of her, delighting in the wet sound the motion made. He gave the barest graze of his teeth against her nipple and she whined. He moved back from her chest enough to look up at her.

           “More,” she said, and he slid a second finger inside her. She moaned, her eyes shutting. He watched her face carefully as he curled his fingers forward, looking for that delicate spot inside her that would make her squirm. Sure enough, another whine and a flinch of her hips confirmed that he’d found it, and he moved into a combination of pumping his fingers and putting pressure on that spot. She put her hands on his shoulders for stability, grinding down on his hand, her moans growing louder and closer together. Jeong In brought his free hand to her clit, rubbing gently but firmly, and after maybe half a minute more, he felt her orgasm crest, her core pulsing around his fingers. Her moans changed, too, short and gasped, her nails digging just the slightest bit into his shoulders while she rode out her high.

            She looked fucking gorgeous. Her eyes had taken on a delirious sheen, and Jeong In bit his lip, unable to resist anymore. He withdrew his fingers, coated in her wet, and put both hands on her hips, guiding her to straddle him as he lay back on the bed again. Despite the pleasure high, she took the hint, positioning his length with her fingers, lining him up perfectly with her dripping heat.

            When Jeong In pulled her down, he wasn’t gentle or patient about it. He sheathed all of himself inside her in one deep, sound motion that made him groan and her whine.

            “Fuck,” she hissed, still hypersensitive from her orgasm. She put her hands down on the bed to either side of his body, staring down at him. Her pupils were wide and dark, and Jeong In knew his eyes looked the same. It had been a long time since he’d wanted someone this badly, let alone someone he already had a deep emotional attachment to.

            A throb went through his cock and she whined again, her pussy squeezing against him in response. He heaved a ragged sigh.

            “I need you,” he said, reaching to touch her face with his clean hand. “Please.”

            He could have moved himself, but he didn’t want to. He needed her to do it, needed her to wring his orgasm out of him the way he’d done to her. She didn’t need to be told a second time, immediately dragging her core nearly all the way up his length before dropping back down. She kept to those slow glides for a time, getting used to him, and Jeong In was fully enraptured by her. Everything from her face to her chest to the point where they met was utterly perfect, and he couldn’t keep his hands off her. He couldn’t keep them still, either, sometimes holding her hips to help her rhythm, sometimes teasing her breasts, sometimes cupping the back of her neck to pull her down to kiss him.

            Her hips stuttered in their rhythm, no longer deep and even, her bucking turning quick and shallow.

            “Fuck, Jeong In,” she gasped. “I’m gonna come again.”

            “Please,” he groaned. “Oh my god, please, I want to feel it.”

            He didn’t mention that he was already so fucking close that feeling her orgasm directly on his cock would probably send him over, too.

            She nodded, unable to form words anymore, as she rutted hard against him, panting incoherent moans and whines as she grew closer.

            “Yes, fuck, noona, please,” he begged, needing this as badly as she surely did. His voice seemed to be the last straw, and with a high, pitchy moan, her cunt spasmed on him, her hips stuttering, unable to go on. She planted her hands on his chest for stability, her nails pricking his skin just the slightest bit.

            Jeong In, unwilling to give her any time to recover, propped her hips up with his hands and fucked up into her, prolonging her high and chasing his own. The way she pulsed around him was so fucking perfect, and with maybe ten more thrusts, his orgasm tore through him, hard enough to make his body tremble while he emptied his warmth inside her. He was not at all quiet during the process, his moans and whines sounding pitchy to his own ears. He pulled her all the way down onto him, his hips flinching against her, trying to get himself as deep inside her as possible. Finally, the height of it started to ebb, and he was able to focus his eyes again, gazing up at her blissfully fucked-out face.

            “Fuck, Jeong In,” she groaned. “You felt so good.”

           “So did you,” he murmured, drawing her down to kiss her forehead, her cheek, her lips. She settled herself more comfortably against him, distributing more of her weight along his body, leaving his cock embedded in her while it softened.

            Jeong In was about to let his eyes droop closed when a sudden spike of panic went through him. “Shit, I forgot to check. Are you on birth control?”

            She laughed. “Don’t worry, I was sterilized a few years back.”

            He relaxed. The last thing either of them needed was for him to knock her up.

            “It’s a great situation for cock-warming,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay like this for a few more minutes before we clean up.”

            “I don’t mind at all,” he murmured. “I like this . . .”

            She laid on him like that for about five minutes. Then he helped her to the washroom, putting her directly in the shower to clean up and staying in the room until she was done.

            He already hadn’t wanted to leave her side again, but now, he simply couldn’t fathom it.

#kpop smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #jeongin smut #i.n smut #jeongin x oc #i.n x oc #jeongin oneshot #i.n oneshot

[x-amount-verbs]

A Helping Hand - Part 28

[start here] || Part 27 || Part 28 || Part 29

[Silco POV for 24, 25, 26, 27, if you missed them]

[awesome art of riding crop Silco from @steponmesilco icymi 👀]

[silco x f!reader] [2.6k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [rated M] [needle and blood mentions] [tween Jinx] [gun-related PTSD]

AO3 Link

“Okay, I know I’m probably going to regret this, but… what happened with you two?”

Sevika is propped up against the wall beside where you’re poised with one of Jinx’s paintball guns, while the kid herself is tinkering with the settings of the moving targets, and drawing up new ones on the plywood that used to be a barrier to the first floor of the warehouse.

“Me and Jinx?” You may be being purposefully obtuse. “Nothing. Why?”

Her flat look isn’t fooled. “The old man.”

“He’s not that old.”

Dark brows raise, and you realize too late that she may not have been quite so aware as you thought, but that little slip up certainly helped.

“He’s at least ten years older than you,” she points out. “So I think it’s fair to call him the old man.”

“Younger than my parents would be.”

Her look seems to say that you’re missing something. It screams at you to listen to something, and you can’t tell what hidden message she’s hearing.

“That’s your criteria?” she asks incredulously. “If he’s old enough to be your father?”

“Gods, no, I just— he isn’t, okay? He’s just—”

Wide eyes and a tilted chin warn you you’d better not be saying what she thinks you’re saying. You wince.

“Nevermind.”

Sevika shakes her head. “He’s like 60,” she deadpans.

“What?! Fuck, Sevika, he’s like 42!” You should not feel this defensive over your boss’s age. Sevika’s sidelong smirk seems to agree. “Don’t be a dick,” you grumble.

Her tone is wry. “Actually, he’s 39. Feels ancient, though.”

So much for not getting defensive— “He’s barely older than you!” you argue.

“He’s the most crotchety uptight under-40 I’ve ever seen.”

From the self-satisfied curve of her lips, even if she’s not looking at you, you suspect she may be purposefully bashing him just to get under your skin. Which shouldn’t work. Cause he isn’t anything important to you.

“I swear he keeps like 15 extra years in a pocket dimension,” she drawls.

You scoff a laugh before you can stop yourself. It’s pretty funny.

“Regardless, sure hope you get a handle on this weird crush you have-”

“Not a crush.” Wow, never thought you’d have to have a convo like this. “Definitely not a crush.”

“Yeah, fuckin’ hope so, cause that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“—Which is why it isn’t.”

“That’s why?”

What? Wait— “No, it’s— that’s not why, that’s not what I—”

Sevika’s sarcastic mmmhm at your gradual descent to flustered-ness has your ears burning.

“How old is your girlfriend?” you shoot back, going on the offensive.

Her lips press tight for a second, gaze averting. “Don’t have a girlfriend-”

“Your friend, then. The one at Babette’s?” You’ve picked up on a few things through gossip at the Drop.

Grey eyes stay resolutely turned away, but you can feel her sudden rigidity. Ha. Not so nice to be hounded on your insecurities, huh?

“She’s irrelevant.”

“What, like 19?”

“No.” The force with which she refutes your purposefully low guess is insistent. “No, she’s— I don’t know, 24. 25 maybe.”

You snort. “Yeah, and you’re one to talk age gaps.”

“Not the same, we don’t have a employer-”

“You better not be about to say you and your sex worker girlfriend never had a relationship where you paid her.”

You actually see a rosy cast to her cheeks. Good. About time she got flustered instead of you.

“Our relationship is— it’s not exactly…” It’s Sevika’s turn to flounder. “It’s complicated,” she growls, finally.

“Well. Same.”

“Which is much much worse for you than for me.”

She’s objectively correct. “Look, Silco and I don’t have anything like that. We never did.” It’s basically true, right? So he fingerbanged you bent over his desk after thoroughly spanking you with a crop. And a cane. And even his hand a couple times.

That’s… um. That’s… not the same as sex.

Fuck.

“Riiight. So he kicked people out of the Drop a couple days ago because…?”

“He what?”

She blinks surprise. “You seriously didn’t know? People were theorizing. You went up to his office drunk one night, a body got carried out, people thought he killed you then, but the next day you show up and he immediately clears the bar. I’ll be honest, there were bets you’d leave without the hand, if not the arm, and a decent number of people thinking you wouldn’t survive the week. Yet next day he calls me in to say you’re cleared to see Jinx again, which is definitely not what I expected to hear.”

It’s your turn to stare like an idiot. Silco was the one who gave the okay? Well, maybe you should’ve guessed it, but still. It doesn’t make sense, remembering how completely cold he’d been that afternoon.

“So I repeat: what happened between you two? He’s been quiet and it’s creepy. Half the time can’t get him to shut up.”

Nope. Stop it, heart, this isn’t good news, stop beating like there’s hope here. It’s nothing. He’s just… he’s pouting. Or he’s coming to his senses. Or, hopefully, he’s reinstating helpful boundaries, and this is his way of showing it.

Stop, stop the stupid skipping a beat, this means nothing. It means respect, at best, and that should be a bare minimum, not an exciting prospect.

No matter how much you chastise your heart, it’s still fluttering. Like a fucking dumbass.

“I— I just— talked to him. Brought up some frustrations.” That’s close enough. “I didn’t think he’d listen to me.”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. For all I know this is some elaborate plot; he’s a petty bitch when he wants to be.”

Oh, mood.

Your name is screeched across the length of the shooting gallery, effectively ending the conversation. “It’s working!” Jinx shouts, grinning and waving her spanner in the air as she slams a fist against the button that runs the motor for the moving targets.

It takes you too many tries to get your aim steady.

—

“You’re being weird.” Jinx kicks her feet against the empty barrel she sits on, licking her fingers with a kebab in the other (paint-stained) hand.

“Am I?” You’ve been settling into the routine surprisingly well, you thought. It’s nice having her back. Feet slotted with hers from your perch opposite, the casual proximity feeding that bottomless pit in you that craves closeness. “How so?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs, pulling a chunk of meat along the skewer until she can bite it off the end. “You an’ Sevika argued earlier and then your aim was shit— sorry. But it’s true.”

“Please consider that I’m operating with a fake hand,” you point out, holding out your prosthesis pointedly. “Remember that part? Big bloody accident, got maimed, replacement hand, all that?”

Jinx snorts. “Yeah but you did better before. I beat you every single round this time.”

“Have you considered that maybe you’re just really good?” you ask, brows raised. “Like really good, Jinx, you would beat me in my prime.” At least, with paintballs. Thank gods she isn’t shooting live rounds yet— both for the risk to your reputation in the local standings, and for other reasons. Three times since you started working with her in the warehouse you’ve spotted her shooting rats with her paint gun. Nothing lethal as of yet, but it can be a little worrying.

“Yeah yeah,” Jinx rolls her eyes, though there’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. “But you’re usually tougher to beat. What did you an’ Sevika argue about?”

You snort. She’s not wrong. Not entirely, anyway. “We weren’t arguing, just talking.”

Jinx’s brows furrow, face falling into a small frown.

“Honest,” you promise. “Not the kind of arguing that matters, anyway. Still friends.”

She pulls a face. “Shouldn’t be.”

Bemused, you raise a brow at the kid, but take another long swig of water before speaking (no food eight hours before meeting with Singed, meaning post-training lunch was your last chance, two hours ago). “Shouldn’t be friends with Sevika?” After making an effort to thaw her chilly exterior? “Why not?”

“She hates me.” Jinx’s lips twist, color high on her cheeks. Angry? Embarrassed, maybe? Or ashamed. Some combo of all three, perhaps. “Hates being stuck with me. Hates me for— just hates me,” she mutters bitterly.

“I find that hard to-”

“It’s cause her arm,” the kid interrupts, before her mouth snaps shut. Her kicking has stopped.

You try to add up the clues you’ve gotten, but they aren’t quite making sense. Scooting forward, you knock your knees against hers, trying to offer some kind of proof that you’re staying close. And maybe partly cause her sudden mood change worries you. Any time she seems upset you’re worried. There’s a bond there, between the two of you, some kind of recognition that resonates feelings, reflects them back, and her anxiety makes you anxious. Just like her joy makes you joyful.

“Hey,” you nudge her foot, pointedly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. But you’re still my friend, okay? I’m not picking her over you.” You barely refrain from pointing out that you can have multiple friends. Something tells you Jinx doesn’t want to hear that, not in this moment.

The worry in her brief too-open gaze sends a pang through your chest. “I’m your best friend, though, right?” she asks.

Shit. It feels about accurate to that age, at least. Always needing to know you mattered to someone, that you had social standing. Not an insecurity you’d expect from Jinx, but maybe she just never felt threatened before. You were her captive friend.

Maybe you shouldn’t validate that kind of thinking, but— “Uh huh.” Her visible relief encourages you; you hold out a crooked finger. “Best friends.”

Jinx grins as she hooks her finger with yours. “Fuck yeah.”

“Fuck yeah,” you repeat, like an oath. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, I think you insulted my aim.” You hop off your perch, smacking the bottom of her foot with your canteen. “Finish eating so I can beat you fair and square.”

“Psh, yeah right.”

—

The euphoria of having Jinx so close - the sheer joy you get from having her cling and climb and wrap arms around you - is tempered every other night by your painfully detached meetings with the Doctor.

A day of shooting with Jinx, followed by an evening nap, and then being drained of blood and told your progress is uninspiring but acceptable. Glowing praise, truly.

A day spent dragging Jinx along to training and letting her thoroughly pummel you just as often as you sent her gleefully screeching form soaring into plushly padded crash mats. A long shower, watching the faint shadow of marks from your day with Silco fading, and early bedtime.

A day of Jinx excitedly showing off her prototype for the Poppet gun, an evening spent icing your sore limbs, and a night of blood loss and five total sentences of communication, one of which was ‘stay still.’

