#Tron Scripts

[coupleofdays]

The TRON first script draft

Last year, the wonderful @greetingsprogram1982 managed to acquire a copy of the first script draft for the film TRON, scanned it, an uploaded the pages as jpgs here on Tumblr. I have now taken the liberty to convert these scanned pages into a pdf file and upload it to The Internet Archive, in order to hopefully preserve this important historical artifact a little better (many of you are probably aware that Tumblr isn't exactly the ideal place to archive things long-term for various reasons):

I can highly recommend that any fan of the original TRON movie check out this script draft, if you haven't already done so. It's a fascinating read, containing scenes and concepts that didn't make it into the final film (and missing some parts that would be added later), and versions of the movie characters who are very different from what they eventually ended up being.

Again, huge thanks to @greetingsprogram1982 for scanning the script in the first place!

[wynandcore]

Uprising CLU is “Biggering” and Legacy CLU is “How Bad Can I Be”.

Do you understand my vision

[foxgloveinspace]

let's do 21, 36, 38, and 15 :3

Hihi!!!!!!

21.what i love most about myself:

i'm avoiding doing that ask game right now thats like 'tell me five things you like about your self' cause I can't answer this question lmao.

uhhh. this might sound cliche, but I really like my hair. I used to hate the color of my hair, and how frizzy it was, but turns out I just didn't know how to take care of curls, and I really like the color now.

36.where I would like to live:

Maine! I want to live in Maine really badly. I don't even know where in Maine, I just know I want to live in Maine.

38.My childhood career choice:

honestly don't remember. I think I wanted to be a fashion designer, cause I liked to play dress up? But I am not sure.

15.Favorite Movie:

Tron: Legacy. I watch it every January. This last year I watched it 20 times in January and February...... I was very low spoons to be fair.

[coupleofdays]

While it's probably unlikely, I hold a faint hope that maybe someday we could get at least a comic adaptation of the first Tron script draft. After all, it's happened before with stuff like the early versions of Star Wars scripts, the Star Trek episode "City on the Edge of Forever", and Alien 3. Though I guess Tron might not be quite as high profile as those particular franchises.

Maybe the Tron fandom artists could gather together and do a zine comic of it, each artist adapting a particular scene of the script draft?

Would you ever be ok with Yori being recast with a different actor?

Hm! Good question.

Well... as I've said many times before... my feelings about what Official Canon will ever do with this franchise are neutral at best. My focus is on fanworks, right now and for the foreseeable future, because fanworks are the only ones ever exploring the storylines I want to see more of.

And fanworks aren't usually equipped to cast anybody as anything. Because making a movie or a show takes amounts of... money, and resources, and power over other human beings, that are usually outside the reach of anyone who has any sort of ethics, let alone a fan who isn't even expecting payment.

But.

That said.

Having read the early draft script, where we got to see much more of Bonnie MacBird's vision for what the movie could be...

(I think of Bonnie MacBird as the author more than Steven Lisberger, because Wikipedia says she "wrote it with significant input from Lisberger," or something to that effect... and this draft was before Disney or Lisberger or anyone got involved in all the logistics of turning it into an actual movie)...

...I actually feel that the only new Tron movie I personally could ever get really excited about, would be a remake that was more true to that early script.

I will always adore the 1982 movie for what it was. And that movie, unchanged in any way, should live forever in its own right, in our hearts and our archives of film history. But as I've said before, I do still have a longing to see other versions of what could have been.

See, it feels to me like this --the early draft-- was the story it meant to tell. It feels like the complete version of the movie-- with scenes that make it all make more sense, that had to be cut just to reduce it to Disney movie length and comply with Disney censors.

This is the movie it could be, if we could actually get Disney's hands off of it someday.

It is very much not perfect, and there are plenty of things I would change. But it feels like a storyline I'd rather see-- and a better starting-place for any sequels that would actually interest me.

And, as for casting, it would pretty much have to be recast entirely, with younger actors. And probably actors with a bit of a different feel overall. (MacBird's original pick for Flynn was Robin Williams, and it is oh-so-sad that we'll never see what THAT would be like.)

And I am actually pretty interested in what this would mean for recasting of the Lora/Yori role!

You'll note that in that script, Lora and Yori were to be played by an Asian actress-- making the Japanese names actually make sense! That could be a really fresh take on the character.

As much as I loved Cindy Morgan, I do not love how Disney's influence ended up making everyone white in the final version. And I do think it'd be more likely, in the present day, to recast it with more actors of color and avoid the stereotypical sorts of portrayals that often went along with such attempts at diversity in the 1980's.

(For instance, I do think the scenes in that early script that portrayed Lora and Yori attempting martial arts ...might need some changing. MacBird was a visionary, but still a product of her time.)

Anyway. This is all a pipe dream... once Disney gets its hooks into a franchise it's never going to see real diversity or even real creativity, compared to what fans can imagine.

And yes, I know my take isn't everybody's. But you did ask me.

[radiantlyrey]

Gonna be real, everything about TRON 3 feels like a Monkey’s Paw kinda situation

“I want another TRON movie!!”

*finger curls* You get one—directed by the same guy who directed *checks notes* Maleficent: Mistress of All Evil, and written by two dudes—one of whom has no notable credits, and the other of whom helped JKR write the script for her Harry Potter play!!!

“I wish the next TRON movie would be more diverse!”

*finger curls* There are multiple women and characters of color—but the Real Star is Noted Asshole Jared Leto, who won an Oscar for playing a trans woman!!

“I hope the next TRON movie includes some characters from the original film!”

*finger curls* Sure thing! Jeff Bridges will make a cameo. And that’s it. Cindy Morgan and David Warner are both dead, and we won’t ask Bruce Boxleitner back, even though he plays the character the franchise is named after!!

[coupleofdays]

I just realized something that might be an unintentional pun in the first Tron movie. At several points Sark refers to the Programs on the Game Grid as "conscripts". The word "script" apparently has a few different meanings when it comes to computers, but one definition I found says that it can mean "a program or sequence of instructions that is interpreted or carried out by another program rather than by the computer processor (as a compiled program is)."

This could mean that Sark calling Programs "(con)scripts" indicates that he views them as soldiers or slaves, that they should be following his orders. They should be part of the Master Control Program rather than run independently.

[wynandcore]

Cyrus’ plan in No Bounds was a lose-lose situation, yes:

Cyrus didn’t die, his plan worked which got Able killed, public opinion of the Renegade skewed (though that wasn’t shown much in the last ep, weirdly enough), Tron got so beat up that his condition worsened to a point it threatened his life, and Beck’s friends distanced from him.

But, in a way, Beck does win.

Cyrus wants to show Beck that he can’t balance the life of the Renegade and the life of a mechanic and uses that to try and break Beck’s spirit. He doesn’t achieve that, though.

Tron defeats Cyrus with Bodhi’s multi tool, effectively symbolizing that Beck doesn’t have to choose between his life as the renegade or as a mechanic. Not only that, he was able to outsmart Cyrus by using his knowledge as a mechanic to hack the controls of his bomb.

And I like that a lot.

Beck won’t give up his identity to become a symbol of hope and nothing else. He doesn’t want to choose and there’s no reason he’d have to.

He’s always pushed to make concrete decisions by Tron, someone who’s gotten so focused on being a protector that he pushes people away and doesn’t allow himself to do anything other than work, but in this case Beck really has no reason to choose.

In fact, he’s better off having both lives, Cyrus didn’t have friends or family and was solely focused on being the one to save the grid, that it got to him.

Beck, at the end of the day, isn’t only the Renegade. He’s a simple program who couldn’t stand by and let the occupation take over without a sweat. As he says: “I just wear the suit”.

[evecolourshock]

"That's okay. Progress is good." Tron didn't like the implication of Ed being the only one able to use his auto-injector, but then again...

Had he been so different, refusing to admit when he needed his healing chamber, that his poor health often got the better of him? Had he not done his best to pretend everything was fine, that he didn't need help, because to admit vulnerability felt like opening himself up to attack? Had the first time someone had seen through the act and given him the respite he sorely needed not terrified him beyond belief?

He and Ed were far too similar, on some things. Ed would get there, in his own time, and not before.

"True. I'd rather not have to worry about him being in that position, or whether I'd have to back him up. Contrary to popular belief, I'm a terrible liar." Tron chuckled, figuring out how to chop some carrot sticks Ed hadn't gotten round to finishing. "With luck, it'll be fine. One way, or another."

Ed huffed, stifled a laugh. It wasn't... bitter laughter, though it wasn't quite amusement, either. "Idiot beta, sounds about right," he said.

"As far as Peter... it's likely that may have been one of his programs? As I understand it, he was one of Encom's programmers, before he became Dillinger's assistant."

