#int. inside bar

[maksimkurylenko]

FOR: OPEN TO ALL. TAGS: @mobscene-starters WHEN: March, 2025. WHERE: Haringey, his bar. Unamed.

While some saw an empty shell when he'd brought the building, Maksim had a vision. This place had everything he'd needed in order to get it up and running. The bare bones were in tact, and the beauty of the architecture spoke for itself. This had been his own, something outside the shadow of his family: the one he'd always been cast in. Viktoriya's brother. Arkady's son.

He'd heard all the nicknames: the psychopath and the tyrant.

This, was his and his alone. A goal. One he'd been determined to see through. There'd been intention behind every design marker, the location and the clientele it'd bring.

Vastly different from his sister, Vika's. On purpose, as to not raise competition.

Turning, he spoke without facing them. "The contractors will be here soon, they've made great progress already. Can't believe we're a few weeks away from actually opening the fuckin' doors."

[benjaminvox]

FOR: @mobscene-starters EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' WHERE: Main Bar. Post initiation.

Not only was Melissa in a better mood for knowing her tent was among her more refine tasted, it'd unfortunately, been soured just as quickly when she'd spotted who her partner was: and while Benjamin couldn't pretend he'd been ecstatic when he'd found of whom he would room with -- it was better than the likes of the Italians.

Of whom, he hoped to never see again. Especially Giordana. It was sickening, the way he had a cane with him at all lines, tucked away so he could pretend at times that it didn't ache and groan with every passing hour that he was stood on it. And yet, in typical Benjamin fashion, he persevered: because, deep down, he knew Melissa was close by, undoubtedly watching him.

The perk, gratefully, was the free alcohol he'd been given with his new found status for the weekend. Was it possible that Giordana would find him, choke him out and take him room for the night? Maybe, if his room mate hadn't been Roman fucking Baranovsky. He grunted, downing the remainder of his drink, and turning to the bar.

"Can I get another please?" it was the presence to his life, though, that had him side-eyeing as his glass was quickly replaced. "So, what? Poor tent means..." he paused to sip his drink. "You wanna be my friend now?"

[itsoutrageouss]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley being ready to go on his knees for his favorite nurse… but he has no idea how to show it.

Then he sees you at the pub.

It settled inside of him as a feeling of uselessness because he’s so used to knowing what to do. He takes action. He fixes things. And now he gets all flustered when you tend to his wounds, absentmindedly stroking his thigh and talking to him so so sweetly. Calling him a good boy when you finish the stitches, biting your lip as you focused on making them as neat as you could for him. He would stare at you the whole time, his cheeks heating because no one ever showed him this much care and you didn’t even seem to struggle with it- it was all natural.

You had labelled him ‘favorite patient’ in your phone but he didn’t know that. He figured you behaved like that with all the soldiers who came in- the reason you were such a good nurse.

After a well succeeded mission, the task force and the bases Staff all crowd down to the nearest pub. It was an excuse for you to finally be out of your work attire, adorning a black lacy top that made you feel sexy along with your glossy lips. He was already there, leaned back in a booth with Soap and Price as you walk in, looking around nervously.

He has to grit his teeth as he sees you. Fuck fuck fuck. This was gonna be a long night. He fisted his hands beneath the table.

This feeling of hopelessness, of not knowing what to do was so foreign that it bubbled into anger. Price frowned, noticing the rigid way his Lieutenant suddenly sat. Soap was too busy telling some story to notice anything, slamming down a hand, the beers rattling. Your colleagues crowded you into a booth that so conveniently faced him.

Why did he look at you like that? He was positively fuming, glowering, brows lowered and face set. You cowered under his gaze, eyes flickering away nervously.

His lips parted in soft surprise. Why did you look so nervous? Had he done something?

Because of course he was no clue how damn intimidating his so called love stare stare is. He follows you as you walk to the bar, leaning over, your skirt riding up. He has to blink up at the ceiling because it felt simultaneously like a gift from above, being allowed to see you like this, and like a curse from hell.

“Oh he’s down bad for her ain’t he, that fucker?” Soap exclaims, finally catching on as he lets out a hearty laugh. Simon glares.

“I think LT needs another pint” Price muses. Soap, ever the sergent he is, groans and gets up, patting Simon heavily on the shoulder before walking up to the bar next to you.