A day letting Jinx pick out a buffet of food options on Silco’s dime. (In other words: a mistake.)

A day spent indulging in combing and braiding Jinx’s hair as she read out her history homework, an evening spent sitting in bed slowly braiding your own hair to match - trying not to think about the glove on your hand, and utterly failing - only to have that effort completely ignored by the Doctor in favor of once again taking blood and barely speaking.

You pass out after that one— or at least white out for a few minutes before waking, spluttering, to a face full of cold water.

“Why are you unconscious? Bloodwork shows nothing out of the ordinary.”

“How the fuck should I know,” you growl, wringing out your braided hair. “Maybe it’s all that fucking bloodwork you’re so keen on.” After every unproductive meeting, wobbling home dizzy, grimacing against the roll of the ground as you walked.

Singed frowns. “How else am I to know you’re correctly maintaining your prosthesis and metabolizing the hydraulic bleed?”

“I don’t know— however you did it the last two weeks?” Your voice is biting, lips pressed thin as you turn away, attempting to regain control of your temper. At this point, you’d rather just go back to Silco.

—The thought hurts more than you expect. A twisting pain in your chest, talons dug into your esophagus and tugging.

The Doctor still has that same frown. “I’ll determine an alternative.”

“Can’t you just take my word for it?” It’s so tiring to be doubted so much, you never realized before. “I have no reason to lie to you.”

His loose gesture is dismissive. “Find yourself food. Our next meeting I’ll have an alternate method.”

—

Things don’t go entirely to plan.

The food part does, at least. On the way home, stopping in at a market halfway between the Doctor’s lab and your lodging house, stuffing yourself on a couple top-notch hand pies and taking a couple more for the road.

But leaving the market you feel the tug on your waist that signals interference (just one of the reasons you only keep part of your coin on your belt), and grab for the wrist automatically with your prosthesis.

Maybe if you could feel what you were doing you would’ve been able to get it right. As it is, you instead feel the scrape of the blade across your arm by the vibrations on your stump beneath.

It all happens so fast.

Feeling the thief snatching for your money, grabbing for their hand, a quarter turned as you feel the blade, and halfway turned as your good hand moves to your pistol.

Finding a gun in your face is unexpected.

Your brain freezes.

Instinct, entirely instinct, takes over as you disconnect.

The next thing you know the shot is ringing in your ears, blood spattering your boots. You stare, unseeing, at the man staggered to the floor, blood leaking from the bullet hole in his shoe, one hand clutching his knee for stability, the other still on the gun.

Another shot hits his shoulder and the scream cuts through.

You stop yourself from aiming for the head. He’ll need to be questioned, have to know who hired him, who thought it was smart to bring a gun into—

A blink, and you’re back in reality, gun cocked at the kid whose hands have raised in panicked surrender.

Some distant part of you feels sick. Heart racing, dizzy, but floating unmoored from your surroundings. It feels like you’re on uneven ground, hovering, or bobbing in the Pilt.

When you have no words to say, the kid turns tail and runs.

You’re not proud of it. You aren’t. It’s habit, or fear, or some confusion between memory and reality. That gun was in your face and you can’t get it out of your head—

You shoot him.

Immediate regret turns your stomach. Your hand buzzes from the recoil, staring unblinking at the kid— fuck, he’s got to be no older than Efin, a teenager, just some kid trying to make a fast buck lifting purses in a crowded market. And now he’s on the ground, wailing, sobbing and clutching his leg, the bloody mess of a wound to his ankle. If he has a lookout, they aren’t rushing to his aid.

His gun is forgotten, and as glassy eyes drift to it, an icy chill seeps into your bones. A fake. It’s so obviously a fake. Of course it is; a kid like him couldn’t get his hands on a real gun, even on the infinitesimal chance he could afford one. A paintball gun painted to look like the real thing, meant to scare people into complying, not to kill them.

Your brain is dead, low static, feeling the feelings but unable to think in words.

There’s noise around you, but you can’t process it, can’t make meaning from the sounds.

You turn on your heel and walk away, already feeling the tremors start.

—

[next part]

[Ooof. Sorry for the wait guys >< Life, as it often does, has been getting in the way and my brain has been stalling out like crazy lately. I’m not quite done with 31, but I figure I can make y’all stop waiting before I hit the two week mark. Might be another wait, if I can’t get my brain to crank into gear, but at least I have a couple more chapters in reserve for just this sort of thing 😅 At the very least I’ll end up posting around the 15-16th because I’m going out of town and I always like to have that pick-me-up whenever I’m done being stuck driving or flying or on a train or whatever it is. Hopefully brain works before then, but at the latest we’ve got that to look forward to!

Anxiety and depression have been kicking my ass lately, so I can’t promise replies to every single comment right away, but I do always love to see comments and tags and reactions regardless 🥹 Standard plugs apply; reblog if you liked it, check it on ao3, check the revPOVs both here and ao3 if you missed them (I don’t think detachment is up on ao3 yet, but that will probably go up next week). If you want to be tagged in future posts, comment on this linked post to get added to the tag list.

Thanks everyone so much for sticking around. I love the love you all give me, love the support from this super loving bunch of fanatics in this mad corner of the internet. ❤️ -verbs]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic @sherwood-forests @ariaud @witxhy-lexx @mazikomo @leave-me-alone-doctor @antoine-tte @wisteria-songs @imalovernotahater @eriseffigy @leorioaki @artificialwords @hehicular-hanslaughter-lecter @ironandglass @ughhhh177 @faraige @ilikemymendarkandfictional @jennithejester @insult-2-injury @iz-zy5 @rinadragomir @queenofspades6 @cuddlejeongin @differentladynerd @alternativeforensicscientist @leo-the-undead @silcoitus @stepsonsilco @commotionpotion @averagecrastinator @eurydicethesage @mialobo @wierdestmoppet @bumble-bee-17 @sonicbananawithbowtie

#silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco/reader #silco #silco arcane #silcoxreader #wip:a helping hand #a helping hand #x-amount-writes #arcane x reader

[magniloquent-raven]

Could a I get trans!Tommy x Billy fic where Billy finds out Tommy is trans and he's freaking out but Billy just reassures him and comforts him until one thing leads to another and they end up having sex?

this ended up 1) a college au for some reason, 2) t4t because i started writing billy as trans without even thinkin about it at first lmao and 3) MUCH longer than i thought it would be, holy shit

i hope all that's okay & i really hope u enjoy ur fic 💕💕💕

~tag list ppl just in case yall are interested even tho its a ship ive never written before? @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle @prettyboy-like-you ~

[read on ao3]

**

“Carol broke up with me again,” Tommy says, words slurred by the alcohol in his system and muffled by his forearm squished against his cheek. He blinks up at Billy from where he’s half-laying on the peeling cover of his algebra text book. They didn’t bother clearing the homework from his desk before dumping three six-packs and a plastic bag stuffed with snack food on top of the mess. 

He’s usually a fun drunk, Billy wouldn’t have brought beer if he’d known it was gonna go like this. 

But of course it’s because of Carol. It’s always because of Carol. Except that one time it was because of a phonecall with his mother that he refused to talk about, even after the tequila loosened his lips enough to have him waxing poetic about his ex-bff with a wistful look in his eye. 

“Again?” Billy leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. He’s got one booted foot propped on the edge of Tommy’s roommate’s bed. “This is the third time in four months, man. Is your dick too small to keep her satisfied, or what.”

He’s supposed to push back. That’s how this works. He’s supposed to bristle and sit up and defend himself, because he has some fucking pride. And before he knows it he’ll be too busy exchanging barbs with Billy to think about how miserable he is about the breakup. 

He’s not supposed to turn his head, hiding his face in his folded arms, and mumble, “Something like that…” all morose and self-pitying. 

Because no one comes to Billy for this shit. To be vulnerable. To talk about feelings and have an honest heart-to-heart and a shoulder to cry on and all that crap people want when they’re going through a real break-up. He can put on a good face when girls come sniffing around for a rebound lay. The girls who got screwed over by their white-bread boyfriends and want to pretend they’re over it by getting fingerbanged in a public bathroom by some bad boy who won’t call them after. But fake sympathy and an uncanny ability to deflect questions about why he doesn’t want his touch reciprocated did not prepare him for…whatever is happening right now.

“Y’know there’s other ways to fuck a girl, right,” Billy says from behind his beer. There’s not much left and it’s still not making this conversation any easier.

Tommy groans, burrowing deeper into his sleeves. “I know.”

“Hm.”

“S’complicated.”

“Not if you know what you’re looking—wait. The break-up. Right. Look, you want my advice? Move on. Live a little. You came halfway across the country to, what, stay leashed to the same pussy you’ve been getting since you were twelve? Who the fuck does that.”

“Dunno.”

Billy blows out a slow breath, then downs the rest of his beer. He drops the empty can on Tommy’s desk and watches it rock, tip, and fall over. It rolls, wobbling through drying condensation rings and chip crumbs ‘til it hits Tommy’s elbow, coming to a stop next to his left ear. He doesn’t move.

The assholes next door are having an obnoxiously loud argument, only slightly muffled through the thin walls. The radio on Tommy’s bedside table warbles through a jingle that keeps cutting in and out. Neither of them speak for a long, awkward moment.   

“...She really did a number on you, huh.”

Tommy sighs. “Nah.” He pauses, then peeks out from the crook of his arm. “Kinda.” He stares at the can nestled up against his arm, looking uncharacteristically contemplative. “Dunno, man, I just want people to stop leaving me.”

Billy’s lungs seize painfully, his whole chest tightening around the jagged edges of a sympathetic twinge, like gripping a shard of glass in his fist, cutting himself open on it. There’s anger dripping from that open wound, familiar and yet foreign in its compassion for Tommy of all people. 

They’ve never been especially close. Billy’s not especially close with anybody, and he always figured hanging around Tommy would make it easy to keep it that way. The guy just gives off a vibe. The small town jock type, only ever wants to talk about tits and booze and whatever stupid, embarrassing gossip he can turn into a joke.

For six months Billy’s been content to do that, to hang out with Tommy drinking beer and pretending to care about the low-cut tanktops their English lit professor favours. It feels good, in a way. Safe. But it was never supposed to be about Tommy himself. He wasn’t supposed to care about him. Caring about people is dangerous. Makes it harder to cut ties if he needs to. Or worse, it means the inevitable rejection if he ever gets outed will actually hurt.

Tommy’s still looking at him, sullen and hazy-eyed. His freckles are just barely visible in the shitty lamplight, his hair is sticking up at odd angles, flattened on one side from laying on his desk. He’s kind of pretty when he’s not being a shithead.

Wait. No. No, no. Absolutely the fuck not. Not going there. 

Billy tries very hard to look like he has no opinions about Tommy’s face. Or his stupid puppy-dog eyes.

He bites his tongue when panic tries to sharpen it. The anxiety bubbling in his gut turns to bile burning his throat, and it’s tempting to lash out, to spit venom like the sour taste in his mouth is anyone’s fault but his, like pushing Tommy away would fix anything. 

He hasn’t seen Max since he moved into his tiny dorm room on campus. Hasn’t spoken to her since his acceptance letter came in months before that. He thought it would make things easier, better for both of them, but now he just gets angry at himself when seeing flashes of red hair makes his heart clench. 

It’s only ever made his life worse, he doesn’t know why he keeps trying it. 

The first time he let a boy fuck him he felt so shitty about it afterwards that he told everyone who would listen that the guy kissed like a dead fish and couldn’t even get his dick hard. It made Billy feel something, when people laughed and said that probably meant he was a fag. Something sickly and awful, but somehow vindicating. 

He caught three meatheads beating the shit out of the boy who took his virginity three weeks after he lied about it never happening. The look on his bloodied face still haunts Billy’s nightmares. 

Billy’s never made anyone’s life better by being in it. He doesn’t know what to say to someone who doesn’t want to be left.

“Yeah, I hear you, amigo,” he says grimly, and regrets it immediately. It’s too personal. Too self-pitying. It’s echoes of when is mom coming home, and a slap ringing in his ears, a phantom ache in his jaw, the taste of salt and iron.   

He keeps his gaze locked on a tiny dent near the top of the unopened beer he reaches for, hoping to occupy his hands, only to be stopped in his tracks when clumsy fingers pat his knuckles. He’s not sure if it’s meant to be a comforting gesture or if Tommy’s just too drunk to keep his hand steady and was trying to grab ahold of him. 

The look on his face is oddly intense, sombre, like stroking the back of Billy’s hand is the most important thing he’s ever done and it’s taking all his concentration to do it. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows, and a slant to his mouth.

Billy should snatch his hand away, but he lets it happen. Despite his embarrassment it’s kind of nice. 

“I like having you around.”

Well. That might be a bridge too far. Maybe. The tips of his ears feel hot. “Okay, I think you’ve probably had enough to drink tonight, Hagan.”

Tommy scoffs, his nose wrinkling a little.

“Seriously, if you propose to my hand I’m never buying you beer again.” 

“Liar.” 

“Don’t test me.” Billy can’t quite keep the laugh out of his voice.

“Pff.” He pauses, his fingertips coming to rest along the length of Billy’s thumb, pinky finger toying with the ragged edge of his nail. “You like having me around, right?” There’s a desperate edge to the question, a tremble that makes Billy nervous. 

“I—” He chews the inside of his cheek, studying the sad twist pulling at the corner of Tommy’s mouth. “Yeah.” Maybe he’s drunk enough he won’t remember this tomorrow. Maybe that’s why Billy nudges his hand, linking two of their fingers together, a tiny smile tugging at his lips when Tommy gapes at him. “Yeah I do.”

**

Billy’s head pounds when he stirs, rustling unfamiliar sheets, and the light filtering in through crooked blinds makes his eyes ache. At least the cottonmouth isn’t too bad, and his stomach seems to be behaving itself. He’s definitely had worse, much worse. 

There’s a groan across the room. He buries his face into the borrowed pillow tucked under his arm to hide a snicker. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy grumbles. There’s a whoosh of displaced air and a muffled thump. A pillow hitting the carpet. “Shit.”

“Nice aim.”

“Urgh.”

He doesn’t have class today, there’s no rush to be anywhere, but he’s never been good at laying around doing nothing. His first few weeks of adjusting to life free from Neil he tried sleeping in, rebelling against rules he was no longer bound by, but he mostly ended up staring at water-stained ceilings bored out of his mind. He doesn’t bother anymore. The entire life he’s building for himself is a fuck you to Neil, he doesn’t need every little thing to be about him.