He stiffened at the contact, but it did manage to pull him back to the present. He turned from the cooler, back to the fridge. "I--I know. And... thank you. I know.... you're still recovering, and had probably hoped the peace would last a bit longer, but. I do appreciate you being here."

At least, Ed had hoped the peace would last longer. At least a few more months. If anyone deserved the time to recover in peace, if not to live out the rest of their runtime without any further disturbance, it was Tron. He hated that he was the one to disrupt it.

Ed retrieved his epinephrine auto injector. Thanks to Yori, he hadn't needed it in years, but he wasn't fool enough to leave home without it. He of course had another one in the small fridge under his desk, but he wouldn't have access to his office, but that was meant to be a backup, and it was better to stay in the habit of carrying one with him everywhere, anyway.

He retrieved the holster from the drawer next to the refrigerator, slipped the auto injector into it, and then clipped it to his belt.

"Anyway... anything you want, snacks for later?"

[muddiedfoxglove]

redd's fic rec list

I'm always sending my friends good fic recs, so I thought I'd do that here for once! Under the cut are some of the fics I have really liked over the last month or so, in no particular order.

crossed the borderline of weightless by dykeries e | 4.2k | oneshot

“Buck,” he says cautiously, and Buck is about to say sorry, about to sprint out of Eddie’s house and drive his Jeep into the Pacific, but instead Eddie speaks before he can do anything. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he says, and Eddie digs his fingers more deeply into Buck’s hair and pulls. __________________________ Buck needs to clear his head. It turns out Eddie is willing to help with that.

on my last strength against you by markofalover e | 9k | oneshot

Buck has self-control. He hasn’t always used it, but he likes to think he’s gotten a lot better at it, throughout the years. Evidence: He’s clenching his jaw to the point of pain and very pointedly looking at the TV, like the local weatherman spouting off about a heat wave is capable of holding this much of his attention. If this were—before, they would not be watching the news. - ...or, Eddie could just use his words, but where’s the fun in that?

slide into homebase by sybilsleaves e | 5k | oneshot

Eddie's the star pitcher of the 118's intramural softball team. Buck is the assistant coach who has a few pointers for him.

Flash Mobs and Jumbo Trons by glorious_spoon e | 10k | part 3 of a series

"Sorry," Buck says, with an exaggerated wince. "Sorry, sorry, that's not—that's not a proposal, for the record, don't freak out. I was just wondering." Something about the way he says it makes Eddie wonder if maybe it would��be a proposal, if he'd reacted differently just now. He dismisses the thought immediately. Buck is a grand romantic gestures kind of guy. He wouldn't ask Eddie to marry him out of the blue, on the couch, halfway through a Lakers game. Eddie is sure of it. Mostly sure of it. - Or: Buck asks a question. Eddie dithers.

symbiosis by mandolare e | 8k | oneshot

When Buck turns to the side to step into the shower he freezes, suddenly and shockingly wide-awake, because there’s something very, very abnormal in his periphery, so out of place he almost can’t make himself look straight at it in the mirror. But then he does, and for a moment forgets how to work his lungs. Because there’s the blue-black shadow of fresh ink under his skin, ugly cursive script, about three inches wide right on his ass. Eddie, it says, high on the curve of his right cheek. - Buck and Eddie get blackout drunk, and then learn something new about themselves. And each other.

lover, be good to me by midnights e | 7k | oneshot

in which oranges are picked, muffins are made, and lazy morning sex is had.

i know you need it by midnights e | 12k | oneshot

to say Buck is pent up would be an understatement. so Eddie gives him what he needs.

been lost for a while by trysetmeonfire m | 17k | oneshote (....for now?)

Eddie's wife has been dead for two weeks. There's a firefighter in bed five. These are not necessarily related facts, but Eddie will have a hard time separating them out, later. — A story, in many ways, about holding hands

drown in good intentions (never quench the fire) by windmillsofmymind e | 87k | 7/7 chapters

“I thought you were ready to start dating,” Bobby says, which. Eddie doesn’t think that’s remotely close to the point. “Yeah, Eddie,” Buck echoes, all narrowed eyes and petulance, aggressively attempting to spear a tomato on his plate while maintaining eye contact. “I…I don’t think the blind dates were really working out.” “So you’re trying to get out of your aunt’s setups, again. And this is what you’re going with?” Hen says, eyebrows raised. “I did not say that. I hadn’t even thought about telling Pepa I’m seeing Felisa, to be honest.” But isn’t that a thought. “I just thought a break would be nice, you know? I can find someone at my own pace, organically.” A chorus of protests and objections, to the tune of “how are you going to meet someone organically when everybody thinks you’re dating someone else”, breaks out across the table. “Oh, he’s gonna find someone organically, alright,” Chimney interrupts. “Obviously, he’s gonna fall in love with Felisa.” Buck promptly begins to choke on his salad. - Or: Eddie pretends to date Felisa Valdez, a normal thing to do, for normal reasons. Buck acts normal about it.

king of the castle by organyx e | 12k | oneshot

Buck scoffs. “You really think you could go longer than I could without--” Eddie shakes his head in amusement. “Making a ‘deposit’?” he teases sarcastically, finishing Buck’s sentence when he awkwardly clams up. “Yes, with one hundred percent certainty.” Buck’s eyebrows raise, his bright grin showing off a row of perfectly white teeth. “Oh, you wanna bet? Since you’re so confident.” ----- Buck and Eddie challenge each other to see who can go the longest without an orgasm. Eddie’s pretty confident he can win.

forever in a day by organyx e | 29k | oneshot

“Eddie, you’re scaring me,” Buck says in the quiet of the room. “Do you-- do you know what day it is?” “Friday,” Eddie answers, tongue thick like his throat is stuffed with cotton. “Yeah,” Buck confirms. “And-- do you know my full name?” Eddie swallows. “Evan Buckley,” he says definitively, but-- He finally turns to look at Buck’s face, and it’s like he’s waiting for Eddie to keep going. Like Eddie had gotten it wrong. Buck’s face melts, his brows pinched together, and Eddie-- He doesn’t know what the hell is going on. ----- Eddie loves every version of Buck. And Buck? Well, he’s starting to realize every version of Buck loves him right back. If only Eddie could get back home to tell him that.

tangled in the willows by organyx e | 9k | oneshot

“Eddie,” Buck whines, hips squirming off the seat as far as his seatbelt will allow, pumping into the air with a grunt. He needs friction, needs a hole to fuck into, needs to fill and claim and satisfy a wet, shivering body below him. He sucks in a trembling breath, but all he can smell is Eddie. His distressed scent is coming off of him in waves, sharp and acidic, chemical in nature. It should be disgusting, should have Buck wrinkling his nose and backing away as far as he can, but he finds it intoxicating, instead. Buck lets go of the safety handle to fumble with his belt buckle. ----- Buck knows he's the jealous type. He just never thought it could affect him like this.

good things come for those who wait by ithilien22 e | 2k | oneshot

Turns out, Buck likes when Eddie makes him wait for it. (And they're embarrassingly in love about it.)

i wanna be tied tied tied to your apron strings by sybilsleaves e | 3k | oneshot

He’s chosen his attire fittingly: the light pink Kiss the Cook apron Eddie had gotten him last Christmas. And nothing else. Buck knows, okay. He doesn’t quite understand it, but he knows. Something about him in an apron turns Eddie into some kind of crazed sex fiend, desperate for Buck’s attention the way Buck usually feels desperate for his. Usually, it’s kind of a problem. Like when Buck’s trying to cook dinner at the station and Eddie keeps trying to convince him to sneak up to the roof. Or when Buck has thirty-six cupcakes to bake for the Robotics Club spring fundraiser and Eddie starts tugging at his apron strings and kissing his neck until Buck is forced to banish him from the kitchen until he can behave. or, the Apron Buck fic

honey, you're familiar by cranberrymoons e | 1k | oneshot

Seeing him like this: Buck on top of him, mile-long legs splayed out over his lap. Straddling him with his hands planted on Eddie’s shoulders, sweat shining on his face, sheets bunching up around both of them. At some point in the watching, sitting up, hand pressed low on Buck’s back to keep him held close, mesmerized.

call it fate, call it karma by sungodlou e | 6k | oneshot

He honestly can’t tell if Buck is doing it on purpose, anymore. He’s thwarted all of Eddie’s attempts at flirtation—and most of his attempts at fun—and Eddie’s eye is honestly starting to twitch; he somehow always manages to forget how quickly this type of thing goes from endearing to irritating. In the last half hour, Buck has dialled the brat factor up to about a ten, like he knows he can only get away with being this exacting for so much longer before Eddie snaps and puts him in his place a little. And Eddie is officially done resisting the urge to bend him over and do just that. or; Someone has got to get Buck away from that damn clipboard

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 4)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ In the whirlwind Hollywood world, Evan and Y/N are flipping the script. With a filming delay for Evan’s Tron scenes, ten days become four tantalising months. Taking the leap, Evan proudly introduces Y/N as his girlfriend at the Emmy Awards. As they dazzle at the afterparty, they’re also plotting an escapade. Away from the flashing cameras of paps and the gossiping spectators, they’re stealing away to a secluded beach by the venue for a night of pleasure and fluids...