“You got him weak in the knees, Bunny” Soap grins casually, ordering the pints. It takes you a few seconds to comprehend before you lean backwards slightly, catching Simon’s gaze. This time he averts his eyes immediately. He was fucking fuming inside, not knowing how to get these feelings to go away. The only solutions he could think of were violence or sex. And violence he’s had enough of- and he’s sure the training dummies had too. Every damn night these past days he’s been punching his knuckles bloody, hoping it would satiate his restlessness. It didn’t.

And as for sex… he didn’t- well he didn’t not want that but that’s not where he wanted to start. He always threw himself into hookups or fiery flings that burned out too quickly, leaving embers he didn’t care for. He didn’t want that with you. He wanted to be genuine, slow, proper. And he had no idea how. He didn’t like not being good at things.

Your eyes stay on him, forcing his head to turn back to you. Your expression is unreadable, his fingers curling beneath the table before he rapidly stands up. You almost jolt at the action, the floor creaking from his weight as he stalks over to you and Soap, grumbling something.

Soap leaves, Simon trying to casually lean his elbows on the bar. “Just gonna wait for the pints” he tells you, then his jaw ticks because why did he say that? You probably don’t give a fuck what he’s doing there.

You smile softly, intrigued. “How’s your shoulder?”

It startled him, his head whipping to yours like you said something totally out of sorts. His shoulder? Right— It takes him way too long to answer.

“Fine. You did a good job. As always,” he said gruffly, looking down at the chipped wood of the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently.

“You look good.” The words slip past his lips, eyes quickly giving you a once over.

“I know.” He looks at you, sees a small glint in your eyes and the smile you smother. He wants to groan out loud at the sight.

A dry, almost laugh escapes him, shaking his head softly. “F’course you do.”

There’s a long, awkward silence where you both look anywhere but at each other, spines straightening, then slumping, then you both look at the bartender to keep busy.

He places your drink in front of you, three pints clattering in front of Simon. Neither of you move to take them.

“So I’m gonna go” Simon rumbles and turns, the pints clutched in his hands. He was overheating, fumbling in ever possible way he could and he couldn’t take it. You opened your mouth but he was already halfway across the room.

The pints rattle as he sits down. “So?” Soap asks as he leans forward. Simon grumbled that this isn fucking high school. But it’s not Soap he’s mad at. It’s himself. He had you right there.

You can’t focus the rest of the evening, laughing hollowly and sipping your drink with disinterest. Did he not find you interesting? It was so hard to read him that you started to doubt if he was playing with you. Maybe this was just the way he… was.

You hadn’t noticed everyone going out for a smoke. You hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you through the window like some kind of fucking stalker, only the glow from his cigarette giving colour to his shadow.

You down the rest of your drink, pulling your coat around you. The night is crispy, air poking your cheeks like needles.

“Are you ever going to ask me out? Because if not then I’d like to know- I don’t really know if you don’t like me or if I scare you or if there’s something entirely different at play but you cannot just stare at me and expe-“ a cold, chapped pair of lips silence you. They’re gone as quickly as they came you Simon’s eyes are wide, dropping his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m sorry- do you wanna- can I ask you out? I didn’t mean to do that but you talk a lot” he said bluntly, stuttering his way through his own mortifying actions.

He kissed you. To shut up your mindless yapping he… you shake your head in disbelief.

“You are unbelievable” you say, but there’s absolutely no malice in your tone- only wonder.

“Is that a yes?” He asks, his throat feeling tight.

“Yes. It’s a good technique you have there- do you do that on everyone? Kiss them when they talk too much? I can just imagine how Soap would rea-“

He did it again, eyes closing and inhaling sharply as he covered your cold cheeks with his hands. Christ you were a talker but he didn’t mind so much, if he was allowed to quiet you like this from now on.

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Dude after the free use human fic, after human was finally out of the hole is she going to get asked by the bots if that can do it again instead of y'know being stuck in the wall, because I can imagine the bots won't stop thinking about it

......

>:333

Rehehehehehehe

Various Lost Light crew members x reader, gender neutral AFAB reader, racially ambiguous, free use, very mild dubious consent if you squint

I bet Swerve begs the human to have a free use night at his bar. Like buy two drinks get to use the human. You know Ultra Magnus had to help set up in order to make sure everything was in line and in order. Buy two drinks then get a ticket with your number for the human to service you. Then it just breaks down into a huge robot gangbang in the middle of the bar.

You know Rodimus is coming to the human like twice a day absolutely pussy whipped and begging to be inside his favorite human again.

Megatron finally getting a turn and making it so the human can’t walk for a whole week. Just blissed out smiling with a lake of transfluid under them as their abused hole just gapes. He’s very attentive with aftercare but he’s also worried he might have broken them.