He stretches, his shoulder popping loudly in the early-morning quiet, and glances over at the lump of blankets in Tommy’s bed. 

“How’s your head?” Billy asks, not bothering to keep the smirk out of his voice.

Tommy grunts. The outline of his shoulder shifts slightly. 

“That bad, huh.”

Another noncommittal noise. 

Billy rolls his eyes, pushing himself upright and out of bed. His jeans are around here somewhere in the mess, but he doesn’t remember taking them off, and definitely doesn’t remember tossing them…over the half-eaten remains of last night’s pizza. Gross. 

There’s a grease stain on the back of one thigh, but they pass the sniff test.

He’s wiggling them over his hips when Tommy finally sits up. “M’ gonna be sick,” he croaks, and falls out of bed in a tangle of sheets and oversized t-shirt bunched around his midriff. Billy gets a glimpse of soft freckled stomach and a yellowing tanktop before Tommy gives his shirt a hurried tug, smoothing it down with jittery hands. 

He doesn’t look at Billy as he staggers towards the door, steps over discarded gym shorts, catches his toe on the busted folding chair his roommate keeps promising to fix, and finally slips into the hallway, hissing curses under his breath. 

And Billy doesn’t think anything of it. Tommy’s never a ray of sunshine in the morning, and he’s even worse when nursing a hangover. He was focused on getting to the bathroom down the hall before he tossed his cookies all over the floor, he didn’t exactly have time to stop and make small talk. It’s not weird.

But it gets weird. 

Billy waits way too long for him to come back. He tosses back the last of his flat, warm beer. Combs out his curls with his fingers, carefully rearranging them in the mirror propped next to Tommy’s sparse bookshelf. Picks through the crumpled worksheets strewn across the desk. And finally decides to check if Tommy choked on his own vomit. 

Only he’s nowhere to be found.

And, fine, Billy’s not needy or whatever, he can get breakfast on his own. It’s not like they had plans Tommy’s flaking out on, Billy just kinda thought…

It doesn’t matter what he thought. It’s fine.

He goes back to his own dorm. Changes his jeans. Isn’t bothered.

…He’s a little bothered when he sees Tommy later that day and Tommy bugs the fuck out, all but fleeing in the opposite direction. 

Because. Yeah, that’s weird. 

Doubt starts to dig its spindly fingers in, thin and brittle but pointed. 

They both said some shit last night. Which was Tommy’s fucking fault, getting drunk like that when he was in a mood. And he’s the one who kept trying to make it all touchy-feely. 

Christ, he should’ve fucking known Tommy was going to remember, it was stupid to engage with him in the first place. Shit’s awkward now because he’s a fucking sucker and now Tommy knows it. 

Or maybe it’s more than awkward, and Tommy’s straight-up pissed at him. Billy’s stomach curdles at the thought. 

He can’t handle this. Tying himself up in knots because he got the brush-off. Worrying and wondering and chewing his thumbnail ‘til he tastes blood. It’s pathetic. 

Tommy doesn’t have class today either, so Billy checks his dorm first. 

And then he checks the cafeteria. The lot behind the cafeteria where Tommy smokes sometimes. Carol’s dorm—thankfully empty, he doesn’t feel like answering a million questions and then having his answers dissected by her and her friends after he leaves. 

He’s running out of places to look when he spots Tommy next to a payphone in front of the main office. The walkway is empty, it’s just Tommy hunched around the phone, clutching it in both hands and deeply engrossed in his conversation. Enough that he doesn’t seem to notice Billy approaching.

His voice is low, but Billy catches snippets. Carol’s name. “Mamá,” sighed repeatedly, exasperated. He gets more agitated every time he stutters to a halt, apparently cut off. 

“I just thought you should know, okay!” Tommy runs a hand through his hair and rolls his eyes skyward. “No—no, mamá, iba a traerla—yes, I was…”

Billy leans against cold brick, his denim jacket scraping the wall as he crosses his arms, waiting. 

“Ese no es mi problema,” he snaps, glaring at nothing and getting steadily louder. “No. I’m not her precious little neita anymore, she can’t stay in denial forever!”

Oh?

Billy’s ears are ringing. Tommy’s voice is an indistinct buzz.

It could be nothing. A slip of the tongue. Billy’s Spanish getting rusty. It could be Billy reading into things—hoping, like that’s ever gotten him anything but heartbroken—just, seeing things that aren’t there because he wants to be a little less alone. 

But still. He’s never seen Tommy wearing less than two shirts, and he's always been just as averse to the dorm's shared bathroom as Billy is. Sometimes tiny, incidental things will throw him off, but Billy never thought much of it until now. Until he was smacked in the face with the possibility that Tommy could be like him. 

It feels a little unreal, a little like vapor he’s trying to catch with his bare hands, not quite solid but leaving enough droplets of water on his hands that he’s knows there’s something.

Tommy seems to realize he’s shouting, and glances around, worrying his bottom lip. It slips from between his teeth when he locks eyes with Billy and his jaw goes slack. 

Because he’s been trying to avoid Billy all day or because he thinks he might’ve just outed himself?

Either way his posture immediately changes, going rigid, spine straightening, holding himself with enough bravado that it almost hides the way his gaze darts around, nervously scanning the empty sidewalk. Looking for an exit, probably. 

He mumbles a rushed goodbye into the receiver, not waiting for a response before he slams the phone back onto its hook and folds his arms, fists balled in the crooks of his elbows.

“I swear to god, I’ll piss on your pillow if you take off on me again.” Billy pushes away from the building, pointing a threatening finger. 

“I wasn’t—fuckin’—what the hell. Gross.”

“So don’t leave.” The words twinge as they leave his mouth, falling heavier between them than Billy really meant them to. Tommy flinches. Just a little. The tiniest twitch at the corner of his eye. A minute change to the slope of his shoulders. Billy exhales slow through his nose. “What’s the deal, Hagan.”

“Shit,” Tommy mutters, sweeping a hand through his hair and shifting away from Billy with a grimace. “Shit. Look, man, I don’t know what you think you heard, but it’s—I’m not. Y’know what, just forget about it, okay.”

Billy raises an eyebrow. He can feel his heartbeat racing, hammering at the inside of his ribcage. “Forget what exactly,” he says, keeping his voice even. 

He has to know. For sure. He can’t just out himself for a maybe. 

“Don’t play dumb, you’re shitty at it,” Tommy snaps, but there’s a thready quality to it. “I’m not gonna fucking say it. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Do I?”

“I saw the look on your face, man, I’m not stupid. I know what it looks like when someone realizes they’ve been hanging out with a fuckin’ freak.” He jabs a finger at Billy, gesturing in a vague circle around his face. “That. Right before the regret sets in. And you bail. Or worse.” He clenches his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. It’s not quite enough to hide the current of anxiety thrumming through his jerky movements. 

There are things he should say right now. Things he should do. But all he’s getting it static. Fuzz. He’s wildly spinning a dial and getting nothing but snippets of words that he loses in the white noise. 

He’s fucking this up. 

He tongues his cheek. Deliberates. 

“We should take this somewhere else,” he says carefully, pointedly flicking his gaze towards the office building behind them. They might be alone out here, but there’s no guarantee they’ll stay that way. There are people in there. For all he knows there could be someone peeking through the blinds at them right now.

But Tommy just stares at him, incredulous. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“Would you just—” Billy blows out an irritated breath. The back of his neck is prickling, like he’s being watched. He can’t fucking concentrate. “It’s not what you think.” The scoff he gets in response is not encouraging. “I’m not bailing on you, alright, would you just come with me and let me say my piece?”

If their positions were reversed he knows what he’d do. He wouldn’t risk being alone with someone who just found him out, it’s a stupid fucking thing to do. Anyone who asked him to take that risk would get laughed at and left in the dust. And yet here he is asking Tommy to trust him, like he has any right to do that. 

Promising to stick around doesn’t feel like enough but it’s all he can give right now. He wants it to work so badly it hurts, aches like he’s ripped out a part of himself as an offering. 

Tommy narrows his eyes, looks him up and down, and mutters. “Fine.”

All the air punches out of Billy’s lungs. Maybe he can salvage this.

They walk in stiff silence, a careful six inches apart. Billy’s boots scrape against the pavement. He picks at a scab along the edge of his fingernail, watching Tommy out of the corner of his eye, catching the erratic flash of his hands flitting from place to place, pushing through his hair, adjusting the hem of his shirt. 

His dorm is closer, he steers him in that direction, ignoring Tommy’s suspicious side-eye.

It’ll be fine, he can clear shit up when they get there. It’ll be fine.

Still, guilt squeezes at his insides. 

His dorm room door clicks shut behind them. It’s deafening. 

He has no plan. He probably should have come up with a plan. His palms are sweating and his heart feels like it’s trying to crawl out of his mouth and his throat is so dry he’s not sure he could say anything even if he knew what to say, but…fuck, staring at the ripped corner of his Metallica poster isn’t even remotely productive, he needs to think—

Tommy grips his arm, tight enough to hurt, and tugs him around. His lips are pursed, downturned, and his eyes are bright, intense, flicking across Billy’s face. Billy’s half sure he’s about to get punched—Tommy looks to be working himself up to something—but instead he blinks and Tommy’s gone, Tommy’s…on his knees, clumsy fingers plucking at Billy’s belt buckle. 

“Oh—” Billy sucks in a breath, grabbing Tommy’s wrists. 

Dark eyes glare up at him. “Oh come on, this is what you wanted right? You’re not leaving because you want something. And it’s not gay if I’ve got a pussy, right—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for a second?” Billy says all in an exasperated rush, staring at the ceiling, a little lightheaded. He’s not entirely shocked by the heat that seared through him when he realized what Tommy was trying to do, but he wasn’t prepared for how much he wants him to. And now really isn’t the time to be thinking about using Tommy’s mouth to get off. “Look, I…”

His throat closes up. He still can’t say it.

Slowly, he lowers himself to the floor, sitting on the heels of his boots, his knees brushing Tommy’s. It’s easier to look at him from this angle. Or maybe it’s just because the strange intensity in his gaze has been replaced by confusion. There’s a vulnerable helplessness there that Billy didn’t notice before. Guilt grips him tighter. 

“I told you, it’s not what you think,” he says quietly. 

Before he can lose his nerve—an ignoring all the doubts plaguing him, what if he thinks less of me, what if he’s angry I kept it a secret, what if—Billy hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt and tugs, pulling it over his head. 

Tommy blinks at him. Opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

He doesn’t stare at Billy’s scars. Billy expected him to stare. Showing him the scars was the whole point. He looks at them, sure, but he doesn’t look for very long. His eyes wander, scanning the entire expanse of tanned skin on display. Lingering on the freckles on Billy’s shoulder. The trail of soft blond hair below his belly button. 

If he was less caught up in feeling feelings that made his insides squirm and his fingers itch he might’ve laughed at how dazed Tommy’s looks. But he’s sure his expression isn’t any better. A hot flush prickles up Billy’s chest as he sits there, just letting Tommy ogle. 

“Uh.” Tommy clears his throat. His cheeks are pink. He hasn’t looked up yet. “So…”

“Yeah.”

“You…”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”

A beat. “I mean you can still blow me if you want, I just figured you’d want to know what you were getting into first.”

That does it. Tommy finally makes eye-contact, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead, a startled, slightly hysterical cackle bubbling out of him. The flush on his cheeks is still there but he looks less like he’s been hit over the head. “Asshole,” he says, unable to entirely keep the smile off his face. 

Billy shrugs, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, but I have it on good authority that you like having me around.”

The light in Tommy’s eyes dims a bit, and for a horrible second Billy thinks he’s fucked up again. Tommy huffs a quiet laugh, breaking eye-contact. “Sorry about that, by the way.” 

“What?”

“Uh. Last night. Being all…” He grimaces, and wiggles his fingers in the air. 

“...Is that why you took off this morning?”

“I…maybe.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy groans, and punches his shoulder. “You aren’t the only one who hates being left behind y’know.” 

“Oh.” 

You had me worried.

He bites his tongue. It doesn’t need to be said. Tommy’s expression is soft, despite the fact that he’s rubbing his bicep where Billy hit him. 

“You didn’t scare me off,” Billy mutters instead, and winces at his own plaintive tone. But he can’t seem to stop now that he’s started. “You still haven’t. Still like having you around. Y’know, if—if you’re gonna stay.” 

Tommy lets out a quiet breath. A tiny noise in the back of his throat. And then he sways forward, closing the gap between them, and kisses Billy square on the mouth.

He’s not expecting it, is the thing. People are usually pretty unsubtle when they want him, and he can read the signs. He knows when someone’s going to make a move and he can prepare, put himself in whatever headspace he needs to be in to get through it. 

And it’s not like he wasn’t aware that Tommy had been checking him out, but this is…it’s something else. 

Because he was caught unawares he doesn’t have a goddamn plan, so he just reacts, messy and a little desperate in a way he hasn’t been since his first few times getting physical with someone. It would be embarrassing, except for the way Tommy’s breath hitches, and he leans into it. He can’t seem to get close enough where he is, because he shuffles forward on his knees ‘til they’re on either side of Billy’s thighs. 

He hovers there, straddling Billy’s lap, still pressing sloppy kisses to his lips, but doesn’t sit until Billy grabs him around his waist and tugs. 

Tommy lets out a sharp puff of a gasp as he’s pulled closer, it’s warm where it tickles Billy’s moustache, and he finally breaks their kiss to snicker. 

“Fuck off, you surprised me,” Tommy says, the annoyed act falling flat when the words come out breathy and trembling. 

“Mhm,” Billy hums, grinning at Tommy’s complete inability to keep a straight face while he slips his fingers under the seam of Tommy’s waistband, toying with the elastic of his briefs while his palms rest comfortably on his lower back. 

There’s a heat simmering in his gut, coiled low and tight, but the weight in his lap and hesitant fingertips pressed to his stomach feel just as pleasant. It’s…weird. New. Fragile. He’s not quite sure what this is but he wants to hold on to it. 

“So…we’re good, right?” He bites inside of his cheek to ground himself, and stop any more stupid questions from falling out of his face.

“Yeah, I mean—yeah? Pretty sure I’m, uh. Very good right now.” His eyes flicker down. “I was better a second ago though.”

Billy pushes the tip of his tongue between his teeth, feeling very smug when Tommy zeroes in on it. “You sure you’re not mad about earlier?” he lets his voice drop an octave, leaning in just enough to feel Tommy’s breathing quicken. “‘Cause I’ll work real hard to make it up to you if you are.”