Warnings ─ Swearing, public sex, sex on the beach, oral (both receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, bondage, mild BDSM, nipple teasing, spanking, dry humping, vaginal sex, woman on top, doggie, extra smutty (per usual, lol)

Read Part 1 here | Read Part 2 here | Read Part 3 here

Word count ─ 5.5K

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

You and Adria breeze into her bedroom like the dynamic duo of snack time, armed with a mega-sized bowl of popcorn, a killer cheese platter, and a tray of toasty beverages. Adria’s sporting that cheeky grin, like she’s about to drop the meme of the century, and you can’t help but giggle, knowing the night’s about to get lit.

As you step in, you’re met with a sight straight out of a Pinterest board. There’s this epic mound of duvets and pillows stacked up in the middle of the floor, like a cosy fort waiting to be conquered. And there they are, the squad – Val, Natasha, and Mirka – all huddled together, shuffling the cards like they’re running their own underground casino.

“Alright, girlies…gather up,” Adria hollers, flexing her sparkling engagement ring, and you both flop onto the comfy chaos, laughing. Before long, popcorn is flying like spring rain as you jump into the card game like you were born for this moment. You’re personally slinging drinks, channelling your inner barista at a hipster café, except these are mugs of hot cocoa and herbal tea, not fancy cocktails.

The room is buzzing with energy as the banter bounces back and forth like a ping-pong match, touching on varied topics—from eyebrow tweezers, acne, holiday destinations, and wedding flowers for Adria to immigrant visas, AI, wars, and recycling methods. Mirka’s laugh is loud enough to wake the dead, and Val’s one-liners are so on point they should come with a fire emoji. Natasha, meanwhile, is playing it cool, but you can practically see the competitive flames dancing behind those Insta-filtered eyes every time she slaps down a winning hand.

“Nash, why so quiet?” Mirka teases with a cheeky smile, giving Natasha a playful nudge.

Natasha lowers her head, her fingers bending and flicking nervously over a card. “I know we’re here to celebrate Ad and Tommy tying the knot since it’s only been a week—”

“No need to keep up the act if something’s bugging you, Nash. Speak up,” Adria urges, gently squeezing her friend’s hand.

Natasha lets out a heavy sigh. “About this depersonalisation…derealisation…you name it…thing I mentioned before,” she admits, her voice shaking.

Val stuffs a hefty handful of popcorn into her mouth before chiming in. “What about it?” she inquires nonchalantly.

“About feeling like someone’s cranking up the volume on your own existence,” Natasha mumbles, her gaze flitting anxiously around our circle. “Suddenly, every mundane, everyday sensation feels way too real—the scrape of the toothbrush bristles against your teeth, the movement of your tongue, the flare of your nostrils with each breath…even the blink of your eyes almost echoing in your ears.”

Adria’s eyebrows are drawn together as she rubs her temples and squints her eyes as if trying to wrap her head around the concept. “Your Latina is too stunned to speak with your Yapanese, Nash,” she quips at the confession, though she immediately reconsiders and hastily raises her hand in apology. “Sorry, I don’t know what got into me… Go on—it happened again?” she mutters, a hair tie dangling from her mouth as she wrestles her hair into a messy bun.

“Yea… today morning, actually,” Natasha is quick to respond hoarsely, her voice cracking. “It’s like you’re watching yourself do something, but it doesn’t feel like you, you know? It’s this out-of-body experience, and suddenly, bam! The curtain gets violently ripped back, exposing the raw, unfiltered reality of living, breathing, feeling every damn twist and turn.” 

She pauses to draw a sharp breath before carrying on. “And then the ontological Wh- questions start flooding in, like, ‘What am I doing? Who am I, really? Why am I in this room, in this building, in this world, in this endless universe? Where will I go after I die?’ They crash into you like a cosmic truck—the idea of the soul being immortal and stretching on and on and on and on and on into eternity.” 

You’re glued in, hanging onto every letter as your friend bares her soul, your gaze stuck to her. Your fingers running through her hair are soothing enough to serve as her lifeline in moments like this. “Sometimes, our minds pull serious pranks on us, Nash,” you begin, your voice laced with sage-like wisdom, “especially when anxiety, an existential crisis, or just some old trauma is thrown in the mix. It’s like a defence mechanism, trying to shield us from emotions that could totally wreck our sanity.”

Natasha blinks rapidly as she shrugs you away, still grappling to make sense of it all. “But why? It hits me outta nowhere…when I least expect it...like, when I’m just chilling…Not even my therapist can solve the riddle.”

You take a moment, as if you’re mulling it over and finding the right words to put it. “Mhm, think of it like a mental reboot,” you explain, your voice like a smooth jazz track as you give her arm comforting rubs. “Your brain’s like ‘Whoa, hold up!’ and creates this buffer zone, making you feel a bit detached and dissociated. It’s like hitting pause to recalibrate and protect itself.”

After a long pause, Natasha sniffles and rubs her eyes, then nods. “Alright, I’ll tuck that away in my brain’s little filing cabinet for now, no biggie. Enough of me cosplaying Courage the Cowardly Dog, freaking out over every little thing. Let’s chat about something else,” she urges, clapping her hands together before taking a giant gulp of hot chocolate and munching on a marshmallow, whipped cream all over her mouth.

Just as the vibe gets brighter, your phone lights up with a WhatsApp notification. You glance down to see a message from Evan, and your heart does a little marathon in your chest—ground breaking reaction, Y/N—as you open it. (Cue the dramatic music!) The text is concise and sweet, but it’s the attachment that sends your head spinning — a VIP invite to the Emmy Awards afterparty, followed by another cute message, reading:

I’d love to have you there with me🥰

Shock paralyses you as a tsunami of questions smashes you. Is he asking you to be his arm candy or is this just a friendly gesture?

Needing a breather to let it all sink in, you pull the classic “gotta use the restroom” move and sneak away to a quiet corner of the house. The phone feels like a brick in your hand as you summon the courage to call Evan, your heart doing backflips just at the thought.

And just like that, he picks up almost instantly. “Hey, Y/N? How’s your sleepover?” His velvety voice—a familiar anchor in the storm of your head—flows through the line with a tinge of concern.

You gulp down a shaky breath, trying to regulate the rapid fluttering you feel in your throat. “Uh, all good... I mean... What’s with the invite?” you blurt out, involuntarily scratching your head and scrunching your nose in confusion. Meanwhile, you pace in the room like a caged tiger.

“I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather have with me and is not a blood relation,” he replies confidently, his determination practically oozing through the phone.

His statement hits you like a stampede of elephants in your stomach, robbing you of words as he barrels ahead with more enthusiasm than a kid at Disneyland. “It’ll be a night to remember, I promise.”

As your nerves begin to ease and excitement creeps in, you can’t help but wonder about your role at the event. “Congrats on your nomination, but, uh, may I ask, what exactly am I doing there?” you spill out, rightfully so, trying to sound casual despite the tornado swirling in your mind. “I mean, we’re not exactly best buds like you’re with Jeff, for example.”

But Evan, ever the smooth talker, doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ll be my plus one, my girlfriend,” he utters, his voice soft but resolute, like he’s making a declaration. Your breath hitches in your throat at the word ‘girlfriend,’ your whole body going numb.

You’re biting your lip so hard you’re practically taste-testing them, fists clenched and excitedly pounding against your thigh like it’s a drum solo. Girlfriend? You? At the Emmys? It’s like a scene ripped straight out of a rom-com, and you’re half-convinced you’ve somehow stumbled into an alternate universe.

“Uh, Evan, you do realise this is gonna stir up a whole pot of drama, right?” you slur, your voice barely louder than a mouse’s squeak as you nervously fidget with the hem of your pyjamas. “I mean, your fans are gonna go full FBI on me, crafting voodoo dolls and whatnot out of envy for not picking them. And then, there’s the paparazzi… those guys will do anything for a saucy headline…”

“I totally get your mini freakout, baby, and we can hash it out tomorrow after your stayover…but seriously, why stress?” He’s quick to fire back and rationalise the situation. Despite your semi-meltdown, his voice is calm and steady like he’s discussing the weather. “Just because a bunch of people recognise me from movies or TV doesn’t mean I’ll be sneaking around in a trench coat and shades, dodging public outings with my lover. I’ll do what makes me happy, protecting my relationship along the way, and if that means bringing my girlfriend to an event, then so be it…” He pauses for a minute before adding, “and I want it to be it.”