Ratchet took them in under the guise of their own medical well being but bro doesn’t know jack about organics and just wanted an excuse to have them to himself. Drift jacking off Ratchet using the human like a spike sleeve.

You know Tailgate is humping them like a rabbit every chance he gets and Cyclonus is watching the whole thing with his spike in his servo.

Rewind and Chromedome taking the human out on a romantic excursion so they’re all buttered up when they share them. Soft lighting and music while they take turns using the human’s holes. I feel like they’d run a train on their special little human.

Nautica would probably be int having the human ride her then tease them when they get tired. “Nuhuh! I saw what kind of stamina you have,” she’d say while giving a sharp thrust. “I know you can do better than that.” Then she’s punishing the little human when they cum before her. She’s fingering them and using them like a toy. The human comes out of her habsuite covered in purple lipstick marks and smiling like a dope.

Whirl would scoop the human up and stash them away in his habsuite all for himself. He just wants the soft mushy sex where his human is stroking his face and peppering kisses all along his body until he can fuck their face with his spike. He’d definitely tease at breaking them and turning them into nothing but a hole for everyone to use but he knows how fragile humans are and to be more gentle.

Brainstorm is running all sorts of experiments trying to see which toys his human has the best reaction to, how hard they can cum, how many orgasms until they pass out. It’s all for research purposes he tells himself while watching Perceptor fuck you stupid while jacking himself off.

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling Apart & Torn at the Seams [4/5]

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.5k [Series Masterlist][Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; pregnant!Reader, angst with an eventual happy/hopeful ending, emotional hurt, threat to abort (because it's Clay), angry Jax, Clay being Clay

a/n: So glad to see how much y'all have been loving this little thing that grew into far more than just the two parts I'd initially planned (which is why I just gave this thing a masterlist). I've decided it should end at five now, but it's because y'all enjoyed it so much that I expanded on more parts of it, so thank you for the comments and reblogs, they really are always appreciated!

tag list: @kmc1989 @hiddenwritings-adventures @shadyshadyy @cwallace02sblog @staley83 @steviebbboi @bonni-98   @aria725 @mmarysha @secretlysamcro @f1samcro @dollface-xoxo

Roughly pushing open the clubhouse doors, Jax stalked inside the main room, his steps slow and purposeful. He fixed the chapel doors on the opposite end with a dark glare, his fists tightly curled at his sides as he moved past the pool table and the bar. The room was oddly quiet without the usual noise of a party underway, the space eerily devoid of its usual loud laughter and even louder music. It was a Wednesday night and the guys weren't here. 

But Jax knew that Clay was, and that's all that mattered right now.

With his jaw clenched so hard the muscles in it ached, Jax made his way over towards the closed chapel doors, his body tensed and ready for a fight. Clay had been conveniently difficult to find ever since Jax had broken into your apartment and confronted Gemma about your disappearance yesterday afternoon. Which meant Jax had more than an entire day to sit in his quiet rage while it festered, causing him to only further grow vengeful and furious when he thought about what Clay had done to you. His imagination supplied the missing pieces of the puzzle, because Jax could guess what threats Clay had made against you.

But while Jax had been itching for the chance to get Clay alone and confront him, he’d also been busy making his own moves. He'd still spent that time trying to figure out where the hell you could’ve vanished, but it didn't matter how often he kept trying your phone, it always went straight to voicemail–as if it was turned off now. He’d tried leaving you a handful of messages, but he never heard anything back from you. 

It was going on five full days of you being gone without a goddamn word. The silence from you was maddening. All Jax could think about was you out there somewhere pregnant with his kid, completely alone, and probably scared because of Clay. He fucking hated the thought of that. It had him tearing apart both his room at the clubhouse and his own damn house. 

Jax had tried to focus his mind and energy on doing what he could in the meantime–sending out Chibs and Juice to interrogate your landlord in an attempt to figure out whatever they could. While they’d been tasked with that, Jax had spent the day planning something else with Opie. Because he was going to bury Clay for what he’d done, that much was certain. But even that still didn’t feel like he was doing enough right now. 

As Jax approached the chapel doors, he could hear the faint sound of voices coming from within. His teeth ground together, his anger barely being held back inside of himself as he stood there attempting to keep some level of composure. He needed to see what answers he could manage to get out of Clay, to see if there was anything he might say that could give Jax some idea of where you were. But of course Clay was here late plotting things behind closed doors and the backs of the whole club. 

He wasn’t going to keep getting away with this shit, though. Not anymore.