“That cheesy porno shit usually work for you?” His tone is light, teasing, threaded with laughter, but his gaze is still heavy on Billy’s mouth, pupils blown and hazy with lust.

“Oh please, like it isn’t getting you going?” Billy dips his hands lower, fingertips pressed lightly into the soft flesh of Tommy’s asscheeks. He isn’t digging in, isn’t pushing, but Tommy shifts closer anyways, ‘til their chests are nearly flush, and they touch, briefly, with each shallow breath. “I bet your briefs are soaked right now.” 

Like his are any better, really. It’s taking all his self-control not to squirm and rub his hard little cock all through the slick mess under him. 

Tommy’s eyes fall shut, and he shudders. Billy feels him quiver. He slides his hands up Billy’s chest, palms skimming his ribs, briefly pausing to trace his scars, and coming to rest just under his collarbone. 

A pause.

And Tommy shoves him. Hard. 

His back hits the carpet, knocking the air out of him in a rush, a wheezing, incredulous laugh. Sparks dance up his spine. The heat in his belly flares. Tommy’s looking down at him like he wants to devour him, and Billy’s more than willing to let it happen.

This time when Tommy goes for the belt buckle, he doesn’t stop him. 

It jingles against the button on his jeans, flopping to the side as Tommy fumbles with his fly, hooks his fingers into worn belt loops, and tugs. His jeans are as much of a pain to take off as they always are, they both grimace and groan as he wiggles out of them, stopping to pull off his boots when they get in the way.

“How the hell do you sleep around so much in these?” Tommy mutters, finally prying Billy’s legs free and chucking his rumpled jeans across the room with an annoyed huff.

Billy snorts. “They don’t usually come off.”

“...Oh.” He feels, suddenly, like maybe he’s said too much. The way Tommy’s eyeing him makes him feel every inch of his bare skin on display. He’d sit up, make himself a little less vulnerable, but Tommy’s shifted positions, straddling his stomach. “Do you just do over the clothes stuff, then, or…”

“Don’t really get touched at all, actually. Easier to avoid getting hate-crimed that way.” He turns his face away, cheek brushing the carpet. 

Tommy nods, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, yeah. It’s…Carol’s the only girl I’ve ever been with, and sometimes she didn’t even wanna. Y’know.”

“Yeah, guys aren’t much better, trust me.”

“I know,” he says ruefully, smiling small. “I think maybe Carol only kept me around as long as she did because she couldn’t find any other guy willing to go down on her that much.” 

“Damn, and she still dumped you? So ungrateful.” 

“Ha, yeah, well. She found someone with a real dick apparently. Said she missed getting fucked properly, or whatever.” 

Billy scoffs, “Ten bucks says she comes crawling back in two weeks when she gets tired of being some prick’s fucktoy.” 

He tenses, regretting the thought the second he has it. Tommy’s gotten back with her every time she’s asked. She snaps her fingers and he’s there, hers again like nothing happened. As much as Billy hates watching it happen every time, he gets it. His track record when it comes to letting the people he loves hurt him isn’t any better. But this time…

Does he have any right to hope it’ll be different now? Probably not. 

Tommy raises his eyebrows, a guarded sort of curiosity behind his mostly blank expression. 

“Don’t take her back,” Billy says, softly, stupid, vulnerable hope cracking him open. He focuses on the feeling of Tommy’s slacks under his palms, warm thighs bracketing his torso. The rough scratch of carpet against his bare back. The smell of his musty dorm room. Anything but the way his stomach twists into knots while he waits to get shot down. “She’ll just break your heart again, man,” he adds, like he can cover his ass and make it look like this isn’t about what he wants at all. 

“And you won’t?” He’s quiet. Serious. There’s a sad twist to his mouth. 

“I—” The silence in the air between them is stifling, heavy in Billy’s lungs as his chest rises and falls. In some fucked up way that feels like an admission. An acknowledgement of…something. The idea that Billy might have the power to break his heart is fucking terrifying, and the implications make his head spin. He bites his lip. “Not by leaving.”

Tommy huffs out a dry laugh, bowing his head and giving it a tiny shake. “Gee, thanks.” He’s hiding a smile. A small one, but it’s warm, despite his hesitance. 

Billy grabs the front of Tommy’s shirt, tugging him down while he cranes his neck, meeting him halfway to press a brief kiss to his mouth.

It’s less brief than he planned. Tommy’s fingers end up wound in his hair, his firm grip making Billy’s scalp tingle and heat simmer under his skin. He groans, low in his throat, and licks into Tommy’s mouth in retaliation. 

Time starts to blur a little. He’s not thinking about why he kissed Tommy in the first place. He’s not thinking of stopping, god fucking forbid. All that matters is the sharp, biting pressure of fingernails, the gentle glide of warm lips against his, and the sounds he can pull from Tommy with a flick of his tongue. Everything else is sort of fuzzy. 

He tries nipping Tommy’s bottom lip. Lightly. Testing the waters. He inhales sharply, something like a gasp he caught halfway, and more importantly, his hips jerk forward. Just a little. But him pressing down against Billy’s stomach like that sets a fire inside. An immediate needy wanting that rushes through him like an adrenaline spike. 

Billy pulls back an inch, breathing hard, “Do it again,” he demands, clutching Tommy’s waist with guiding hands, “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Jesus—fuck,” Tommy’s nose brushes his cheek as he starts to move, curling into Billy’s space and panting bitten-off curses in puffs of humid air against his jaw. 

The seam of Tommy’s pants chafes a little, rubbing against the taut line of his stomach, catching on the light dusting of hair, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he can feel Tommy’s legs start to tremble, and he gets to watch the way his face goes slack with pleasure, his eyebrows furrowed as he works his hips back and forth.

It’s not hard to imagine sliding inside him like this. Tommy sitting on his cock, all wet heat and freckled thighs. Riding him ‘til his muscles give out and Billy has to take over, snap his hips over and over, listening to the slap of skin and Tommy’s pleading for more. 

Fuck.

His grip on Tommy’s waist tightens, right as he gives one last jerky thrust, and his whole body tenses. He whimpers right in Billy’s ear before his head drops, hitting his shoulder.

Billy feels like a live wire. He aches. He wants. 

He waits, with bottom lip caught between his teeth, squirming and hoping it’s not too obvious. 

“Sooo,” Tommy drawls, still catching his breath, his nose smushed to Billy’s collarbone. “D’you want me to blow you, or was that—”

“Fuck, yes.”

Tommy snickers. “Alright. Prepare to have your world rocked.”

“Oh, and my pick-up line was cheesy porno shit?”

“Yeah.”

“Dick.”

His shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter, and Billy can feel his smile widen. He’d almost be content to bask in the moment like a cat in a sunbeam, except—

Tommy shifts, sliding a thigh between his legs and pressing, and yeah, that’s much better, nevermind. He lets out a slow, shaky breath, staring hazily at the water-stained ceiling. 

“You liked seeing me get off, huh.” Tommy kisses his chest, lips still curved into a smile. Billy swallows hard, and folds his lips between his teeth. “You soaked right through your underwear. I can feel it.” 

He’s making his way down way too slowly. On purpose, the little shit. But Billy refuses to crack. He can wait. It’s fine. He only feels a little bit like he’s going to explode.

Tommy replaces his thigh with his hand as he crawls backward, trailing a light finger over the growing wet spot and not doing nearly enough to ease the throbbing ache between Billy’s legs, his lips trail down, inch by agonizing inch as he goes. He’s got nice lips. Billy wouldn’t mind kissing him for hours. Being kissed. 

Being kissed somewhere very specific right fucking now.

Billy’s legs spread a little further apart, without really meaning to, he arches his back, wriggles, trying to subtly get Tommy where he needs to be a little faster. 

Except he fucking pauses. Kisses Billy’s hipbone. Flashes an absolutely shit-eating grin. 

“Would you hurry the fuck up,” Billy groans.

Which cracks Tommy up. A laugh he’d obviously been holding back bursts out of him, muffled a little as he leans into Billy’s stomach, his shoulders shaking. 

“I hate you so much.”

Tommy looks up at him, eyes shining. “Nah. You don’t.”

“Fine, but I’d like you a lot more if you stopped being a tease.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles, and finally, finally, settles between Billy’s legs, flashing a grin before he pushes Billy’s briefs aside and drags his tongue through the wetness underneath. 

“Jesusfuckingchrist—” Billy inhales sharply, his whole body arching into the sweet pressure of Tommy’s mouth, somehow ending up with one leg hooked around him, trying to pull him closer. “Oh fuck.”

A whine catches in his throat when Tommy huffs a laugh, warm air somehow feeling cool against his flushed skin. He’s beyond caring about looking desperate, he just needs more. More of this. He rocks against the steady stroke of Tommy’s tongue, his breath hitching every time he brushes his cock and a concentrated bolt of pleasure lances through him.

Then Tommy wraps his lips around it, and sucks, and Billy’s vision whites out. It feels so good it fucking hurts. He cries out, wordlessly, grasping for something to hold on to.

“Holy shit, dude,” Tommy breathes, pulling back, pulling away, what the fuck, no—

“Hng,” Billy grunts, his hands waving uselessly, trying to reach Tommy to put him back where he was. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, a little breathless, a lot delighted. “Just…” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Billy’s underwear and starts tugging them off. “You’re so loud, man.”

The part of his brain that’s still working—the part that isn’t floating on a cloud of horny thoughts, mostly about how fucking pornographic Tommy’s mouth looks right now, pink, flushed, and slick from nose to chin—is smart enough to know that if he’s too loud they might get caught. But he’s having a hard time making himself care. And he’s sure he’ll care even less when Tommy puts his lips back where they fucking belong.

Then Tommy’s leaning over him, damp grey briefs folded up in one hand, easing Billy’s mouth open with the other.

He’s slow about it. Deliberate. Telegraphing his movements so Billy and the three brain cells he’s got left understand what he’a about to do. Billy could clench his jaw against his prodding at any time. He could turn his head to escape Tommy’s hold. 

But he doesn’t. 

The taste of his own sex isn’t unfamiliar, but it’s oddly thrilling in this context. It feels dirty in the best kind of way. Cotton sticking to his tongue, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth, Tommy’s gaze heavy on his parted lips. Billy wonders if he’s thinking about other things he could stuff Billy’s mouth with to shut him up. 

Biting down on creased fabric is odd, but it definitely muffles his whimpering. 

Which is, admittedly, handy when Tommy dives back in with no warning.

He doesn’t hold back at all, pressing in close, his hands gripping Billy’s hips to keep him in place. His tongue curls around Billy’s cock, over and over in firm swipes.

And Billy sees stars. He can hear his own stifled moaning through the makeshift gag, but he barely recognizes is own voice. Every pitched, breathy noise that comes out of him is a shock he doesn’t have time to linger on, and he doesn’t fucking care to, not when he can barely process how good he feels right now, let alone feel anything but Tommy’s mouth and the heat building under his skin. His whole body is taut with it, muscles tensing as he tries to hold onto the sparks dancing through him. 

It doesn’t take long for him to come with a hoarse shout and an embarrassing gush of wetness all over Tommy’s chin, white-knuckled and curled around Tommy’s sloped shoulders.

He flops back, breathing hard and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says again, with something resembling awe. 

Billy closes his eyes, trying to measure the rise and fall of his chest. His whole body is tingling. And a little sore.

He feels a little tug, Tommy picking at the briefs stuffed into his mouth. He loosens his jaw and lets him remove them. There’s spit trickling down his cheek. Tommy wipes it up, carefully patting the side of his face. 

“You good?”

“Mhm,” Billy hums.

“...Been a while?”

He cracks an eye open and glances over at Tommy. His eyebrows are near his hairline, but it doesn’t look judgemental. A little amused, maybe. Billy sighs. “You could say that.”

“Oh?”

It’s been thirteen months since anyone’s touched him below the belt. He doesn’t remember who it was, but he remembers tequila and lime, hearing shitty dance music in another room while he let someone stick their hand in his pants, half-expecting it to retreat immediately. 

No one’s ever touched him like this, though. 

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, unsure how to respond. He lands on, “Never been blown before.” 

Tommy blinks at him. “No shit?” His hand makes a weird aborted movement, then lands on the carpet next to him. Billy has the weird urge to hold it. Or to be held, maybe. As the sweat on his skin cools he starts to itch, an unfamiliar ache blooming in his chest.

“No shit,” he echoes.

“That’s…” Tommy scratches his eyebrow. “Kinda hot actually. I popped your cherry.”

“I’ve had sex.”

“Yeah, but not that kind.”

“...Whatever,” Billy mutters, his cheeks flushing.

“I’m serious, dude.” Tommy’s smiling now, his lips still shiny and pink and distracting. “That was, uh. Kind of awesome. All of it. Plus the cherry on top.”

He can’t help but snort, and smacks Tommy’s knee. “Fuck you, Hagan.”

“Maybe next time.”

That catches Billy’s attention. Whether it’s the promise of a next time or the thought of fucking him, he doesn’t know, but either way he’s suddenly unable to look anywhere but at Tommy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tommy lifts his chin a little, like a challenge, but his eyes are warm. “You said you weren’t goin’ anywhere, so…”

“I meant it.”

He’s caught off guard by the almost bashful way Tommy ducks his head suddenly, the tips of his ears going red, hiding a widening smile. “Good.” He shuffles a little closer. “Though I get why you’d stick around. Y’know. After I rocked your world.”

Billy groans, and rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah, nah, I wanna hear you say it.”

“No.”

“Come ooon.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And good with my tongue.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy mutters, “Okay, fine, you rocked my world. Congrats.”

Tommy preens, supremely pleased with himself, and pokes Billy’s shoulder. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Billy tries his hardest to look annoyed at the prodding, but fails to do anything but grin at the ceiling.

“Now, I seem to remember you promising to put some work in, and so far you’ve just been layin’ there.” The smug look on his face is absolutely out of control. Billy swats at him, but Tommy just catches his hand and kisses his palm, grinning like a fucking maniac. “Gotta do better than that, Hargrove.”

Billy tackles him, rolls them over, and pins Tommy’s hands above his head. 

And he puts some work in.

#billy hargrove #tommy hagan #tomgrove #billy x tommy #trans billy hargrove #trans tommy hagan #stranger things #a raven's writing desk

[flckrsoflight]

Au début, je pensais que t’étais une bébé gouine...