His words hang in the air, and for a hot second, all you hear is the relentless thud of your heart. You’re not usually one to lose sleep over what others think about you, even your nearest and dearest friends (since the idea of family has been absent throughout your lifetime), but let’s be real, the Evan situation is completely uncharted waters.

Following another deep breath, you finally muster up a response that you’ve been meaning to let out since you got the texts (but your overanalysing would never). “I want it too, Evan.” 

There’s a momentary hush, and you swear you can hear him doing a victory dance or something with the sound of rustling clothes in the background. Then, he lets out his signature throaty chuckle that always gets you on your knees. “Awesome! We’re gonna rock this. I’ll stick by your side, and we’ll handle this together, okay?”

You can’t help but grin at his reassurance, mindlessly twirling a lock of hair between your fingers like a schoolgirl, feeling a surge of excitement. “Yes, together. Honoured,” you reply as your heart keeps doing the happy shuffle. 

You gotta pinch yourself just to be sure you’re not stuck in some kind of matrix with Evan these past four months. Turns out, his stay in America got extended from the initial ten days thanks to some miraculous schedule reshuffling, and he’ll be shooting his scenes for Tron in Canada later this year. So, more hangout time with him, more dates…and yeah, more fucking. In his head, and apparently in his parents’ minds too—who you’re meeting soon (send help)—you’re practically official. 

And here you are now, cruising in the backseat all dolled up for the Emmys in your sparkling cocktail party dress. Evan’s looking smoking hot in his sharp tux and perfectly slick hair, making you feel like you need a paper bag to catch your breath. He’s holding onto your clammy hands like he’s afraid you’ll vanish into thin air (and frankly, you’re starting to believe it). He’s giving you these adorable little kisses like he knows that your lipstick’s gotta stay put.

And to top it all off, you’ve met his stunning and bubbly sister, Michelle, and her husband. Amidst your anxiety-induced brain freeze, and out of all the phrases you could come up with to greet her for the first time, “lady in red” is all you chant to compliment her elegant red gown. Internally screaming and embarrassed, you wish you could facepalm yourself out of this world. No, but why did she serve so bad?

But guess what? She’s a massive Chris De Burgh fan and his titular song, so it’s safe to say you hit the jackpot with your accidental ice-breaker. She’s practically your biggest cheerleader now, cheering you both on as she chauffeurs you to the venue. So wholesome, you can’t even cope with it! 

The long car ride quickly morphs into a full-blown party on wheels, complete with blasting tunes and non-stop laughs. Evan’s hair has gotten hella wild lately, so he’s brought his gel along. You help him tame his mane while the chatter, mostly revolving around you, surprisingly chills you out big time. Evan keeps things snug, giving your hand a comforting squeeze or a peck on the forehead every now and then. 

At some point, you throw the ball at their court, and the couple starts dishing out stories about themselves; how they met at some random house party, bonding over their affinity for 90s hip-hop. Before you know it, Michelle is diving into hilarious childhood tales about Evan and their brother, Andrew. Like that time Evan attempted to build a treehouse but ended up face-planting into a mud pit, or when they all suited up as superheroes and terrorised the neighbourhood. And of course, there’s Evan’s legendary Sour Patch Kids and PlayStation commercials, complete with their wild backstories.

It’s an absolute blast, and you’re soaking up every juicy detail. With Evan right by you, throwing in his own anecdotes (like the deer mounting tradition with his friends every Christmas in the suburbs, which throws everyone for a loop because not much happens in Missouri), the whole vibe is elevated. You can’t help but laugh and feel all warm and fuzzy inside, realising you’re not just meeting his family—you’re becoming a part of it.

“Feeling okay, baby girl?” Evan whispers, leaving a tender smooch on your neck, his lips like a feather along your needy skin. 

You shiver at the touch, a jolt of electricity surging through you. Nodding, you try to wrangle the rave party inside you, but it’s like herding cats. 

He rests his head on the seat, facing you, the plush cushion cradling his head in comfort. “You’re sooo beautiful and hot, Y/N,” he mouths, subtly shaking his head as if he can’t believe his luck. “I wish I could kiss and use my fingers on you the way I want,” he blabs quietly, leaning in closer, his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

“Jail time for both of us if you pull that move here…Security,” you giggle softly, and you feel him join you with his shoulders bouncing with laughter. 

“I just want you to know how I feel right now, Y/N” he sighs, looking up at you again, his bottom lip rolling over his top one in his precious puppy-eyed pout.

“Evan crying in horny,” you tease in a sultry murmur, sneaking a glance up front to make sure the couple didn’t catch wind of your banter. With a sly grin, you adjust your strapless gown, adding a touch of allure to your playful attitude.

He shoots back with a playful finger-wag in your face, accompanied by a series of rapid “ts-ts-ts” sounds, as if he’s scolding you with his own audio of strong disapproval. “Evan crying in crazy about you,” he corrects, kissing your hand, his irresistibly handsome dark eyes peering into your soul from below.

Tell me you’re a die-hard, hopeless fangirl without telling me you’re a die-hard, hopeless fangirl. Despite Evan’s nudges, you choose to stealthily station in the corner, letting him slay the red carpet. It’s his night, his moment to shine, and you’re his hype woman.

With each flash of his charming smile—sometimes lowkey and tight-lipped, other times broad and toothy—you’re a flurry of activity, your phone’s storage maxing out with snapshots and videos faster than you can say “Blow Evan”. And when he pulls out that signature eye squint and eyebrow raise at the paparazzi’s obnoxious cues, you’re melting faster than ice cream in July.

His face card never freaking declines.

As you both waltz into the party ball, it’s like you’re attracting the night’s energy, twirling around you like a confetti vortex. Your shimmering dress catches the disco lights, transforming you into a walking glitter bomb. With just the right amount of makeup and your natural long hair cascading freely, you’re primed to own the dance floor.

You spot Niecy Nash, radiant in her black velvet off-the-shoulder gown, exuding vibes like she just won the lottery. Oh wait, she did—Supporting Actress in a Limited Series or TV Movie for Dahmer. She high-fives the four of you and fits you all into a hug tighter than a Victorian corset.

Evan introduces you to everyone from the Dahmer crew and other celebrities with the same wide grin, pride, and thrill of a kid who’s just aced a test. His hand remains glued to you throughout the night, caressing along your upper body and often inching towards your ass, as if he’s marking his territory. Possessive much? Yes, but you’re not complaining; you find it fascinating and such a turn-on, especially knowing how naturally affectionate and kind he is. You feel safe in his presence, your bodies are like magnets—drawn together by some transcendent gravitational pull. His grip is firm, but he looks at you with all the heart-eyed emojis in the world, fully smitten.

Poses? Oh, you all nail them like seasoned supermodels on the runway. It’s the typical hand-on-hip, the coy glance over the shoulder, and the patented “I just won an Emmy, bow down, peasants” pose—check, check, and check. And of course, there’s Evan with his props (pipe, avant-garde sunglasses, and black tie), covered in your lipstick marks as he’s photographed with you. The ladies, led by Jessica—Niecy’s wife—even bust out a new dance move right on the spot, celebrating Niecy’s win.

But it’s not just Niecy and Jessica stealing the spotlight tonight. You find yourself mingling with Pedro Pascal, who’s looking dapper as ever in his suit, and Kieran Culkin, who’s cracking jokes faster than the champagne is flowing. You’re laughing so hard, you almost forget you’re rubbing elbows with Hollywood royalty.

As the hours drift by like sand through an hourglass, Evan’s sister and her husband say their goodbyes, inviting you both over for dinner next week. Spotting the opportunity for a minute alone, you and Evan snag in a corner booth, swaying to the loud music beats with your earplugs, kissing in between giggles, clinking glasses, eyes locked, smiles broad. 

Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, Evan nuzzles his nose against yours, his eyes burning into yours. His brows furrow in a silent plea, his chest swelling with anticipation as his hands delicately cup your face.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, he’s already sealing your lips with his, his tongue slowly sliding into your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless.

“Do you kn—?” you attempt to articulate, but he’s not having any of it; he’s a changed man in need to do unholy things with you. He silences you with another passionate kiss, a soft, desperate moan escaping his lips along the process.

“Evan,” you manage to murmur into his lips as he subtly sucks your bottom lip.

“Yes, baby,” he hushes, his lips curling into a coy smile as his grip tightens around you.