Uncurling one of his fists, Jax reached out and twisted the door handle before pushing the door open so hard it flung backwards and smacked into the wall with a sharp bang. Both Clay and Tig instantly fell silent at the interruption, their attention shifting straight towards the door. Jax stood there with his eyes locked on Clay, a vicious gleam in them as his lips curled back into a sneer.

If he could have ripped Clay’s head off with his bare hands right now, he absolutely would have.

“Whoa, Jax, man,” Tig began, brows furrowing faintly together as he took in the sight of him. “Easy there. What the hell are you doing?”

Clay didn’t look remotely fazed at the sudden enraged entrance, almost as if he’d been expecting it. The way he so comfortably leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, folding his hands in his lap as he focused on Jax like he was completely untouchable, only pissed Jax off further. But it was clear on Clay’s face–he knew exactly why Jax was here just by looking at him.

“Get the fuck outta here, Tig,” Jax snarled, his glare remaining fixed on Clay.

In the chair beside the Sons’ president, Tig focused his attention on Clay, giving him a questioning look. With his own eyes never leaving Jax, Clay gave him a single nod in response.

“Leave us, Tig,” he ordered, flicking a hand dismissively. “‘S’alright. I got this.”

Tig hesitated in his chair for a moment longer, clearly aware of the tension between his president and vice president but not making the connection as to what it was over. Eventually when Clay didn’t say anything otherwise, Tig quietly slid his chair back and rose to his feet. He gave Clay one last look before he slipped past Jax and out of the chapel, closing the door after himself on his way out. 

And then it was just the two of them.

Jax stood there for a moment longer, seething as he stared back at the man who’d just spent one afternoon five days ago blowing up his entire life like it was nothing. And now here he was sitting there looking so fucking calm about it, like he hadn’t done a goddamn thing wrong forcing you out of his life and this town.

“Where is she?” Jax asked, voice level but not any less threatening. “What’d you do to her?”

Clay shrugged a shoulder simply, pulling a face at the questions. “I didn’t do nothin’ to her,” he answered. “Just paid her a visit. Had a talk. That’s it.”

Lips pressing together, Jax’s nostrils flared sharply at the response. He knew damn well how much Clay was downplaying whatever ‘visit’ he’d had with you. And yet he was going to sit here and lie to his goddamn face about it, too. 

“A talk about what?” he pushed firmly. “And don’t fucking lie to me. I know you’ve had it out for her since that first night she came to the clubhouse. Don’t tell me it was some friendly visit.”

Clay continued to sit there, casually leaning back in his chair at the head of the table as a silence fell in the room. Jax recognized the calculating look in his step-father’s eyes–he’d seen it plenty of times to know what it was by now. It was the same look he had whenever he attempted to twist the truth or detract attention away from himself.

“She doesn’t fit, Jackson,” Clay finally said, his words breaking through the heavy tension in the air. “In this world, in this club, in your life. I know it. Your mother knows it. And I’m pretty damn sure your little girlfriend knows it, too.”

With a frustrated grunt, Jax crossed the distance from the entrance of the chapel and over to the ornately carved wooden table. His eye twitched as he tried to hold himself back from doing precisely what he’d rather be doing–beating the absolute shit out of the man. But instead, his fists came down slowly against the table’s surface as he leaned over towards Clay.

“That’s not what I fucking asked you,” Jax growled low.

“But it’s what you need to hear,” Clay countered, his own tone matching Jax’s as he leaned forward along the table, his eyes narrowing back at him. “Because ever since she started working at the garage, you’ve been distracted. Everyone can see it. You’re lettin’ pussy distract you from your responsibilities to the club and your family.”

Jax slammed his fist hard against the solid table, his knuckles stinging from the impact. It was taking every bit of willpower for him to resist striking Clay right in the fucking face like he desperately wanted to, but he knew he had to refrain from the urge. He had a plan in motion to deal with Clay and he couldn’t deviate from it. He couldn’t risk tipping the club off as to what was really going to happen to Clay by having a physical altercation with the piece of shit and leaving any evidence of just how badly he wanted him gone. 

“Don’t you dare call her that,” Jax warned him. His lips twisted up into a dark smile, one that contained only danger and threats as he held Clay’s own cold gaze. “She’s not just some club whore, you old bastard. She’s my girl. My old lady. And you were threatening her.”

Clay scoffed, shaking his head at Jax’s words as if they were nothing. Jax could feel himself practically vibrating with rage right now, everything inside of him screaming to unleash what he was feeling on the bastard–to beat him within an inch of his life and watch him choke on his own blood in this very room.