#vernon subutex #lesbians #wlw aesthetics #wlw #la hyène #anaïs #la hyène x anaïs #sapphic #mine #flora fischbach #flora fishbach #fishbach #céline sallette #canal+ #lesbian #fingerbanging on a desk #la hyène est scorpion

[xaviermayne]

My Brother's Favorite Toy

Grayson was out getting groceries, and Ethan was in his bedroom getting close.

The vibrator in his ass buzzed hard against his desk chair as Ethan sat stroking his dick, his shorts and underwear around his ankles. Ethan looked down proudly at his dick as his hand slid up and down all 8 inches. Grayson was right, Ethan thought. This does feel amazing.

Grayson had been raving about this vibrator for weeks, which irked Ethan to no end, especially since Ethan had checked online and, because of the pandemic, it was backordered for months. Ethan had been hearing Grayson every night. Around 10pm, like clockwork, Ethan would have to pause his music because he could hear the quiet whirring of the vibe and his brother's muffled groans. Last night Ethan even got up and pressed his ear to the door, seething with jealousy.

So, when Grayson went on his Thursday morning grocery run, Ethan knew this was his only chance. When the garage door closed, Ethan had slowly counted to ten, then darted to Grayson's bedroom. Idiot, Ethan thought, when he found it barely hidden in Grayson's dirty clothes hamper.

Now Ethan knew what all of Grayson's fuss was about. Pushing up on the balls of his feet, Ethan leaned back in his office chair as the vibe pulsed and hummed in his ass. He almost felt like he was having waves of orgasms just from the toy flitting against his prostate, without even cumming. Of course, precum still drooled down his dick, which Ethan quickly swiped with the side of his finger as extra lube for jerking off. He felt another wave of p-spot pleasure rise up on him, when he started to feel his balls tingle too, and he knew a full climax was coming. He grabbed a dirty pair of underwear to use as a rag for his impending load, and then—

"Ethan, I'm home!" Grayson shouted as the front door slammed shut.

Ethan felt all of the blood evaporate out of his body.

"They were out of almond butter so I got cashew butter," Grayson shouted. "Try not to cry about it."

Ethan sat frozen in shock for a moment, then the adrenaline kicked in and he scooted back in the chair, and ripped the toy out of his ass with a thwop.

"Ah, fuck!" Ethan screamed, then slapped his own hand across his mouth. It turned out that quickly ripping out an anal toy can kind of hurt. Sweat began beading across his forehead as he looked down and also realized that, in his act of adrenaline, Ethan had also broken off the tip of the base of the vibrator. The tip with the charging port and the power button. No, no, no, no, no, Ethan thought.

Just then, Ethan's door swung open. Had he really forgotten to lock it?

"Dude it's not even gonna taste that diff— dude, what the FUCK!" Grayson screamed as he looked into Ethan's room. There sat Ethan, naked and drenched in sweat, face as white as the precum dribbling down his boner, with dirty underwear in one hand and a vibrator in the other. And not just any vibrator.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" Grayson screamed, only slowly being able to process the scene before him. "Is that my fucking vibrator? Were you using it?!" Ethan gulped hard. "Whoa wait, and you fucking broke it?!"

There was a stunned silence that, to Ethan, felt like it lasted eight entire years.

"Dude, I can explain," Ethan finally croaked. Then he looked down at the broken bit of the toy dangling from the base. "O-okay. Actually, I guess I can't."

To Ethan's surprise, Grayson just shrugged. "You know what, don't even bother, bro. I know exactly how you'll make it up to me. Just pull up your fucking shorts for now and help me with the groceries."

Stunned, Ethan pulled up his shorts, rearranging his still-throbbing wood into them, and followed his brother out.

That night, just around 10pm, Ethan got a text.

Grayson: Yo, remember how I said you'd have to make it up to me?

Ethan started typing, then erased it.

Grayson: Your punishment starts now. Come to my room.

Ethan tossed his phone on the ground and put his head in his hands. What the fuck am I about to have to do? he wondered. Then begrudgingly, he stood up, and sulked to Grayson's bedroom. He cleared his throat awkwardly and rapped on the door.

"Yeah. Come in."

Ethan turned the doorknob and let the door slowly swing open. Grayson lay at the edge of the bed, his feet firmly on the floor. He had his phone above his head, the light of the screen dancing across his face. He was totally nude, save for a pair of clean white socks on his feet. His dick wasn't hard, but it wasn't totally soft. Ethan knew this since he'd seen his brother's dick soft plenty of times before — only because they lived together and had played sports together though, nothing gay. Well, not until now, at least.

"Ummmm, what are you doing?" Ethan asked, eyes fixed on his own shadow stretched out before him.

"You broke my toy," Grayson explained. "It's backordered for months. And I can't cum without it."

"Look, bro, I'm sorry," Ethan said. "I know it's super weird that I even borrowed it. And then to break it... I mean it was a freak accident!"

"Shut up," Grayson commanded flatly. "I can't cum without something in my ass. And I really, really need to cum."

"Okay," Ethan shrugged. "Do want me to, like, get a pickle from the fridge for you or something?" He laughed at his own joke.

Grayson grabbed a plastic bottle laying next to him and threw it at his brother, hitting Ethan squarely on the cheek. "It's not fucking funny," said Grayson. Ethan winced at the pain then looked down and noticed it was a bottle of lube. "Squirt some on your fucking finger and get to work." Grayson casually raised up his legs and let them rest in the air, revealing the tiny pink dot between his tanned ass cheeks.

Ethan stared at his brother's ass. He'd seen his brother's ass cheeks a hundred times, but never his brother's hole. It looked pristine and tight. It almost looked like a girl's, Ethan thought, if you didn't look at his masculine, muscular glutes or, y'know, his big shaven balls sagging down, one slightly lower than the other.

Ethan approached his brother and heard the tinny sound of a girl moaning — some porn video on Grayson's phone. He dropped to his knees with a sigh and squirted a few drops of lube onto his right index finger. Though this was the first time seeing his brother's hole, it actually wasn't his first time thinking about it. Sometimes, when Ethan was extremely horny — like, hadn't jerked off for days horny — he'd watch his brother during their workouts and would catch himself having weird fantasies, like picturing what his brother would look like doing those barbell squats naked. Ethan would think about Grayson slowly lowering down into the squat and his ass cheeks spreading, a bead of sweat dripping off his swaying balls. Ethan would find himself hard and wanting to play with his dick, but would quickly snap out of it and flush with shame.

But now, here it was. His brother's hole. He ran his lubed fingertip around it until it glistened in the haze of blue LED lights in Grayson's room. Then, carefully, Ethan slid in the very tip of his finger.

"Slow," Grayson barked.

Ethan sat for a moment, his finger right at the precipice of his brother's hole, as the girl in the porn video moaned delicately. Hesitantly, Ethan pushed a bit more in. Grayson seemed to wince, but stayed silent.

It carried on like that for a bit, with Ethan slowly sliding in and Grayson occasionally commanding him to go slower, or questioning how trimmed his fingernails were. Eventually Ethan had a full finger in, and Ethan noticed his brother's warm hole didn't seem to twitch and squeeze as much. He was loosening up.

Grayson switched videos, and that's when Ethan noticed his brother's ass really starting to open up. With a bit more lube, Ethan was able to get his middle finger in, too. He was even pretty sure he heard Grayson let out a little grunt of pleasure when he moved around in him.

That's when Ethan found it. A few inches in was Grayson's throbbing prostate. He pressed on it gently with his middle finger.

"Huh!" went Grayson's startled grunt. As Ethan rubbed it more and more, Grayson's growls devolved into breathless moans of pleasure. Ethan watched Grayson's dick slowly rise from a thick slab of meat lounging on his balls to a beautiful pulsing tower, quivering as precum leaked down.

"Hoahh," Grayson moaned, in a certain falsetto he'd never heard from his brother before. Not even last night with his ear pressed again the door. Was he fingerbanging his bro better than the toy? Encouraged, Ethan furrowed his brow and started hammering at his brothers p-spot, determined to drive him totally wild.

He looked up and smirked as he noticed Grayson's toes were curling inside his white socks. Ethan tilted his head to see beyond Grayson's dick to his face, and his mouth was wide open and his eyes were rolling back. He had thrown his phone onto the mattress and whatever video he'd been watching was now not only muffled by the comforter, but drowned out by Ethan's own guttural groans and squealing moans.

Suddenly Grayson pushed his hair back with his hand and said in a hushed tone, "Oh my god, I think I'm gonna—" Ethan's eyes lit up and he put his fingers into machine-gun mode. Then, with both hands gripping his own hair in confusion, Grayson let out a yelp and Ethan watched as Grayson's balls suddenly raised up and a heavy stream of wet white cum surged out of his dick. Ethan's eyes followed the load as it seemed to almost touch the ceiling, then come down with a splat on Grayson's tattooed leg. In fact, Ethan noticed, some of it even got on the jack-o-lantern tattoo he'd given his brother a couple of years ago.

Ethan curled his fingers again and Grayson's body convulsed, another thick stream beaming up and falling, this time settling in the valleys of Grayson's abs, flexed as he kept his legs up. Ethan smiled as he pressed again and yet another load shot up. He realized he was full-on milking his own brother's prostate. He kept pulling the trigger and watched as his brother shot load after load, until eventually it seemed like his dick kept straightening for another shot but there was nothing left to shoot.

Ethan slowly slipped his fingers out of his brother's hole, which quickly tightened right back up to the perfect pink dot it was before. Grayson groaned as he finally lowered down his legs. Cum was everywhere, on Grayson's thighs, his abs, all over the bed. A drop had even sprayed on Ethan's face. Ethan made sure Grayson wasn't looking, then tongued it off his cheek. I tasted thick and bitter and buttery.

Ethan looked down at his own dick, which was harder than he'd ever seen it, and the front of his shorts were completely drenched in his own precum.

Biting his lower lip, Ethan looked up at Grayson. "Sooo... my turn?"

#grethan #ethan and grayson #grayson and ethan #ethan dolan #grayson dolan

[johnnymundano]

Prom Night (2008)

Directed by Nelson McCormick Screenplay by J.S. Cardone Music by Paul Haslinger Country: Canada, United States Running time: 88 minutes CAST Brittany Snow as Donna Keppel Scott Porter as Bobby Jessica Stroup as Claire Davis Dana Davis as Lisa Hines Collins Pennie as Ronnie Heflin Kelly Blatz as Michael Allen James Ransone as Detective Nash Brianne Davis as Crissy Lynn Kellan Lutz as Rick Leland Mary Mara as Mrs. Waters Ming-Na Wen as Dr. Elisha Crowe Johnathon Schaech as Richard Fenton Idris Elba as Detective Winn Jessalyn Gilsig as Aunt Karen Linden Ashby as Uncle Jack

Theft Alert: All images from IMDB

Donna Keppel (Brittany Snow; working hard here, bless) is the only survivor of a family massacre perpetrated by Richard Fenton (Johnathon Schaech; looking very Sean William Scott), a creepy teacher with a boner for her. Tonight Donna’s Prom Night is being held at a swanky hotel,  but tonight is also the night Richard escapes from The Home For Creepy Teachers With Wayward Boners. Everything you expect to happen happens, just a lot less interestingly than you would expect for a slasher movie, certainly for one that cost $20 million. Prom Night (2008) is like an experiment see if it possible to make a slasher flick so inoffensive and dumb it could be screened at tea time on The Disney®©™ Channel. It turns out it is in fact possible to make such a thing, but unfortunately no one would want to watch it. It actually makes you hanker for Prom Night (1980), as low-budget and timeworn as that disco slasher may well be.  

For starters, Prom Night (2008) is not a remake of Prom Night (1980) despite what anyone says. Fuck that noise, someone obviously just wanted to use the title. End. Of. They are both slasher movies which take place on Prom Night, but that’s it. I know this because I watched Prom Night (1980) recently for the first time, and last night I watched Prom Night (2008) for the last time. Prom Night (1980) has a mystery surrounding the identity of the killer, which keeps you awake and which also has a surprisingly strong emotional pay off, whereas in Prom Night (2008) we know who the killer is from the off, which is boring and has no pay off at all. Essentially then, this is the difference between the two, one is a bit amateurish but very entertaining, while the other is slick as snot on a door handle and as dull as ditch water. 

Ultimately only one Prom Night successfully evokes the youthful exuberance of the night in question, which is important as I am 50 and English, so I have no personal experience whatsoever of a Prom Night. Also: get off my lawn! Prom Night (1980) makes it look like a fantastically enjoyable event at which hormonally crazed kids dance enthusiastically to fantastically simplistic disco. Apparently the movie was shot with the cast dancing to real, popular disco hits until the makers realised you have to actually pay to use other people’s music (?!who knew!?). Being a bit strapped for cash they had the soundtrack composer Carl Zittrer cook up some home-made disco beats at roughly the same tempo so the visuals and sound would still gel. Carl Zitterer did an excellent job.  A bit too excellent in fact, since the similarity was still so pronounced a $10 million lawsuit was brought against the movie (and settled for $50,000 – phew!). A small price to pay for one of the most cheerful and fun dance sequences I’ve ever seen, particularly as I didn’t pay it. Prom Night (1980) is a decent slasher flick but the dance floor sequence is just pure joy.  Prom Night (2008) makes Prom Night look like a shit night club where nobody knows anyone else there; seriously, the interaction of the core group with everyone else, who they apparently have known for years, is ridiculously minimal. And the songs are the kind of heatedly sexual nursery rhymes I am generationally disposed to dislike. I just don’t get it, basically. You crazy kids! “Who’s your daddy? And is he rich like me?” isn’t so much a song lyric to me as a reason to call the sex police. And while technically the dancing in Prom Night (2008) is smoother, the dancing in Prom Night (1980) is more realistically ramshackle and energetic. 

Also, in Prom Night (1980) the killer, whoever they are, is refreshingly human (they slip on the slippery floor at one point, etc) but in Prom Night (2008) the killer is a tediously efficient killer; which is odd because he’s just a school teacher with a creepy boner for one of his female students, which explains none of his killing efficacy. By rights he should just be crying while wanking over the school yearbook, as I imagine most creepy schoolteachers with boners for their female students do. Maybe creepy schoolteachers with boners for their female students find that reductive and a little offensive of me, and that’s a real crying shame there, because the last thing I want to do is offend creepy teachers with boners for their female students. Every school has that one teacher who dates his female students “secretly”, and as the female student ages out of school he replaces her with a new female student. Maybe you are that guy. In which case you need to hear this: Dude, you are creepy. No one is impressed; they are creeped out. Preying on children is not cool. And if they are in school they are children, I don’t care how developed their chest is. A light prison sentence or some intensive therapy are what you need, creepy teacher dude, not high fives and Budweiser with the bros. (I do apologise for the fact I went to school in the 1970s leading to my not acknowledging that creepy schoolteachers can also be female, and the students being creeped on can be both female and male; with any combination of gender being creeper and creeped upon. I guess everyone sex creeping on everyone else, well, that’s progress? Well done, everyone. Personally I would have tried to phase out the whole creepy-schoolteacher-with-a-boner-for-their-student thing but I guess expanding it across the gender spectrum is certainly one way to go.)