You loop your arms around his neck, tilting your head with a mischievous grin as you stare deep into his eyes. “I wanna UNO card reverse you.” 

His eyebrow quirks up in amusement, his grin turning devilish. “UNO, what? Is this sexual? Subs, please,” he taunts, giving your butt cheeks a playful squeeze, totally unbothered by any nosy onlookers. In your defence, you’re not the only guests caught in a steamy make-out sesh at close vicinity, so why not have a little fun?

“My innocent, millennial baby,” you exclaim, squishing his adorable face with a giggle. “I’m saying, now that most of the press’ gone, how about we find a comfy spot by the beach where we can be alone?” you suggest, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper as you trace circles on his chest with your fingertips. “There, I’ll shower you with kisses,” you continue, and your wetness worsens as you imagine him fucking your mouth, “and finally, I’ll suck your dick until you’re gasping for air and bust in my mouth.”

His eyes darken with desire as you unravel your plan, a low groan slipping off his lips. “Sounds like heaven. Say no more.”

The distant thump of music and the soft glow of fairy lights fades as you and Evan bolt away from the bustling venue, his hand clasped firmly in yours as the adrenaline of the escape courses through your veins. With a shared glance and a mischievous grin, you dart through the shadows like a pair of rebels on the run, laughter fizzing up like a effervescent multivitamin.

Finally reaching the secluded shoreline, you both collapse onto the soft and warm sand — a delicious contrast to the cool breeze that envelops you like a fuzzy blanket. With a cheeky smile, you straddle his lap and sense him already rubbing his rock-hard boner against your pulsating cunt.

His hands find your hips, pulling you closer as he gazes up at you with smouldering intensity. With a low squeal, you lock eyes with him, teasingly licking his bottom lip before sensually sliding your tongue over his upper lip, his pupils following your every move.

With a hungry growl, he captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, his hands roaming over your body with a feverish, almost primal, urgency. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a seductive, almost angelic, silver sheen on the rippling water and his chiselled abs as you loosen his bow tie and unbutton his shirt.

He squeezes your thighs gently, eliciting a soft whimper from you as he begins to explore beneath the hem of your dress. His eyes are immediately drawn to your cleavage, and you feel his heart rate accelerating. You squirm underneath his touch as he starts to trace figure eights on your puffy clit, making it increasingly difficult to focus on stroking his stiff length.

His thumb brushes against the sensitive skin just above the edge of your panties, sending a tremor across your body. “Gosh, you smell so divine...like strawberries,” he huffs, his voice low and husky as he dips his tongue in your mouth, as if he’s planning to bottle your scent up and promote it as the official elixir of happiness. “As sweet as you fucking taste.”

His fingers slip beneath your panties, stroking your bare flesh with deliberate intent. “You’re already so wet for me. Can’t wait for your little pussy to take my cock?” You nod, and your mewls intensify barely muffled by his blazer as you press against his shoulder. 

He grins, knowing very well that you’re struggling with your impending screams of pleasure. “Just thinking about how amazing it’s gonna feel when you fuck me,” you manage to coo, your voice thick with lust, and he lowers your strapless dress in a single move, his hands massaging your tits in no time and with expert skill. Meanwhile, he attacks your neck with open-mouthed kisses, his hot breath igniting a wildfire of sensations in you.

Your tits nestle on his chest — the feeling of his naked skin against your hardened nipples only worsens the pool between your thighs. Gathering your strength to strike back, your hand glides to the buckle of his belt, a wicked glint in your eye as you make your move. “But first, imagine my lips wrapped around your dick…” you breathe suggestively into his ear, trailing kisses down his collarbone.

He bobs his head to the side, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip in a futile attempt to stifle his reactions as you gradually unzip his trousers to liberate the beast hidden behind the layers of fabric.

Just as you fumble around his bulge, your lips never leaving his, a flash of car headlights jolts you. “Evan, someone might catch us,” you gasp, panicking as you shrink into a ball on top of him, frantically adjusting your dress in any which way.

He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder, instinctively pulling you closer to him—his arms a sanctuary of safety. “Chances are slim to none of anyone finding us here, especially at this hour, but…” he trails off, scooping you up his arms in one swift motion. “I don’t want my girl feeling anxious,” he adds as he wades into the cool water, the waves licking gently at his calves. He leads you to a large rock, sheltered from any potential prying eyes.

Gently setting you down in the shallows, you both burst into laughter, splashing around like carefree youth, the water lapping at your skin like an affectionate caress. With each wave that rolls over your feet, the heat between you only escalates.

Pulling his head towards yours for a kiss, you hear him groan, and it instantly sends a shot of arousal through you. Palming and teasing his clothed, overstimulated crotch, you shove your tongue in his mouth, tangling with his and repeatedly sucking on its tip—soon turning the vanilla smooch into a heated, messy kiss that drives you both nuts.

Your mouth dances over the rapid pulse on his neck that’s pumping all the more quicker against your lips. “Someone seemed a tad jealous tonight,” your voice deep with desire yet your gaze holds an lustful mischief he can’t resist. You refrain from dropping any names, curious to see if he’ll take the bait.

“No, I wasn’t, Y/N. I’m not the controlling type of boyfriend who’s gonna stalk your every move like a creepo,” he defends with a furrow forming on his brow before his hands smooth over your ass and deliver a sharp yet affectionate smack. “I know you’re all mine, my girl… my dirty little slut when I want you to be,” the syllables come out strained like he’s on the brink of losing control.

Bingo—he falls right into your playful trap. You fix at him with an intense gaze, a triumphant grin already spreading across your face. “I never said it was you, poor, naïve baby of mine,” you chirp, puckering your lips as you punctuate each word with gentle, harmless slaps and pinches to his cheek.

He shoots you a glare when you burst out laughing, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Oh, you wanna play dirty, then? I’ll show you dirty, and you’ll be sorry,” he fights back. You feel his fingers sliding along your soaked slit, applying tantalising pressure on your sore clit.

Closing your eyes, you fight the urge to indulge in your orgasm, humming, “I won’t” as you nibble on his lower lip to tone down your little sobs of delight.

“Oh, yeah? You won’t?” he exclaims, and his touch becomes immediately rougher. His fingers plunge, twirl, and scissor in and out of you with increasing fervour. Your moans crescendo to a feverish pitch, drowning out his ragged breaths. You don’t even realise he’s muttering curses under his breath as he fingers you relentlessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Evan,” you cry out the mantra as the familiar, tingly feeling at the pit of my stomach tips you over the edge of your high.

And just like that, he withdraws his fingers from your throbbing core. His gaze flickers downwards at his hand—now all drenched and glistening with your cum—as he cups your chin, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Take back what you just said,” he demands, his voice tinged with desire.

“I won’t. You robbed me of my orgasm,” your protest, arms crossed over your chest in mock offence.

Tilting his head, he gives you a goofy smile, his eyes focused on your mouth as his fingers trace your pouted lips.

A mischievous smirk curls up the corners of your lips as you take his thumb in your mouth, sucking it seductively. “But I have a big heart, so I forgive you,” you mutter, releasing his thumb with a tantalising pop before kneeling down in front of his bulge. Your lips glisten with the precum from his boxers as you eagerly wet them, ready for what’s to come.

Before he can even register your moves, his head drops, jaw slackening until all twenty-eight of his teeth are on full display in a crooked, pearly smile. 

Your tongue glides down the length of his cock, taking him deeper until your lips are hugging snugly around the base. He can’t quite keep up with your fervent pace, his throat constricting as a chorus of desperate groans escape him. “F-fuckkk,” he stutters, his voice rising to a whimper, “Feels so good, baby. So goddamn good.” 

His rosy lips can’t stop their blabbering, mind shrinking into a blissful void, where the only thing of significance is your talented mouth working its magic between his legs. As your tongue flicks and swirls, he buckles his legs out, his soft touch on your head tightening, fisting up your strands almost aggressively.

Your nails drag lightly down his thighs, your shoulders rising as you splutter around him, choking on the way he fills you whole while you deep-throat him.

“Got the prettiest eyes. So-so fucking gorgeous,” he rasps, gazing back down at you with a mix of awe and adoration, his pupils blown in a battling mess of love and lust as your eyes find him. 

“D-don’t stop, please, please,” he gasps, a sudden thrust of his hips causing your teeth to slightly pierce against his sensitive flesh that keeps forcing itself down your throat.

Yet, his cries are cut short by a final, guttural moan that draws itself out long and conclusive. You watch as his body locks up and his Adam’s apple bounces like crazy, his muscles as solid as the rock he leans against.

His eyes glaze over all blank before they roll back, his long lashes casting a shadow against his flushed face. With your cheeks hollowed, you bob your head slowly, letting him plummet through the tides of euphoria. 