“She’s nothing more than a passing flavor of the month for you,” Clay retorted. “The way you go through girls. She's nothing.”

“She’s mine!” Jax shouted, finally succumbing to his rage. “And she’s carrying my fucking kid!”

Jax’s chest heaved with his sharp breaths as he stood there bent over the table, a wild look in his eyes as he stared down his president. Clay still kept that outward calm as he eyed Jax, clearly unaffected by his words. Which was all the confirmation Jax had needed. Gemma might not have known that you were pregnant, but somehow Clay had. And he’d still fucking pushed you out of Charming anyway. 

Trying to reign in his temper, a bitter laugh fell out of Jax as he straightened back up beside the table. He stared down at Clay, one of his shaking hands coming up to comb through his shaggy hair in frustration. 

“You fucking knew, didn’t you?” he spat. “You knew she was pregnant. That’s why you threatened her, wasn’t it?”

Clay shrugged again. As if it didn’t matter. As if you carrying his goddamn child didn’t matter. His lips pressed together at the realization of just how cold–how fucking cruel and ruthless–the man really was when he wanted something. And Clay had wanted you out of the picture long enough. 

“Yeah, I knew,” he admitted easily. “So I paid her a visit. Told her the truth.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed further into slits at his words. “The truth?” he shot back, his head tilting to the side in challenge. “What fucking truth, Clay? You been doing nothing but feeding the both of us lies for months now. So what goddamn truth did you share with her, huh?”

Clay’s hand raised from the table, gesturing at Jax before him. “That you, my son, are not remotely in the place or the mindset to become a father,” he answered smoothly. “You’re barely taking care of your damn self, you got no idea the first things about raising a kid. And let’s be real–that ain’t the kinda shit you want on your plate right now.”

“Don’t you–” he snapped, pointing a ringed finger sharply at Clay, “–call me your son after the shit you've done. And don't you even try and pretend to know a damn thing about what I want. You got no idea.”

“Don’t matter now,” Clay told him. “Your girl is probably long gone now. She’s got no job since I fired her, so who knows what happened to her.”

Inhaling a sharp breath, Jax’s jaw tightened at the information. He’d fired you–you hadn’t quit. Clay had fired you knowing that you were pregnant. Knowing you’d need a job and money and fucking insurance to take care of yourself and that baby right now. And right now you had none of that, not because you’d made the choice yourself, but because Clay had intentionally taken it all from you.

Attempting to maintain his composure, one of Jax’s hands ran along his mouth. The sharp scratch of his facial hair against his fingers barely registered as he fought to keep himself from knocking the old fuck right out of that chair. That haunting thought of you somewhere struggling right now flashed through his mind, and he physically had to restrain himself by gripping his other hand against the edge of the table.

Clay would get what was coming to him despite how goddamn smug he looked sitting there. Because Jax knew something that Clay didn’t, and it would only be a matter of time before that president patch was stripped from Clay’s kutte and sewn onto his own. 

Jax was going to make damn certain Charming was safe for you, and then he was going to fucking find you and fix everything. It didn’t matter how long it took for you to forgive his stupid fucking ass for not just listening to you that night you’d come to him for help. He would do whatever it took to get you back here and keep you safe. 

Which is what he should have been doing in the first place.

Taking a few steps back towards the chapel doors, Jax’s glare remained on Clay. “You fucked up, old man,” he told him. “You're eventually going to find that out.”

Without another word, Jax turned and exited the chapel, slamming the door shut behind himself as he went. As he stormed his way through the empty clubhouse, his steps swift and heavy, he knew it was foolish to have hoped that Clay might have given him some clue as to where you’d disappeared to. He probably had no damn idea himself.

Stepping outside of the clubhouse and back into the dimly lit parking lot, Jax continued to stride across the pavement. Opie was waiting for him right where Jax had left him a bit ago–leaning against his bike and smoking a cigarette. He nodded his head in greeting at Jax as he expelled the smoke from between his lips.

“Get what you needed to, brother?” Opie asked curiously.

“Of course not,” Jax snarled in irritation. He grabbed his helmet from where it was hanging on the handlebars of his bike, unclipping it before he jutted his chin at Opie. “You get what you needed?”

Opie nodded, tossing his cigarette down to the pavement. He stamped it out with his shoe, his eyes flickering to the clubhouse as he did before he focused back on Jax.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You sure you wanna do this, though?”