In terms of cast Prom Night (1980) only really has Jamie Lee Curtis and Leslie Nielsen as “names” but everyone is okay, and the characters are all quite quirky and sympathetic. Prom Night (2008) might not have many “names” but it has a far more professional level of acting, which is a win for it. But, alas, while there are real actors in Prom Night (2008) and they all try hard with what they are given, what they are given is so lacklustre and generic it is dismaying how much effort they probably had to put in just to make the characters seem as bland as they do. There’s the black couple; he’s good at sports, she’s a bit sassy. There’s the co-dependant bickering couple; he’s controlling and drinks too much, she’s whiny and, well, she’s just whiny. The gym teacher is sparky and enthusiastic like absolutely no gym teacher I’ve ever met in my half a decade existence, but very like every gym teacher in American high school set shows on Nickleodeon. The most interesting character is Detective Nash, and that’s only because James Ransone appears amusingly miscast; unless a cop who resembles Christian Bale if he was a candleblogger is your idea of a movie cop.  Obviously that’s nobody’s idea of a movie cop, luckily though Idris Elba knows what everyone expects from a Movie Cop and delivers it with lightly self-parodic gusto. Of course   Idris Elba is unarguably a charismatic screen presence; I know that because most of the things I’ve seen him in are godawful but he is always a pleasure. Maybe it’s just unfortunate choices on my part and I’m actually missing a string of entertainment pearls starring Idris Elba, even so Prom Night (2008) would come in on the poopy side of the mark sheet. But, again, even in something as poopy as Prom Night (2008) Idris Elba is fun. Here he’s The Big City Cop so he walks like he’s prolapsed and rasps his dialogue like he regularly gargles lava-hot cawfee. The enthusiasm Elba invests in playing this poorly written part makes up a bit for the utter idiocy of the character. Ultimately though nothing could distract from Detective Winn’s stupidity, so colossally boneheaded are his actions in the movie.

Prom Night (2008) seems to take place in an alternate universe where every authority figure is a moron. In a better slasher flick this might be a genuine attempt at a point, but here it’s just bad writing. Sure, you might think that everyone in authority in the universe we actually inhabit is a moron, and at this point in history you would have a strong case, counsellor. Exhibit one being our current lying coward of a Prime Minister (I write this in the year 2020). But the authority figures in Prom Night (2008) are actually more excessive in their cretinous obliviousness than even that lying shyster. Having (eventually) realised that the killer is loose Idris Elba visits Donna’s guardians, who decide not to bring her home immediately or have her placed in police custody for her own protection, because it might “embarrass her” in front of her friends and put a big downer on this magical night of awful dresses, terrible music and light fingerbanging. Idris Elba, a policeman remember, goes along with this, which is kind of epically dumb, but then he raises the dumbness stakes by going to the Hotel Swank to keep an eye on Donna. Literally. He actually stands by a bit of silver scaffold in the dance hall for hours, and stares at the back of her head, occasionally rubbing the top of his own head and pursing his lips. Incredibly this does nothing to locate and apprehend the killer, who is merrily killing staff and guest alike at his own convenience. Idris Elba even asks at the desk if they have seen the killer, even showing them a picture (which is some amazing police work for Prom Night (2008)). But when asked by the desk clerk if he should be concerned Idris Elba says ”no”. Later when the fact that the killer is in the hotel killing people can’t even be avoided by Idris Elba he pulls the fire alarm and the entire hotel decants chaotically onto the street. Because there’s absolutely no way the killer could get out unnoticed during that, right? Absolutely no way at all. Nu-uh! Essentially most of the people in Prom Night (2008) who die do so because Idris Elba’s character has all the brains of a shoe.

And a lot of people do die in Prom Night (2008), but don’t get too excited slasher flick fans, because it doesn’t really feel like it because the kills are largely inoffensive stuff; which in a slasher movie is kind of offensive in itself. Prom Night (2008)  tries to distract from the lack of splatter with sudden bursts of convulsive editing which just makes it look like the killer is over amorously cuddling people to the floor, or re-enacting his favourite Super Bowl tackles. The only clue that his victims are dead comes later when we get to see the body with some dainty little red marks on their clothes. So averse is Prom Night (2008) to actually getting bloody that one character has their throat slashed and so little claret splashes it’s preposterous. If you were asleep next to somebody with their throat cut you’d wake up sodden in the red stuff, you wouldn’t have to turn them over to discover they were dead. Maybe Prom Night (2008) should have invested some of that $20 million in a medical professional acting as a consultant to tell them that throat wounds tend to, you know, bleed profusely since it’s all the blood inside you coming out of that new hole that kills you. Okay, sometimes it’s the shock of blood loss that offs you but, whatever, there’s a lot of blood involved. There is, I admit, one artfully shot kill where an arc of blood spatters a sheet of plastic but mostly the effects in Prom Night (2008) are less Tom Savini and more Tom and Jerry.

Sadly then, when it comes to this particular Prom Night (2008) you’re better off staying at home and washing your hair.

#Prom Night #Movies #canada #United States #2008 #The 2000s #Slashers #Horror #Nelson McCormick #Brittany Snow #Idris Elba #Creepy teachers #Johnathon Schaech

[corycadaver]

THE FASTEST & FURIOUSEST MOVIE SCRIPT

I have never seen a Fast & Furious movie. I have seen trailers and commercials for them, and I know very little about them from other sources as well. I got into a discussion with a friend that I could whip out a script for the next installment in the franchise in no time. There some spelling error and typos but anyways here it is, I hope you enjoy!

The Fastest and Furiousest A script by Cory Jezierski

Opening Scene, our main characters Jason Statham and The Rock are in their underground auto mechanic lair. It’s like the Bat Cave, but full of hi tech wrenches and sockets and  bad ass cars and weapons and posters of naked ladies. No bats. Our heroes seem to be unwinding after whatever happened in the last movie (I didn’t see it. I didn’t see any of them)

The Rock is mixing Monster Energy Drink, Bud Light & Diesel Fuel together in a blender. Jason Statham is organizing his prized collection of car wrenches.

JASON: Hey, The Rock.... that last mission was sick bro! It really but our friendship to the test while helping us to grow as people. I think I might retire after that one. Maybe take my cut and buy some land in Hawaii and open a garage.. call it “Pineapple’s” or something really exotic like that....

The Rock looks at Jason intensely but with a charming grin and pushes start on the blender. It blends for two minutes while the cameras slowly pan around the Rocks muscles. Not in a gay way though. The blender stops. He takes takes a long sip directly from the blender. He dosent need a cup becuase he is the Rock. Some of the liquid dribbles down his chin and onto his shirt, but not in a way that could be considered gay at all. He doesnt care about the stains on his muscle shirt because he will probably be top nude for the rest of the movie anyways. But not in a gay way. He chuckles at Jason Statham’s suggestion of retirement.

THE ROCK: You say that after every mission bro. You know you can’t give up this life. The fast cars and the furious cars are what you live for bro!

JASON STATHAM: (chuckles) yeah you are right bro. But one of these days I will say it and I will mean it. But damn, the rock, you are right! I love the fast cars and the furious cars!

The phone rings. Not a cell phone, but a special red landline phone that is under a small plastic case. Jason Statham answers the phone.

JASON STATHAM: Sup bra? ....... Oh shit.... Yes.... We’ll be there. (He hangs up the phone and turns to the Rock) It’s the President.

The scene fades to black. You hear the sound of engines roaring and cars driving very fastly and very furiously. The next scene fades in to two cars driving down a highway. They are very fast and they are very furious. Oil and fire are coming out of all the cars holes, but in a bad ass way, like they are totally supposed to be doing that. The cars do not need to go into the shop for repairs.

Zoom in to the Rock in his car. “Rock You Like a Hurricane” by the Scorpions plays very loud, but you still hear engines roar. He opens a Bud Lite and slams it. He opens a Monster Energy Drink and slams that next. He opens a can of Diesel Fuel and slams that next. He opens a second Bud Lite and slams that next. He burps in a very macho way, then makes an action to indicate he pushed onto the gas pedal even harder, making his car faster and louder than it already was! Transition to the cars pulling up to the White House. They both skid onto the lawn, leave the cars there and run fastly and furiously into the White House. The groundskeeper shakes his head when he see’s all the damage the cars tires did to his grass. Transition scene to the Oval Office, where The President, played by Bruce Willis is standing with his back to the desk looking out the window, and the Rock and Jason Statham are seated waiting for him to speak.

PRESIDENT BRUCE WILLIS: There’s no easy way for me to say this so I will be direct. The Rock’s brother, the one who is half cyborg, the one who you just put in prison yesterday... he broke out of prison and he’s kidnapped my daughter. We also think he has plans to blow up the Super Bowl. You’re the only ones who can stop him. (He turns around from looking out the window) You know I hate you fuckers becuase you do things so goddamn fast, and so goddamn furious that it makes me furious! But America needs you boys.

You hear a can crack open. The Rock and Jason Statham are both slamming Bud Lites. They look super pumped for this mission. The Rock is now top nude.

THE ROCK: We would never dream of letting America down Sir JASON STATHAM: He’s correct, America is where we live and where our cars live and also we hate cyborgs and love freedom. THE ROCK: You have our word President Bruce Willis, nothing will happen to your sexy daughter or the American Super Bowl PRESIDENT BRUCE WILLIS: If you assholes fuck this one up I will shove a bald eagle so far up your ass you will be shitting freedom for a week, but from a jail cell! Now get the fuck outta my office! And don’t even think about fingerbanging my daughter!!!!!

Our heroes get up and scurry out the door

“Rock You Like a Hurricane” from the Scorpions plays as the scene fades back to the boys in their cars. They are driving down the highway again, but this time you can tell they are driving faster and furiouser than before. They are headed to the see a freind about getting some new Cyborg killing weapons.

The scene cuts to an old abandoned warehouse, where the Rock’s Cyborg brother, played by a CGI Macho Man Randy Savage but voiced by Hulk Hogan, and who goes by the name Macho-Borg, is holding up with his gang and President Bruce Willis’ sexy daughter, played by Megan Fox. The camera pans in from a top view showing Macho-Borg and his hoodlums standing around a table looking at a map of George Washington Stadium where the Super Bowl will be played in a few weeks.

MACHO-BORG: This plan is foolproof! There is no way I can fail! In just a few weeks I will have blown up the Super Bowl with plutonium, removed the President from office and taken over the country! No one, not even my regular human brother The Rock and his fast driving and furious driving pals can put a stop to this!

The hoodlums nod in agreement and everyone laughs in an evil manner. Macho-Borg laughs louder and more evil than his henchmen though. The camera then moves to show Megan Fox-Willis leaning against the wall in a white tank top and daisy dukes laughing along with Macho-Borg and his pals!! She has a soda cup with a straw in her hand.

MEGAN FOX-WILLIS: I’m so glad I broke you out of prison and let my dumb ass Dad think you kidnapped me so that we could take over the country together! Being the President’s daughter was so boring! (She accidentally spills the soda all over her white tank top. It’s Mr Pibb) Oops! now I’m all sticky! I better take a shower and wash my boobs!

Megan Fox-Willis walks away. The scene briefly cuts to a steamy shower where you can see her figure outlined in steam. After roughly 15 minutes of that the scene fades back to the Rock in his car. You hear loud car noises indicating he is driving very, very fast. His video phone rings. You can see on the screen that the caller ID says “Vin Diesel” The Rock casually reaches over and hits “Decline” on the call. He dials Jason Statham, who immediately answers and you see his face on the screen. He is slamming a Monster Energy Drink.

THE ROCK: Did Vin Diesel try to call you? JASON STATHAM: Yeah. (he chuckles) I declined the call. THE ROCK: Yeah, me too. (he chuckles and the Bud Lite dispensary built into his dash shoots out a cold can for The Rock to crack open and chug like a boss) JASON STATHAM: Are you sure our old friend who deals in illegal weapons is gonna want to see us? Didn’t one of us fingerbang his wife on accident? THE ROCK: Don’t worry about that, I brought a gift for him!

The scene cuts to the two very fast cars driving through a narrow hole in a mountain which ascends into a cavern. You can see that the road is coming to an end very soon but the cars are not slowing down! At the last second each car makes a huge jump into complete darkness. You hear loud thuds. What happened? The darkness lingers for suspensful purposes. All of a sudden the zooming noises of fast cars comes back! There is light again! The cars are back on another narrow road and after another minute they come skidding to a stop. They have arrived at the secret lair of their old friend the illegal weapons dealer played by Snoop Dogg. Our heroes find themselves in front of a large metal door with a security camera pointed right at them. They hear Snoop Dogg’s voice over an intercom

SNOOP DOGG: I thought I told you son’s a bitches never to come back to my illegal weapons lair! THE ROCK: You did, but this is important. The fate of the American Super Bowl is at stake. Plus I brought you this (He holds up a very large bag of marijuana) SNOOP DOGG: Is that... are you fuckin’ with me? It can’t be? THE ROCK: Ya bro, it’s Rarijuana, the rarest strain of marijuana in the whole world. The only kind you have never smoked before. This whole 50 pounds of it is yours but you gotta help us kill my cyborg brother and save the American Super Bowl.

The metal door opens. The scene cuts to Snoop Dogg rolling a joint. A Cypress Hill song plays in the background (doesn’t matter which one) He lights it up, takes a puff and exhales

SNOOP DOGG: So why you wanna kill your Cyborg brother? I thought you put his ass in prison? THE ROCK: He got out. Again. I finally realized it’s my duty to kill him. I’m ready to do it this time. I just need a Cyborg killing weapon and you are the only illegal weapons dealer in the world who knows how to make them. JASON STATHAM: Were also sorry we accidentally did finger stuff with your wife. We had a lot of Bud Lite and we didn’t know your marriage was so serious. SNOOP DOGG: Alright boys, I’m in. I’m still kind a mad about the finger stuff but if this is for the sake of America I have to do it. Plus this weed is fuckin dope son! I got just what you need to kill that Cyborg prick.