The impulse to milk him dry of absolutely everything he has to give consumes you, but you rein it to get your revenge, so you stop. He stares down at you with eyes wide open, his breath uneven. You can’t decipher his expression as you stand back up and land mere inches from his face.

Although you’re at your full height, he still towers over you, and you swallow nervously when he scoffs.

“You think you can slide away with that one so easily, huh?” he mumbles in a low, stern tone, his breaths coming in wheezy puffs. Running a hand from your jaw down to your chest, he gropes your boobs, biting his lip as he does.

You rest over the edge of the rock, your smirk and raised brow are what you hope to be indicators of your ‘playing cool’ demeanour despite your misconduct. 

“I might be head over heels for you,” he pauses, letting out a soft groan as his fingertips brush the slimy product of your arousal on the inside of your thigh.

You settle back onto the sandy surface of the water before the rock, murmuring, “Aham?” and biting your lip, your mocking gaze fixed on him.

“But…” he continues, halting only to clear his throat as if to regain his composure. “...it irks me when you blow me so damn well and then deny me the finish.”

“Awh… how dare I, baby Evan, right?” you scowl at him playfully, puckering your lips again in feigned shock. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You feel his erection against your lower stomach as he stretches out over you to grab his floating bow tie. “I’m gonna edge you until you’re crying and begging me to let you cum. Easy peasy.” 

“I’d never beg for you–” You don’t even get to complete your sentence, and his lips collide into yours in a raw, animalistic force that takes you by surprise. You already fold (Question is: when are you not folding for Evan Peters?), even knowing you’re just getting started. 

“You were warned,” he retorts, his voice a deep, commanding growl. Each word carries a weighty timbre, as if it’s coming from the depths of his chest. He ties your wrists above your head, securing them to a small stone jutting from the main rock, leaving you completely at his mercy with no wriggle room.

His lips leave a blazing path of kisses over your cleavage down to your stomach, his hot breath tingling your skin. Spreading your legs, he hovers over you with a sly grin.

You feel his quivery breath on your inner thighs as he plants tender pecks and playful nips, teasingly close to your folds. Arching your back, your dripping pussy convulses in anticipation. He giggles at your reaction, his stare fixed on you. Without warning, his tongue starts lapping up your juices, and you squeal in pleasure.

He can’t help but groan at your taste, his cock twitching in his trousers as he shifts up, his mouth latching onto your clit, sucking and nibbling.

“Fuck!” you gasp, your hands threading into his hair. You hold his face between your legs, and you can practically sense his smirk against your flesh as electricity sparks through you.

When he starts whirling your clit with his tongue, his growls vibrating through your core, you lose your shit. You feel like coming right away as he stimulates your most sensitive spot, but he draws back. “Beg,” he commands through gritted teeth. 

“Never,” you shoot back out of breath, and that’s when he dives in headfirst. His lips suck on your clit even harder while his tongue ruthlessly slides along your slit, leaving you crying out but not yet caving. 

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms, as you squirm under his touch. But he only tightens his grip on your thigh, devouring you like he’s famished.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he chuckles, momentarily backing away to catch his breath. His tongue then alternates between tracing patterns on your pulsing nub and flicking it with his tip. Your fingers scrape at his scalp as ecstasy builds higher and higher the faster he fucks into you.

He’s so invested in pleasuring you, his tongue twisting and twirling along your gummy, slopping walls. No one has ever volunteered to lick you up, let alone enjoy it themselves and make you see stars so effortlessly. You always had to ask for it like it’s a task, and all your pussy has only known is just some spit, a cursory touch down there just to moisture the area, and all in they went.

Evan’s nose lightly nuzzles against your clit as his tongue does wonders on your sobbing, red cunt, leaving your mind all foggy. You bite down on your hand to contain your moans, but they only get higher, and you accept your fate that you won’t last long.

Not wanting to let up, he merely grunts against you, sending seismic waves through your body that cause your pussy to pulsate around his mouth.

“Evan,” you choke out, tears streaming down your eyes from how amazing he makes you feel. You circle your hips against his face, whining when he pulls his tongue out of you but squealing when he slams two long fingers deep inside, hitting right at your g-spot. 

“Say it,” he hisses against your swollen cunt, his eyes on you. Your hips jolt up, the water becoming all foamy as you splash around, thighs shaking as he licks and fingers you through your orgasm.

“Okay… ahh… okay, f-fuck…” you stammer. “Let me cum p-please… I…I… ahh… I need to please.”

And right there, when you feel drained of dignity, he jams his tongue back inside. He performs a swirling dance, coupled with clit-sucking, that makes you lose your mind, your legs growing wobbly.

“That’s my girl…” he coos. “So fucking pretty for me. Such pretty fucking sounds.”

Your earth-shattering orgasm hits you like an earthquake, and you cry out his name loudly. Your vision blurs as you fight for breath. You’re always so gorgeous when you come for him— splayed out on display, legs spread, pussy leaking, tits flowing as your chest heaves, body coated in a shimmering of sweat. The look of sheer pleasure in your darkened eyes is a sight he’ll never tire of.

He slows his tongue, gently blowing warm air on the sides of your vulva, easing you through the aftershocks of your release. It’s exactly what you need right now to calm down, to be honest. He slips his fingers out of you, bringing them up to his lips, a greedy look in your eyes as you watch him suck his fingers clean. He nearly makes a show of it, groaning before letting them pop from his mouth.

“I was so right about the sweet taste,” he praises, “almost wondering what I should do with you next.” He smirks crookedly at the way you instantly pout, letting out a soft whine, “what, baby?”

“Need you,” you sigh, smiling lazily at him. 

“Yeah?” his hand comes back between your legs, palming at your throbbing cunt. “Need what? My fingers again?” His index delves back in, but only for one thrust, your pussy fluttering around his finger as it stretches you out, “My mouth? Or something else?”

“Your cock, please!”

He chuckles, reaching up to free you from the confines of his bow tie. You react instantly and lash out at him, plunging deeper into the water, the world above suddenly muted and serene. Underwater, you open your eyes, catching a blurry glimpse of Evan’s sly grin before he propels himself towards you with strong, graceful strokes.

You feel a gush of enthusiasm as he grabs you from the waist, drawing you close. The warmth of his body goes against the cool water, sending a tremor down your spine. With a quick, smooth motion, Evan leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate sub-aquatic kiss.

The sensation is electric. Surrounded by a bubble ring, your bodies entwine as you lose yourselves in each other, the salty water mingling with the sweet heat of the kiss. His hands explore your back, touching the curves of your body in well-executed strokes that make your heart go into override.

You both swim to the surface, gasping for air but not letting go of each other. The crispy evening air clashes sharply with your heated bodies. He breaks the kiss, a teasing spark in his eyes. “So, you accept defeat?” he murmurs huskily, wiping droplets from your plump lips with a mischievous smile.

You giggle, playfully pushing him back with a splash but maintaining the hold you have on him. “Never,” you reply, eyes daring him. He responds with a deep, hearty laugh that rumbles through you before he dives back underwater.

Emerging right in front you with a wide grin, he kisses you harder, hands framing your face, his tongue dancing with yours in a fiery connection. His fingers trace your jawline before tangling in your hair, gently tugging you closer. Your pulse races, and every nerve in your body seems to come alive with his touch.

“Okay, maybe I’ll accept a little defeat on one condition…” you hesitate, smiling bashfully as you run your hands through his hair.

Reciprocating the smile, he sweeps a wet strand of hair away from your face. “What is it? What do you need?" he asks, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Tell me, Y/N...I know you want it. Don’t be shy.”

You give him another playful nudge, rolling your eyes. “My condition’s that you go full force tonight, and fuck me hard.”

His eye pupils dilate with desire, a crooked smirk forming. “Oh, rest assured I plan to,” he affirms, his voice dripping with anticipation. “Consider it a done deal my dear,” he adds, sealing the “agreement” with one last, lingering kiss.

As you both stroll back to the place Evan recently rented near the venue, the salty night swim still clings on your skin. Your laughter mingles with the gentle chirping of crickets in the distance. Semi-damp from the ocean, the night breeze brings goosebumps.

Evan’s hand is warm and reassuring as he guides you inside. The place is spacious and welcoming, dimly lit with soft, ambient lighting that casts a romantic haze over everything. The furniture is arranged for comfort and intimacy��plush cushions adorn a deep sofa, inviting you to sink in. A rich throw blanket adds warmth. Nearby, a rustic coffee table holds curios and books, complementing the room’s cosy feel.