Jax’s eyes burned with rage as he stared at the clubhouse, securing his helmet on his head. “He’s taken enough from us, Ope,” Jax answered, an edge to his words. “He got away with what he did to Donna. Now he's trying to push out my girl.” He secured the helmet on his head as he looked back at his best friend. “You wanna give him the chance to find an excuse to go after Lyla next?”

A muscle jumped in Opie's cheek at the question before he quietly shook his head. 

Jax turned and threw a leg over his bike, settling down onto it. “I’m sick of him getting away with this shit,” he spat bitterly. “He's not taking anything else from us.”

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content. unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, oral fixation (implied), possessive language, mild marking (biting), dom!chan, desperate sex, praise kink, loss of contact, emotionally charged one-night stand, bodily fluids (cum/slick mention), heavy detail/descriptive intimacy, public/semi-public sex setting (lounge)

⍣ ೋ notes: so this is pretttttttttty late i'm soso sorry 😭i kinda hate it actually but this was the best i could do :(

🧾 FORMAL INVESTIGATION REPORT Filed by: Concierge Aeryn Subject: Staff Conduct –Lost Number Staff Member Under Review: General Manager Chan Requested by: Guest (Room 330) Requested Resolution: Formal Investigation & Internal Service Memo

INT. SKZOTEL – GENERAL MANAGER'S OFFICE – EVENING

The knock on Bang Chan’s office door is almost courteous — two sharp taps — but the way Aeryn steps inside without waiting for permission strips it of any real politeness.

Chan doesn’t look up right away. He's hunched over his desk, flipping a pen between his fingers like it's a stress ball, a muscle ticking at his jaw.

The pink clipboard in Aeryn’s hand wobbles slightly as she waves it in the air. “I have a guest complaint for you, Mr. Bang.”

That gets his attention. His head snaps up, eyes narrowing immediately.

“If it's about Jeongin again, I already handled it,” Chan mutters, voice tight.

“Oh no,” Aeryn says lightly, stepping further into the office. She sets the clipboard down just out of his reach. “This one’s about you.”

Chan freezes.

Aeryn beams, all professionally sweet, the kind of smile that would’ve scared a smarter man. “Shall I read it aloud? It’s quite the compliment to your…prior performance.”

Chan drags a hand down his face. “Aeryn—”

“She specifically mentioned how delightful Mr. Yang Jeongin was. Very charming, very professional.” Aeryn taps the clipboard like she’s punctuating every word. “Unlike a certain general manager, who, in her words, was ‘terse, unprofessional, and suffering from misplaced jealousy.’”

Chan looks like he’s either going to throw himself out the window or flip the desk over.

“I wasn’t jealous,” he grits out. “I was—” He waves a hand, searching for the words like they might save him. “Protecting staff integrity.”

“Ah yes.” Aeryn folds her arms, deadpan. “That’s why you glared at the guest like you were about to throw her over your shoulder and lock her in your office.”

Chan mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a threat in his Australian accent.

Aeryn lets him stew for a moment, savoring it. Then, almost kindly, she leans in.

“She remembers you, you know,” she says, voice lower now. “Not just from the spa.”

Chan’s shoulders stiffen.

He doesn't say anything.

Aeryn straightens up, smoothing her blazer like she’s just finishing a performance. “For what it’s worth, she requested an early check-out.” She tilts her head, considering. “Although she did suggest that perhaps if you’d been more diligent in securing your…contact information, none of this would’ve been necessary.”

Chan slouches back in his chair like the world has personally wronged him.

“I didn’t forget her,” he mutters under his breath.

“Misplaced her number, then?” Aeryn supplies helpfully.

He scowls. 

Aeryn can’t help it. She laughs — a short, sharp sound that makes Chan look even more miserable.

“I’ll file the formal investigation report,” she says brightly.

With a final, polite smile, she scoops up the clipboard and turns to leave, heels clicking smartly against the marble floor.

Chan slouches even lower in his chair once she’s gone, staring at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him.

And the worst part?

He can still feel her — the guest — the ghost of her hands on him, the sound of her laughing in his ear, the way she whispered her number against his mouth and he’d sworn he’d remember it just by taste.

______________________________________________________________

The bar is half-empty, dimly lit, and blessedly quiet — a rare luxury.

Chan sits slouched at the end of it, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He hasn’t taken a full breath all day. The meetings ran over, the contracts weren’t ready, the staff kept screwing around, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees the bright pink edge of Aeryn’s clipboard like a migraine warning.