The scene fades back to our heroes driving their cars super fast down the highway. Probably just use the same footage from earlier to save money. A different song is playing. It’s some sort of Bon Jovi song remixed with rapping on it. No one is actually sure if they like it or not but it doesnt matter. The Rock’s video phone starts ringing again. The caller ID Says Vin Diesel. He casually hits the decline button. He’s still top nude.

The hereos cars are shown driving into a small suburban area. They are not going very fast. They come to a proper stop (no skidding) in front of a small home. The heroes exit their cars, Monster Energy Drink in hand, head to the porch and ring the doorbell. The Rock’s Mother, played by Tyra Banks answers the door.

THE ROCKS MOM: Oh my goodness! What a surprise! My baby boy and his fast driving friend Jason Statham! Please come on in, I was just baking cookies! Would you like some lemonade? JASON STATHAM: No thanks ma’am, we brought some Monster Energy Drinks and Bud Lite’s with us. We never go anywhere without them, and if we do they are available almost everywhere that energy drinks and beer are sold! THE ROCKS MOM: Oh you boys and your drinks! (she laughs at her joke) Now tell me baby what brought you here THE ROCK: Mom... I don’t know how to say this, but it’s about my brother the cyborg.... THE ROCKS MOM: Oh Macho-Borg! He’s in the kitchen right now helping me with the cookies! JASON STATHAM: Crikey! (chugs the rest of his Monster Energy Drink, Cracks a Bud Lite) THE ROCK: I better go say hello (He looks very concerned, he briskly and with concealed fury heads towards the kitchen) You two stay here.....

Scene cuts to the kitchen. Macho-Borg is wearing an apron and leaning on the counter with his arms folded. He has been waiting for The Rock. He has a menacing grin on his stupid cyborg face.

MACHO-BORG: How predictable brother! I knew you would come here to tell Mother that you finally have to kill me. That is why you came here isn’t it? (He takes a bite out of a cookie) THE ROCK: You sly son of a bitch! You know I can’t whoop your ass here at Mom’s house because I have strong family values that only get stronger with each adventure I have! Now you mark my words if you are trying to blow up the American Super Bowl, I will kill you! I will rip off your Cyborg dick and shove it so far up your mechanical asshole that you will be shitting nuts and bolts for a week! MACHO-BORG: HA! You just wait little brother, you have no idea what’s coming! THE ROCK: And where’s the Presidents sexy daughter? If you put a finger up her, I swear to God (Macho-Borg interrupts him) MACHO-BORG: Oh I put more than a finger in her! And I’m gonna put more than a finger in your precious President before I’m done.... (Mom walks in, the boys relax their posture and pretend they were getting along) THE ROCKS MOM: Now what’s all the racket in here? You boys better be getting along our no ones getting any cookies! MACHO-BORG: Everythings fine Mom, I was just telling The Rock the same story I told you about how I was legally let out of prison becuase I’m super innocent and never did any crimes. THE ROCKS MOM: Yes my baby, I’m sure your brother The Rock realizes now how innocent you were. Now let’s go to the living room and eat cookies and discuss our strong family values!

Everyone heads to the living room for cookies and Bud Lite. Macho-Borg excuses himself first, saying he has work to do so he has to leave. The Rock and Jason Statham excuse themselves for the same reason. It’s a bunch of bulls shit but it segues to a bad ass car chase. Soon we see Macho-Borg driving fastly down the highway followed closely by the Rock and Jason Statham in their cherry red hot rod super cars. You see the cars zoom and zip and zap all over the road, moving from left to right very fastly and very furiously. The engines are loud and the tires are loud and there is smoke and sparks all over. Overhead views of the cars are cut with split seconds of the drivers gripping their steering wheels very furiously. “Kickstart My Heart” from Motley Crue plays under the car noises. If your drunk uncle was still alive he would lose his shit over this scene. This bull shit goes on until the song ends then Macho-Borg shoots oil slicks out of the back of his car, giving him the edge over his persuers and ultimately gives them the slip.

The scene cuts to our heroes lair. The Rock and Jason Statham are pacing furiously around the room, throwing punches in the air and grunting.

THE ROCK: FUCK! We were so close! I can’t believe we fell for that oil slick bullshit! FUCK! (he throws both his fists into some drywall, when he pulls them out he has a Bud Lite in each fist!) JASON Statham: I feel like a fool too bro, but we need to start focusing on saving the American Football Super Bowl, we know that’s his next move. THE ROCK: (throws down the empy Bud Lites he just slammed like a boss) You’re right bro. Let’s do this! (He embraces Jason Statham and gives him a fast peck on the cheek)

The scene fades to only 1 car on the highway. The Rock and Jason Statham are sharing a car this time, as they are undercover. The video phone rings. Thinking it’s Vin Diesel, they both reach for the decline button. Then the realzie that it’s President Bruce Willis and draw their hands back. They mutter some cuss words then one of them presses the button to answer the call

PRESIDENT BRUCE WILLIS: Where the fuck is my daughter you goddamn third rate A-Team wanna be assholes? Looks like your out for a joyride while that animal Macho-Borg is probably 3 fingers deep in her B-Hole! Get your asses to the Superbowl and save America or so help me I will shove an American Flag so far up your ass it will come out your skull so the whole US Military can salute it! FUCK YOU! (He hangs up. Our heroes did not get a word in)THE ROCK: He sounds kinda mad. Our plan better work

The scene fades to the New England Patriots NFL practice. Head Coach Bill Bellicheck has all of his players huddled around waiting for him to instruct them on their next practice drills. All of a sudden The Rock emerges from behind him in full NFL Football gear. He wears the number 01 on his Jersery. He stands next to the Coach

COACH BILL: Listen up you fuckin’ football players, this is The Rock. He’s our new Quarterback for the Superbowl. That’s right, you heard me! Tom Brady your’e benched!

The football players all look shocked as fuck. Tom Brady on the bench? For this unkown player? For the Super Bowl? What could the explanation for this be?

THE ROCK: Now I know this shit seems crazy, but you just have to trust me as your new Quarterback for the NFL American Superbowl. I hope eventually you can accept me as family and we grow a strong bond together (He opens a Monster Energy Drink and takes a little tiny sip) COACH BILL: That’s right Maggots! The Rock is in charge of this team now! Drop and give me 500!

The camera pans to Jason Statham, who is looking for suspicious activity from the top of the bleachers with binoculars. At the opposite end of the field he sees some janitors and other workers moving trash cans and cleaning things up getting ready for the big game. He sees vendors stocking carts in the bleachers. He gets on his walkie talkie and let’s the Rock know he doesn’t see anything suspcious yet. The Rock talks back to him on his secret helmet communicator and let’s him know to keep his eyes open becuase the game begins in a few hours. The scene fades to the basement of the stadium where Macho-Borg and his goons are dressed up like stadium janitors and are loading the plutonium bomb into a hot dog cart. The camera pans to people lining up outside of the George Washington Stadium. Then it pans to a VIP booth where President Bruce Willis has already been escorted in before the crowd. He is surrounded by Men In Black. One of them is Tommy Lee Jones. You can tell shit is fastly getting serious and is no doubt about to get furious! Fade to the Patriots locker room. The Rock is giving a motivational speech to the team he just joined hours ago. He is only wearing a towel around his waste. The towel has a little red corvette embroidered on it.

THE ROCK: I know we only recently formed a strong bond during our brief practice on the field and somewhat longer time in the showers afterwards, but I already feel like we are becoming family, and we all know that’s what it takes to win a Superbowl, am I right team? (He cracks a Bud Lite) COACH BILL: OH HELL YEAH FOOTBALL PLAYERS!!!!! (He slaps the Rock on the ass) The football players all yell and scream in excitement and crack their own Bud Lites and slap eachother’s assess silly. Except for Tom Brady he is sitting on a bench on the other end of the locker room with his Supermodel wife counting huge stacks of money. They are both nude.

It’s gametime. The stadium is full of excited people. The teams take the field. The announcer tells the crowd that Tom Brady is not playing tonight. The crowd is pissed off beyond belief.  The Patriots get the ball first. First snap of the game The Rock throws the ball all the way down to the end zone and scores a touchdown. The crowd now loves him. The Patriots defense takes the field and the Rock gets on his secret helmet cam to Jason Stathom. Jason is wondering the basement of the stadium frantically searching for the bomb or Macho-Borg or one of his goons. Anything to help end this movie. He is now with Michelle Rodriguez and some pit bulls.

THE ROCK: Anything yet? We need to find that bomb! JASON: Not yet, but I’ve called in some back up. Our intel says Macho-Borg plans to blow things up during the halftime show THE ROCK: If he fucks up the DMX half time show I will kill him twice! JASON: I know you love DMX but focus on stalling the game! MICHELLE RODRIGUEZ: Yeah let your ego go and throw a few interceptions ya big lunk! THE ROCK: Michelle! What are you doing here? JASON: That’s the back up I told you about! THE ROCK: I’ll stall the game the best I can, you keep looking for by brother so I can kill him and save America! I gotta take the field, The Rock out.

Fade to an unknown part of the stadium. Macho-Borg, Megan Fox-Willis and some goons have DMX tied to a chair. Everyone has huge guns and cool ninja weapons and theres some pit bulls. They are watching the field from a monitor.

GOON#1: That new Quarterback the Patriots have is insane! Damn! (The goon falls to the ground with a smoking hole in his head. Macho-Borg towers over him with smoke coming from his machine gun) MACHO-BORG: Touchdown bitch. (he glances over all the other goons) Any other Patriots fans here? I didn’t think so. (Megan Fox-Willis is obviously turned on by this. I guess show her hard nips blasting out her white tank top or something. Macho-Borg grabs her waste and shoves his robot tongue down her throat for a minute) I can’t wait until half time (He begins evil laughter, everyone else follows) AMERICA WILL BE MINE!!!!! (more evil laughter)

Fade back to the field. There is only a minute left on the game clock. It’s almost half time. The Patriots are beating whatever team they are playing by a score of 28-0. You see the Rock on the sideline looking frantic, but battle ready. Pan to President Bruce Willis in his VIP box, his fists are wrapped tightly around crushed Bud Lite cans, he is angry as fuck. Pan to Jason and Michelle and her pit bulls still searching the stadium for Macho-Borg and the bomb. Pan to unsuspecting crowd members going crazy over the game. Pan to Tom Brady making love to his supermodel wife on a huge pile of 500 dollar bills in the locker room. Pan to DMX tied to a chair in a dim closet. Pan to the hot dog cart with the plutonium bomb inside it. Pan to Megan Fox-Willis buttcheeks in tight jeans with a small oil stain on them. Pan to a Monster Energy Drink ad on the jumbotron. Halftime is here. Shit is about to pop off son!!!!

The clock hits zero, the buzzer rings. The teams leave the field and in a few short minutes a large stage is erected on the field for DMX. All of America is watching at home on the television, they can’t wait to hear him perform a medley of songs that they kind of remember from 30 years ago. The beat drops as a man parachutes from a helicopter above with a microphone in his hand. but when the man lands it’s not DMX! It’s not even a man! It’s Macho-Borg! The crowd looks confused and upset. the beat stops with the sound of a screeching record. Goons with machine guns and ninja weapons and pit bulls fill the stage around him.

MACHO-BORG: Listen up America! I’ve planted a plutonium atomic bomb in this stadium and unless you give me 10 million dollars and let me be the President, then you will never find out how the American Superbowl ends! On top of the bomb I’ve planted, I’ve got The Presidents daughter and America’s Sweetheart DMX held hostage so don’t even think about fucking with me! If I see any sign of the Rock or anyone else trying to stop me I will blast plutonium up all your asses so hard there won’t be any more asses to blast! Speaking of the Rock send him up here, unarmed so I can execute his punk ass in front of the whole world!!!!

All of a sudden a cherry read super sports car blast through the tunnel where the players take the field from, it’s  going faster than any car in this movie has gone! It’s clearly the most furious car as well. The car hits a ramp that’s there for some reason and flies onto the stage, wiping out half the goons with guns (the dogs scurry away unharmed) and comes to a skidding halt half inch from Macho-Borg. The door opens up like the Delorean in back to the future, smoke poors out. It’s the Rock! He jumps out the car. He’s top nude.

THE ROCK: You wanted me, here I am, unarmed...except for these arms! (He flexes his muscles and tosses his arms up in cool fight poses) MACHO-BORG: You arrogant bastard! You think I won’t blow this place sky high with both of us here? You don’t have a choice! You need to bow down and kiss my Cyborg ass or America is done for! THE ROCK: You’re forgetting one thing Macho-Borg. I’ve formed strong bonds and grown closer to my friends over many adventures and we have heart, we are family! One time you were my brother, but now your just an evil cyborg, and evil cyborgs can’t win! MACHO-BORG: ENOUGH!!!!! This ends now!!!! THE ROCK: You’re right.....

The camera pans up to the sky. Optimus Prime is floating down, he gently scoops up the hot dog cart with the bomb in it and jets back up to the sky, throwing it into the sun. You see it explode.

MACHO-BORG: NO! NO! NOOOOOOOO!!!!! (He’s on his hands and knees now, he knows he has been defeated. But probably not without a sweet car chase)

Jason Stathom and Michelle Rodriguez have now made it to the stage. DMX and an ton of pit bulls are with them. They have sweet machine guns and Monste Energy Drinks.

JASON: What just happened? THE ROCK: That’s my son Optimus Prime. You’re not the only one who called in for back up! MICHELLE: Your son?!?!?! THE ROCK: I don’t have time to explain right now, we need to get this creep to a private area so I can execute him. (The turn back to Macho-Borg but he is gone!) JASON: Shit.... (He points to the VIP box above) Where’s President Bruce Willis? DMX: You guys go, I got things under control here! (He pics up the microphone and makes dog noises and the music comes back on)

The crowd goes fucking nuts, this was the best half time show they ever saw. The Rock, Jason and Michelle jump into the car on stage and fastly drive away. Pan to DMX rocking the stage with whatever song is cheapest to license. Pan to Tom Brady in the locker room suiting up with a smirk on his face. Pan to Optimus Prime flying further into space back to Endor. Pan to Macho-Borg and Megan Fox-Willis in a fast driving sports car with President Bruce Willis tied up and passed out in the back seat.