Tasteful artwork and subtle floral arrangements enhance the tranquil atmosphere, making it the perfect backdrop for a night of both erotic intimacy for cuddles or foreplay and the we-fuck-like-rabbits kind of sex.

He locks the door behind you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re still dripping,” he teases, wiggling his brows with a mischievous grin even though he can clearly tell you’re almost dry.

“I think we should get out of these soaked clothes before we catch a cold,” he advises, tossing the keys in a bowl and peeling off his black blazer. “Then, it’s straight upstairs, hopping into the bed together. Instead of a tea and a blanket, how about we turn up the heat by banging till the crack of dawn?”

Your laughter fills the hallway at his suggestion as you unzip your gown, deliberately pausing halfway to glance back at him cheekily, your clutch bag still in your hands. He’s practically drooling like a cartoon dog, eyeing you. “Yeah, no kidding,” you quip, flashing him a wicked grin.

His gaze follows your every move, drinking in the sight of you, a coy smirk playing on his lips as he rolls up his shirt sleeves. You hold his gaze, daring him to look as you indulge in an impromptu striptease, each movement more sensual than the last.

He draws closer, his belt hanging loose, his shirt already halfway undone, showcasing the taut muscles of his chest. “Let me give you a hand,” he mumbles, deftly gliding the zipper down the curve of your ass.

His fingers travel along your lower back and hipbones, guiding you to turn and face him. Pulling you closer, he plants a trail of kisses from your collarbone to the gentle swell of your breasts.

“You’re not playing fair,” you whisper, your voice low and teasing. “But I love it.”

“Fair is boring and overrated,” he retorts with a smirk, and your breath hitches as his robust hands cup your bare tits, his tongue assaulting your mouth in ways that soak your panties. His hands roam over your body, tracing every contour as if memorising your shape and texture.

The air is charged, dense with unspoken desires. “Y/N,” his lips brush against yours, his hot and laboured breath fanning your face. He hoists you up onto a nearby surface, his bulge pressing against your heat. “I want all of you so badly, I’m not gonna get you pregnant,” he vows, and you both giggle.

For context, you’ve mutually been dealing with some serious baby fever lately and already had the talk—hence the inside joke lightening the mood.

His eyes lock onto yours as he helps you out of your gown, letting it pool at your feet before landing on the floor. He swallows hard at the sight of you in just your underwear. Holding his stare, his tongue gets all tangled with yours, his fingers shifting to stroke the hard nub of your clit. Broken sobs escape your mouth as your hips start to move in sync with the onslaught of his hand, turning you into a writhing, mewling mess.

Just as you feel yourself slipping off the furniture, Evan quickly and safely moves you both to a nearby kitchen chair, positioning you on top of him. Taking control, you roughen the kiss, fully removing his shirt and rubbing your wet centre against his overstimulated, erected member.

In this moment, time stands still, and you lose yourself in the intoxicating bliss of each other’s presence. It’s not just physical; it’s a meeting of minds, a fusion of hearts.

He grips your hips, matching your grinding rhythm as you feel him harden and twitch beneath you. 

“Fuck you’ve got me all wrapped around your little finger,” he growls, his cock almost weeping against your cunt, begging to be paid attention to.

Suddenly, his phone springs to life on the hallway, buzzing insistently, its screen lighting up like a beacon of disruption in the dim room. 

“Leave it,” he groans against your neck, evidently prioritising pleasure over duty. The sound is jarring, opposing the tender whispers and the heated panting that filled the space just moments before.

“Take it, Evan. It might be an emergency,” you prompt, climbing off him while his hands linger on your butt. 

With an exasperated huff, he rolls his eyes as you reach for the device. “It’s my mum,” he grumbles. His thumb hovers over the screen for a moment as if debating whether to answer or decline.

“Just take it,” you persist, and he clicks his tongue, picking it up with a heavy sigh. 

“Hey, mum?”

With a playful peck, signalling your intention to slip away, you mouth, “Give my regards.” 

He smirks slyly and gives your ass a playful smack before you gracefully slither toward the staircase. He watches you ascend with a bitten lip, torn between you and the conversation, only half-listening to his mom. As you reach the midpoint of the stairs, you pause to remove your panties, flicking towards him with a swift flourish. 

With reflexes rivalling those of a wild animal, he snatches them mid-air, his gaze never wavering from yours. Bringing the panties to his nose, he inhales your essence encapsulated within the fabric, a fond smile gracing his lips. Pretending as if you’re no longer around, he theatrically sneaks the underwear in his pocket, giving you a playful wink at the end of his act to reveal his true intentions.

“Yes, mum, the ceremony was spectacular,” he reports, his voice strained with distraction. “No, I didn’t win this time around, but it’s all good. No hard feelings. It was nice to hang out with Michelle and others at the party.”

A brief pause ensues before he adds, “Yeah, Y/N is here with me, says hi. Yes, mum...if you need to be sure of, it’s that I’m taking very good care of Y/N… We’re going to Michelle’s next Thursday for dinner…” His eyes stay locked on you as you reach the top of the stairs, his focus still divided.

You disappear into the bedroom, just as inviting, with a large, plush king-sized bed draped in soft linens. You leave the door slightly ajar and sprawl on the centre of the bed. You hear him carrying over the conversation, clearly flustered. “Soon. We’ll come round soon. Gotta go, mum, but we’ll catch up more tomorrow, okay? I’ll phone you. Kisses to dad and Andrew. Love you all.”

He ends the call hastily, tossing the phone aside, and practically flies up the stairs to join you. Eagerness and passion are written all over his face when he bursts into the room. “Couldn’t wait another sec–” he stops mid-sentence when he catches you right in action, dipping two fingers into your slick folds, mouth agape.

With his blazer and shirt back on probably to facetime his mum, he gulps hard and folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the door frame to admire you. You prop yourself on your elbows, knees bent and facing up as you gather your arousal and bring it up to your clit, swirling it in small, intricate circles.

“That should be my dick doing this to you, baby girl,” he protests, his brows knitted together, his tone rigid yet painted with passion. His expression softens to a hushed murmur when he observes you throw your head back, lips slightly parted in a seductive invite, softly whining his name as you continue to touch yourself.

As if in a trance, he kneels at the edge of the bed, chucking his blazer and shirt away. Crawling up towards you, he peppers tender kisses along your throbbing pussy, making you giggle in delight.

“Then, show me what your dick can do to me,” you challenge with a coy smirk, moaning softly as he licks his way up your lips for a harsh, heated kiss.

He groans, his forehead resting against yours, his breath heavy and ragged. “God, Y/N, you have no idea what you do to me,” he rasps, his voice thick with need.

He floats deep between your open legs, and you help him shuck his trousers off without breaking the kiss. His hand wraps around his cock as you hungrily fondle his muscular upper body, his thumb smearing the pre-cum around it as he lets out a soft grunt, “Fuck… you always get me so hard,” he sighs, his tip sliding along your slippery folds, coating it with your juices.

“Evan…please,” you moan, your hips desperately rocking in tune with his rhythm.

“Please what?” He beckons to you with a tilt of his chin and arches a brow in your direction as he slides a condom along his member. He continues his torturous movement, eliciting louder your whimpers from you.

“I want it.”

His devilish grin expands all over his face as he looks down on you.  “Use your words, baby girl,” he urges as his tongue grazes his side teeth, his lustful eyes narrowing.

“Please, fuck me!”

“That’s what I wanna hear, baby.” He leans over you again, capturing your thirsty lips in a kiss as he lines up his hips. Satisfied moans slip off you both as his cock sinks into your heat. He fills your warmth completely until his hips are seated against yours, and you can both feel your pussy clenching around him. 

“Stay in me for life,” you chuckle breathlessly, and nods eagerly, his hand holding your wrists over your head while pounding in and out with breathy groans.

Your legs eagerly wrap around his waist, pushing him deeper into you, and he makes a home in the edge of your lips, his breath searing on your skin as he starts panting. He sets a steady, agonising pace— just fast enough to have you shivering and mewling in his arms but still slow enough to savour every bit of it; to make sure you’re sensing every inch and drag of his thick dick buried in your cunt, to get it wetter with each thrust of his hips.

As you synchronise your tongue sucking with the way he slams into you, he can’t help but moan loud into your mouth, and your stomach flips. He bucks reflexly, and you begin to move up and down his satiny shaft.

“Let me ride you, baby Evan,” you sigh with begging eyes and taunt him by pulling out momentarily to slick his head with your cum.

He clasps onto your hips again and lifts you up. That’s to slide his cock in and join your lips together once more before you get on top. You gasp, clutching the broad, sturdy expanse of his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him.

You begin to bounce on his cock, throwing your head back as he marvels at your breasts, your nipples hard from excitement and titillation. “Boobs for days, I’m the luckiest guy alive,” he cries out, grinning and biting down his lips as he grabs your tits in each hand, kneading the sensitive mounds.