He exhales slow, rolling his neck with a soft crack, and downs the rest of his whiskey like it’s water. It burns, but it’s a good burn. Controlled. Predictable. Nothing like the mess in his head.

His phone buzzes.

He doesn’t check it.

He’s already gone over tomorrow’s schedule six times and it’s not going to change: back-to-back meetings, supplier drama, some guest requesting complimentary crystals in her mattress for “vibration alignment” — whatever the fuck that means.

He gestures for another drink.

The bartender knows him. Says nothing. Just pours.

The moment stretches, soft and slow, until the door swings open behind him—quiet, but enough to shift the weight of the room.

Chan doesn’t look up at first. He doesn’t need to.

He feels you walk in.

Not because of the sound. Not because of the sudden lift in perfume in the air. But because something in him—tight and strung out from the day—pulls tauter, as if he’s already being watched.

He turns his head lazily, more reflex than curiosity.

And there you are.

The lights are low, but they catch on the slope of your cheek, the shine at your collarbone. You walk in like you know exactly where you’re going but aren’t in any rush to get there—coat draped over one arm, heels quiet against the floor, gaze flicking once around the room before it lands on him.

It lingers.

Not long. But long enough.

His chest pulls tight without meaning to.

There’s nothing showy in the way you move. Nothing loud. Just... controlled. Like you’ve done this before. Like you’ve already decided what kind of night it’s going to be.

You slide into a seat three stools down. Not beside him. But close.

The bartender greets you with quiet familiarity, asks if you want the usual. You say not tonight. Something different. Something stronger.

Chan lets his eyes drop back to his drink—but only for a second. He can see your reflection in the mirror behind the bar, the curve of your lips as you speak, the way your fingers toy with the base of the glass when it arrives.

And then, like clockwork, your gaze meets his in the mirror.

Not coy.

Not shy.

Just intentional.

And when he doesn’t look away, neither do you.

Something shifts in his chest. Heavy. Immediate.

Then you smile.

Subtle. Barely there. But it lands like a spark to dry wood.

Chan feels it catch.

And he doesn’t even try to put it out.

______________________________________________________________

You don’t remember how you got here.

Or rather, you do — it’s just hard to focus on anything when Bang Chan is buried inside you, deep and deliberate, grinding his cock into you like he wants to stay there.

Like he owns it now.

You're still half-dressed. Your panties are somewhere across the room, his shirt is open, and your dress is bunched up around your waist, straps slipping down your arms. His belt hangs loosely from one of your wrists — not tight, not binding, but reminding — and your thighs are spread wide over his lap, his hands splayed across your ass, pulling you down with every roll of his hips.

He’s not fucking you.

He’s fucking into you — slow, deep, so obscenely wet with your arousal that you’re embarrassed at how loud it sounds in the quiet room.

And he hasn’t looked away. Not once.

You try to breathe through it, but every time he thrusts up, it knocks your breath out again — gasping, stuttering, breaking.

“God, baby,” he rasps, jaw clenched tight. “You’re dripping down my cock. Look at this mess.”

You look. You shouldn’t. But you do.

Glance down and see where your bodies meet — where his cock disappears into you again and again, coated in slick, strings of it catching when he pulls out slow just to watch you clench around nothing.

Your head falls back with a choked moan.

Chan watches it—eyes locked on the exposed line of your throat, the slack of your lips, the tremble in your thighs where you straddle him. He shifts his grip, one hand gripping the swell of your ass, the other sliding up your spine until it’s fisted in the fabric clinging to your shoulder blades, keeping you there.

He’s buried so deep you can feel him in your ribs. Thick and pulsing, soaked in slick. The roll of his hips is slow, deliberate, filthier than anything rushed—he fucks into you like he’s savoring every stretch, every obscene, wet sound your cunt makes around him.

You can feel how wet you are. It’s everywhere. Slick coats your thighs, pools where your bodies meet, dripping down his balls with every bounce of your hips—every grind he guides you through with bruising hands and an unforgiving rhythm.

He shifts again, pulling you down hard as he thrusts up deep. Your body jerks, mouth falling open in a whimper that’s swallowed by the hot press of his mouth on your skin—tongue dragging slow across your collarbone before his teeth sink in.

The bite makes you cry out—sharp and breathless—and Chan growls against your skin in response, the sound low and fucking filthy. His cock twitches deep inside you as he grinds up, slow and thick and relentless, like he wants to live inside the mess he’s made.

He shifts again, pulling you down hard as he thrusts up deep, and your entire body jerks, a sharp “ah—!” punched out of your chest, spine arching like he just split you in two.