MEGAN FOX-WILLIS: Damn the Rock and his sexy abs and huge muscles and smooth balls! Now what are we going to do? The plutonium bomb is gone, DMX is back on stage, the Superbowl is safe! We still have my Dad the President, but how are we going to make this work? We need to take over America or I’m not letting you do sex to me anymore with your weird robot dink! MACHO-BORG: We go back to our lair and figure this out. We still have the President, we can still take America! Settle down! MEGAN F-W: But what about the Rock and his fast driving and furious driving friends that he has formed family like bonds with? Why didn’t you blast him with your machine gun on the stage? You just had run your mouth when you should have been shooting! Maybe I should have let you rot in prison! You can’t get this job done you wack ass cyborg fuck! Second rate Terminator! I should dump you at the scrap yard! MACHO-BORG: You dumb... SHIT! we’ve got company (Three super fast sports cars can be seen in his rearview mirror)

Here is the big ass car chase that everyone is waiting for.  The cars go fast all over various roads and in tunnels and over bridges and valleys and deserts and whatever the fuck else. Just lots of the same shit you have seen earlier in this film and in the other films. Finally, Macho-Borg pushes a button in his car and it starts to transform into a Cyborg car. It looks like a normal car to begin with, then it gets taller, wider, metallic armor starts to cover it, the wheels get bigger. It basically looks like some crazy sci-fi monster truck with weapons. It has a huge Monster Energy drink logo on the hood. You see the 3 drivers of the other car (The Rock, Jason Stathom and Michelle Rodriguez) get surprised looks on their faces, they know they are in for the biggest battle yet. The heroes communicate on their radios

JASON: WHAT THE HELL?!?!?! MICHELLE: You must be seeing what I’m seeing! THE ROCK: Alright team, it’s time to kick ass and form a deeper family bond while we do it! I’m gonna kill the shit out of my cyborg brother once and for all! (He cracks a Bud Lite as expected) JASON: Were with you bro! Let’s do this for America!

You hear engines roaring and tires skidding and all that car shit. Macho-Borgs sci-fi monster truck has stopped and is turned to face our heroes, waiting for them to catch up, taunting them by shooting flames out of some huge ass guns on the hood. All 3 of the heroes cars get about a quarter mile away from the Cybrog truck and skid to a stop. They talk to each other on their radios again

JASON: I’m definitely retiring after this shit. How do we do this The Rock? MICHELLE: Yeah what is the plan here? THE ROCK: You two stay put, I got this.

The Rock gets out of his car and starts walking towards the sci-fi monster truck. He leaps in the air with all the fury and fastness he can, he punches the truck square in the grill and the whole truck falls apart into rubble and nuts and bolts. You can see Macho-Borg, President Bruce Willis and Megan Fox-Willis lying on the ground in the rubble, spread out from each other. Macho-Borg is the only one who gets up. He stumbles over to The Rock. He is in bad shape.

MACHO-BORG: You were right brother, I was a piece of shit. THE ROCK: I’m always right.

The Rock puts his fist through his brothers chest and pulls out a half human - half cyborg heart. It’s dripping with both oil and blood. He eats it. Macho-Borg falls dead to the ground. The Rock pulls out his boner and takes a piss on his brothers corpse. Jason and Michelle look on from the distance, they are both super impressed with their friend. They feel like they have formed a closer family bond with him. The President and his daughter have got up now too. Everyone is huddled around each other now enjoying the victory. They don’t realize that Megan Fox-Willis was the once responsible for breaking Macho-Borg out of prison and aiding him in his evil plans.

PRESIDENT BRUCE WILLIS: You fast and furious fucks nearly killed me and killed America, but you pulled it off. I still hate you but I give credit where it is due. The Rock, if you want to bang my daughter that is fine now, just get me back to the White House I have important President shit to do. THE ROCK: On behalf of all of us, you are welcome. I might bang your daughter later, thanks. Michelle will take you back to the White House. You know how to reach us sir. God bless the USA

The scene fades back to the heroes lair, the same setting as the beginning of the movie. They are realxing after the mission, pondering their futures.

JASON: Well The Rock, I’m definitely retiring. I’m booking a flight to Hawaii tonight. I just want to thank you for all the adventures and brotherly love. THE ROCK: You know brother, I believe you this time. I love you, but not in a gay way. (They hug and kiss on the lips) JASON: What are you gonna do? THE ROCK: I’m going to space to see my son, Optimus Prime, we have some business to take care of and to tell you the truth, I haven’t been a very good father.... JASON: You know, you are gonn have to explain that one to me sometime

The conversation is interrupted by a video phone ringing. It’s Vin Diesel. Jason reaches over and accepts the call

JASON: Vin, what’s up? VIN DIESEL: I’ve been trying to reach you guys all week! I heard that Macho-Borg broke out of prison! I smell an adventure cooking!

The Rock and Jason Statham laugh and hit the button to hang up. The credits roll as you hear the sound of a Bud Lite cracking open, then you hear some car noises then some butt rock song remixed with DMX rapping over it plays. The audience goes home to clean the poop and jizz out of their pants.

#fast and furious #the rock #jason statham #vin diesel #movie scripts #stupid humor #comedy #fan fiction #action movies #fake movie scripts #snoop dogg #michelle rodriguez #hollywood #films #movies

[whifferdills]

(iDk if youre taking fic requests still?) but just one to throw on the idea pile: "Clara and the TARDIS"-style multi-Bill smut with some nice foot worship and/or bondage thrown in?

okay so i wrote this without re-reading the prompt and all i remembered was ‘Multi-Bill’ so uhhh kinda fucked it. no porn, no kink, very fluff. if you’re dead-set on filth try again in a bit, you would not be the first person to tell me ‘ummm no that’s not what i asked, try again’, and i do not mind that

anyway

Bill/The TARDIS, Bill&12, ~1.2k words, rated Teen for Implications and Situations but it’s very gen lbr

[alternately on the Ao3]

It wasn’t a fight, really. Barely even a conversation, just one of Moira’s monologues (exhausting under the best of circumstances) that, tonight, included a classic throwaway line about how it’s fine they want to get married, she’s all for gay rights, but do they have to throw it in our faces like that?

Bill entertained a brief fantasy of unleashing a stirring speech entitled “I Am A Lesbian And Fuck You”, before garbling out some stream-of-conscious rebuttal that Moira absorbed not at all. And then commenced to feel completely and utterly awful, now alone in the flat, staring down at her late-night prawn cocktail crisps, vaguely thinking about her Netflix queue.

Maybe a fight would have been better. Like where she could have come out (metaphorically) swinging, something she might have felt obligated to win, instead of letting it…not slide, exactly, but there’s a limit to how aggressive you want to get with the person paying the rent. So. Here she is. And then, without much conscious thought: here she isn’t.

She could call someone, though she won’t, since she’s got friends but not friends like that, where you ring them up at 11 pm cause you can’t stay at home and you’ve got nowhere else. No one she’d impose upon with a ‘hey can I crash on your couch tonight because I feel weird and it’s a whole thing.’ (Would be nice though, wouldn’t it? To be close to someone like that. She thinks about it a lot, and tries not to let the thought choke her too bad, not be too heavy of an emotion. It’s fine. She’s an independent woman.)

Ten minutes into her ‘Just Out For a Walk’ walk, Bill realizes she’s headed towards uni. Specifically towards the Doctor’s office. And as much as she isn’t into the idea of considering an old white man any sort of safe harbour, the ancient git kind of. Is? In a weird, elder-gay, won’t-ask-personal-questions sort of way. So she’s here, on the green facing his office windows.

She pulls out her mobile and debates for about a minute over whether she actually wants to do this, before sending a text.

     U awake?

     7777777777shiaifge 🔥 the eventual heat-death of the universe

Close enough? Close enough.

“You’re normally here in the daytime,” he says, hurriedly sweeping a stack of papers and textbooks off the chair across his desk.

She flops down on the chair, swinging her purse off and resting her feet on the haphazard pile of 1990s Phaidon art books. “Yeah.”

He stares at her, kind of wild-eyed but in that distanced way he has sometimes, like his brain isn’t quite processing the situation in the way a human would.

“Sorry about the text, I made a thing, it responds to the telephone but, ah, there’s some kinks to be worked out.” He points at a toaster on the desk, and then shrugs, and sits down gingerly.

“No worries.”

“So.”

“Yeah.”

One of the benefits to being mentee to incredibly awkward mentor is how their shortcomings reliably make you think better of yourself. Bill lets the moment play out, almost nearly feeling incrementally less awful.

“Is everything okay?”

“No.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

The Doctor exhales, visibly relieved. “So what d'you want, then? School stuff? Chit chat? Maybe go for a ride?”

“Kinda just hoped you’d let me crash here.”

“Uh.”

“Sleep on your sofa,” she elaborates.

“Oh! Yes. Of course. But also - ” He grandly gestures towards the TARDIS, with that face that indicates he’s feeling very clever. “Infinite space. Probably still a couple of bedrooms. Or you could make your own, if you’d like. Also there’s a park, park naps are excellent. Better than the couch, which was marginally comfortable before Nardole engraved his arse groove, and now is…not great.”

There’s acceptable-weird and there’s upsetting-weird, and right now, when what she wants is a warm blanket and maybe a cup of tea, sleeping in the unfathomable eldritch horror of a time-space ship is maybe the latter. But it’s not like she expected anything normal, coming here, and the Doctor looks so genuinely earnest and happy to offer up his TimeBnB, so.

“Right. Okay.” She stands up, grabs her bag off the floor, then pauses. “You coming with?”

“Nah. Got work to do. Calculus.” He nods at the guitar propped up against the bookcase.

“Right,” she says again. She makes a face, and it’s a weird face, she’d been going for a casual sort of 'Life: am I right?“ thing but it feels very much not that. “Thanks.”

“No thanks required. You’re always welcome here. Or in the TARDIS. I think she’s missed you, actually.”

He smiles; he means it. She tries not to let that choke her up too much.

“If you get lost or – whatever, text me. The toaster will probably just load up Doom in response but I’ll get the message eventually.”

This place is odd, odder than usual, here alone. Not in a bad way. From somewhere, nowhere, there’s a happy-sounding warble.

“Hey, you,” Bill says. “The Doctor said I could make a room? For sleeping in?”

The ship chirps in what she hopes is affirmation.

Does she finger the console now? There’s a bit which is definitely just for fingerbanging a sentient spacecraft. She stares at it warily.

The ship chirps again, and then turns the lights on, one by one, down a hallway. Bill shrugs, and follows.

There’s a corridor, which is a forever corridor, branching out into other forever corridors. The lights turn on in front of her, one by one.

Bill sees something out of the corner of her eye, and tries very hard not to be scared. “No one else here but us girls, yeah?”

The ship hums back.

More corridors. She sees something cross the t-junction ahead of her. Someone. Who looks a lot like her. Okay.

“Am I…am I here too? Like future-me? Is this some time-travel paradox thing?”

The ship sort of sighs, like no, like c'mon.

She turns a corner, and there she is. Her clone, future self, robo-duplicate, whatever. She resolutely does not panic. “Hey,” she says, waving.

“Hiya,” other-Bill replies, also waving.

“Are you me?”

“I’m a projection. You’re very pretty. I thought it would be nice to look like you.” The projection waves again.

Bill squints. Who knows why she’d actually thought she could just have a normal sleepover here.

“And I can do more than one,” says another not-Her, projection-clone-robot-thing, springing out from the wall behind her. “We can kiss. Many humans enjoy kissing.”

“Right. Okay. See.” Bill attempts to find her inner Zen. “I just want a good night’s sleep, yeah? Not, uh. Making out with myself, or whatever.”

Not-Bill No. 1 smiles, and takes her hand. Feels weird, like it feels real but not human-real. Like the touch is flickering between flesh and some indefinable buzz. “Come with me? There’s a pillow fort.”

Not-Bill No. 2 takes Bill’s other hand. “We can cuddle.”

Bill lets herself be lead onward. “Yeah, cuddling’s fine. I think. Let you know when we get there.”

She wakes up the next morning in the console room, feeling relatively well-rested. A memory of snuggling up with herself. Weird, good-weird, nice-weird. The ship is bleeping at her cheerfully. She’s got ten unread texts from the Doctor, nine of which are penguin-arse-typed keysmashes and one of which is a video of Doom gameplay. She settles her purse around her shoulders and exits back out into the real world, waving behind her as she goes.

#promptapalooza #bill potts #getting a prompt hugely wrong is a mainstay of my Brand(TM) #Anonymous

[shippingwithstiles-blog]

Sciles fic rec?

Roadside Assistance by autoschediastic (3741, complete, explicit)

"Ow, okay, what part of ow are you not getting? God, is this how you cuddle?"

"I'm not trying to cuddle you," Scott says, rooting determinedly around. "I'm trying to keep you warm."

Stiles gives him a long look. A really, really long one, because sometimes Scott needs the time to chug his way around to a conclusion.

"Oh," he says.

Pączki are Always a Solution by KuriKuri (4252, complete, teen)

“Someday,” Scott mumbles around the mouthful. “Someday I’m gonna get this recipe from you.”

“Not unless you marry into the family,” Stiles replies, licking the powdered sugar off his lower lip. “When I say it’s a top secret Stilinski family recipe, I mean it’s top secret.”

(Or: In which Stiles' babcia mistakes them for a couple and gives away the secret family recipe.)

Everything is Horrible and Great by wrangler (2925, complete, explicit)

"You wouldn't know a vulva if it fell on your face," Stiles says, grumpy.

(The one where Scott and Stiles have sleepovers and get riled up and fingerbang. Like you do.)

An Uncommon Want by Rrrowr (31k, complete, explicit)

"We've got a new one for you, Scott," is the first thing that Erica says to him when she spies him coming through the doors of their floor. The file that she sets on the edge of her desk is thin and crisp. The folders for regular clients tend to be thicker, full of reports and request forms.

"A virgin?" Scott says, raising a brow at the green tab at the top of the folder.

"It's your specialty, isn't it?" Erica teases with a sharp grin. "All that comforting and coddling you do with the newbies makes you ideal."

"Everyone's scared their first time," Scott responds gently as he opens the folder to get a look at his new client.

Erica scoffs. "Maybe if you're an omega."

"Especially if you're an omega."

Possible Still by rosepetals24 (11k, complete, mature)

Stiles gets very good at putting himself back together. He learns which cuts just need butterfly bandages and which need actual stitches and he knows to keep a needle threaded because trying to get everything ready when you're shaking from blood loss is fucking hard. (Not impossible though, he learns that too. There's not much that is impossible when you don't have any other options.)

Post 5A - Stiles may not be in the pack anymore, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop fighting.

-K

#sciles #stiles/scott #Anonymous