He then levers his torso up so your breasts can jiggle against his chest, his hands behind supporting you on the small of your back. The squelching noises of you pussy mixed with your mutual moans echo through the room, and every time he drives his cock deeper into it, you feel new sensations, your entire body starting to shake in pure euphoria.

“Holy shit, you ride my cock like my little naughty slut,” he praises as his dick drills into you again and again. 

“O-o-nly for you,” you stutter as you plop down on top of him with shallow groans. He smirks knowingly at you, his eyes drowning into yours. Running his fingers across your parted lips, he lets his hand and eyes glide along your upper half. With a hungry growl as if he can’t take it anymore, his hips begin to bounce into the air, making you lightheaded as he snaps into you even harder and faster.

“Don’t cum for your baby Evan just yet,” he pleads as he grabs onto your breasts again, circling his thumb and pointer finger around your erect nipples.

He releases your boobs and moves downwards to grab your thighs, using the leverage to flip you around so you’re on all fours. His hands rest lustfully between your neck and jaw as you look up at him with imploring eyes.

He clutches the back of your head, and your lips collide into a sloppy kiss before he stretches you out again with his impressive length. From that angle, your cunt eats up his cock hungrily as he soon begins to strike your cervix. You feel his cock jump inside you and his body jerks, his balls continuously slapping against your clit.

Your wailing sounds resonate in the room, his grip hardening on your hips and neck, and you know he’ll leave bruises but you couldn’t care less. You’ve never been fucked like this before, and you you’re now addicted. He works hard, drilling into you, until you feel the knot of your release stiffening.

Your legs quiver more as your orgasm rips and shudders through you with newfound potency, heightened by Evan unrelenting thrusts into you at his usual harsh pace.

Tears of overstimulation prickle your eyes until his hips finally still, and he spills his warm, fresh load onto you you with a primal growl. Collapsing lightly onto your back, he affectionately hugs you from behind, peppering soft kisses at the back of your neck with heaving gasps.

Your legs continue to shake as you tightly grip his forearm, your cunt spasming around his cock from the aftershocks of your multiple orgasms.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“Perfect.” you exhale, smiling faintly, stealing another soft kiss.

The rest of the world fades away, leaving nothing but the two of you, lost in the outcome of pure passion.

You jump from the bathroom and flick off the light switch, the sound of the flushing toilet subsiding in the background. You stride across the dark room, vigorously shaking your hands dry. The moon’s silvery radiance seeps through the window and bathes your naked body, casting attractive shadows on your slender figure. 

You stop by the bedside table and take a few sips of water. Lying in bed, a sheet draped around his lower body and exposing his sculpted chest, Evan spies your every move. In one fluid motion, he sits up with a coy grin on his lips, his gaze always following you.

“You scrubbed every last bit of me in the bathroom, huh?” he mocks with a thumbs up, his lips curling into a crooked smile.

You glance back at him with a smirk, your hair flipping in the air with grace. “Didn’t you take off the condom and splatter all over my thighs? Well, I had to clean your babies off me and pee to avoid a UTI. It’s post-sex 101, didn’t you learn that in school, Mr. Know-It-All?” you fire back with a raised eyebrow. 

He chuckles, unable to resist his eyes wandering over you, appreciating your beauty. “I barely remember my name when I’m with you.” 

You tiptoe your way to him, playfully sweeping the blankets and cushions that now clutter the floor. As you climb up the bed, a mischievous grin adorns your face. With your eyes locked on him, you begin to crawl like a lioness, closing the distance between you with allure. 

His breath hitches as he watches you slither closer to him. Smiling mischievously, his eyes light up with a mixture of anticipation and passion.

He pretends to ponder over something, scratching his newly shaven chin, his eyes squinting in a mock display of deep thought. “Hmm, that’s a tough one. Give me a hint...like the initial?” 

Your eyes widen in theatrical surprise, your mouth resting slightly ajar as you feign mock-offence. You nudge his shoulder away, gently sending him tumbling him back in bed. 

You lie next to him, your eyes fixed on each other. You slide your hand down and playfully squeeze his knuckles together until he winces in slight discomfort. “Does it ring any bells now?” you insist and exert a bit more pressure.

Evan, caught off guard, finally gives in. “Y/N! Y/N! Your name’s Y/N!” he cries out and instinctively grips your wrist in defence, your bracelet subtly clinking.

He takes hold of your other wrist and playfully immobilises you on one of the pillows, sliding on top of you with ease.

You squeak in delight, a giggle rippling off your mouth. “You’re not just awesome, you’re practically a one-woman army,” he chuckles out with a wide grin, unable to look away from you. 

As you stare at each other intently, the erratic tempo of your heartbeats fills the silence. “I love you,” he murmurs out of the blue, his eyes swimming into yours.

Wheezing quietly, your eyes instinctively widen in shock at the three words that hang in the air between them. For a moment, the entire universe seems to stand still, suspended in the gravity of his confession. You feel a rush of emotions flood through you—joy, disbelief, and a profound sense of warmth that flushes your cheek.

“I... I love you too,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. A tremulous smile spreads across your lips, tears glistening in your eyes as he closes the distance between you in a heartbeat.

Without reluctance, you surrender, pouring all the love and tenderness you feel into the kiss.

“Y/N... Tron shoot’s kicking off again soon. Would you come to Canada with me?”

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[assapoopshits-massachussets]

I think that the main problem with all of the scrapped Tron ideas/scripts that keep popping up every few years is that they keep focusing on the wrong characters/stories.

I feel like not many people who like Tron actually care about Sam Flynn. People care more about Quorra, but I think that interest in her falls short as well. And not a single soul wants Jared Leto anywhere NEAR this franchise.

The next Tron movie should be a Rinzler movie.

First of all, people WANT more of Tron himself and have been saying so since Legacy came out. One of the things that made Uprising great was Tron’s involvement in, well, Tron. Plus, this is Tumblr so I don’t need to go into how insane Tron fans have gotten over Rinzler for the past decade.

I want to see how Tronzler copes with his split self. I want to see his flashbacks and fractured, contextless memories of his time as Tron. (kinda like the ones he had at the end of legacy). I want to see what he went through to be reprogrammed. I want to see how he copes with his life as gladiator and elite soldier. How does he deal with all of the derezzing he has to do? I want to see a deep dive into his relationship and dynamic with CLU. How does Rinzler act when he’s alone? Where does the purring come from? Does Jarvis hate him as much as I think he does?

Maybe some of this was answered by Uprising and I just don’t remember (It’s been a decade since I’ve seen that show).

Anyways I just think the whole Tronzler thing is super interesting and unexplored in official media. It would be interesting to see what Disney writers come up with and which fan theories they humor. Plus I neeeeeeeed more “Rinzler being a freak” content.

[highimhope]

Babe wake up new AU just dropped, Blade Runner Nav is worried she's actually a replicant with implanted memories nearing the end of it's life cycle and her next target is researching/stealing replicant longevity research from the trillionaires and it's always fucking raining

Wake up! Time to die.

[datamodel-of-disaster]

So, I was originally going through the first draft script of the Tron 1982 movie that @greetingsprogram1982 archived on their blog to scavenge for references to gridbugs, after @fights4users had an interesting question about those... However, I got distracted. Tron, talking about Flynn to Yori:

Flynn, in the meantime:

[galaxygolfergirl]

“I fight for the users!”

Here’s a redraw of Tron from the movie Tron: Legacy (2010) that I did a few years ago. Highly underrated movie imo; if the script had been a bit tighter I feel it would’ve made more of a splash when it came out, the visuals are still absolutely breathtaking and hold up to this day. Though, it always bugged me a little that the title character, Tron, wasn’t even the hero in a movie named after him! Maybe Tron 3, whenever that gets made, can work on that? (Preferably without Jared Leto 😒)

Bonus: Here’s my original sketch, oh, and I would appreciate a reblog

[coupleofdays]

I often picture Alan Bradley as being a stiff, humorless, nerdy, prim and proper, by-the-books sort of person, as opposed to the wild and crazy maverick Kevin Flynn. However, there are some parts of the original Tron film that indicates that Alan has a slightly daring and rebellious side to him as well. One of these is the fact that he rather nonchalantly saunters into the laser research bay while the laser is being tested, just wearing his regular office suit, when everyone else there are wearing overalls, hardhats and protective goggles. And he knows that the laser is powerful enough to "disintegrate" things, he says so himself!

It's especially funny in the first draft of the film script, where it's described that he casually dodges a wayward laser beam when he walks inside the bay. Lora must be really irritated with him for not taking her tech seriously.