Chan grunts low and deep in your ear, the kind of sound dragged straight from the gut. “Shit… just like that.”

His cock is thick, stretching you wide, the slow grind of his hips forcing you to take him again and again, all the way to the base, until you’re stuffed full and pulsing around him. You’re soaked—soaked—slick squelching loudly with every bounce of your hips, your arousal smearing all the way down to his thighs.

The room is filled with it. Nothing but your broken breathing, his labored grunts, the wet, filthy sound of your pussy clenching around his cock like it never wants to let go.

“F-Fuck—Chan—” your voice breaks, almost a sob, and your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself.

His teeth sink into the curve of your shoulder with a groan. “This pussy,” he pants against your skin, “is so fucking greedy. Keeps suckin’ me in like it’s starving.”

Another wet slap, and you yelp—head thrown back, mouth open around a high, needy “hah—ngh, fuck!”

He loves that. Gathers your hair in one hand, jerks your head back so he can watch your face twist in pleasure as he starts thrusting faster, harder—each drag of his cock so heavy, so deep, you can feel the air being punched out of you in whines.

Your thighs are shaking, your cunt fluttering around him as your orgasm creeps back, fast and brutal. Every thrust is met with a soaked, messy squelch, your slick now streaming down to the ruined cushions below.

“Listen to that,” he growls, grinding deep. “You fucking hear yourself?”

You do. You can’t not..

Your cries go high and soft—“ah—Chan—”—and your body jerks in time with the rhythm, collapsing into him when his fingers find your clit and rub fast, merciless.

“You gonna come for me again?” he pants. “Yeah? Gonna soak my cock like a good girl?”

“Y-Yeah—please, please—!”

It hits hard.

You come with a scream—your whole body locking down on him, cunt spasming, gushing slick across his lap in wet, audible spurts. You cry through it, moaning sharp and high with every pulse.

“Fucking hell,” he growls, hips stuttering. “You’re milking me—gonna fuckin’—fuck—”

His grip turns bruising, both hands clutching your hips now as he thrusts up into your pulsing cunt, chasing the last seconds of your orgasm—wet, fluttering, still squeezing the cum out of him before he even finishes.

The first twitch of his cock inside you makes him curse—loud and ruined—and then he’s coming hard, slamming into you one final time, buried to the hilt as he empties himself with a ragged moan.

“Ah—fucking shit, baby—take it—”

Thick ropes of cum fill you deep, each twitch pumping more inside until you're full and dripping, the heat of it spilling out around his cock and down your thighs in hot, messy streams.

You whimper, broken and overwhelmed, thighs trembling as your cunt clenches through the aftershocks—still needy, still twitching even with him buried inside you, keeping every last drop in.

He slumps forward, chest slick with sweat against yours, breath hot against your cheek.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants. 

You hum, dazed, fingers threading weakly into his damp hair as his hips roll slow again—languid, filthy, grinding his softening cock through the mess between your legs.

And it is a mess. You feel it—his cum leaking out of you in heavy drips, your slick coating his thighs, the cushions, your skin tacky with it.

“So fucking good for me,” he murmurs against your throat, dragging his fingers through the mess between your legs. 

You whine when he pushes two fingers back inside—shallow, spreading your cum-slick folds with a wet shlk as he watches more of his release spill out around them.

“Look at that,” he groans.

You can’t respond—your voice gone, body limp, completely ruined. And Chan loves it. Stays there, buried deep, pressing kisses to your collarbone like he didn’t just fuck you stupid in a lounge, like he didn’t just wreck you so thoroughly you can’t even remember your own name.

He stays buried for a long time.

Still twitching, still thick inside you, softening slowly with every breath that passes. The room is humid with sweat, slick, sex. Your bodies fused by the filth between you, the mess he’s left inside you still trickling out around his cock in lazy, wet drips.

His fingers move lazily between your thighs again—spreading you open just to watch. Just to see the cream-white spill of him leaking from your stretched cunt, your folds still twitching from the aftershocks.

“Could stay like this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Fuck, I could stay inside you all night.”

You sigh softly, worn out and ruined and far too content for how wrecked you feel.

Chan shifts slowly, finally pulling out. You both groan at the loss—your pussy flexing around nothing, his cock dragging wet and heavy against your thigh, still sticky with your slick, his cum, sweat.

He leans back just enough to see your face, thumb brushing along your cheekbone, then down to your jaw, tilting your face up to his.

“Give me your number,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. Almost shy. Almost vulnerable.

You blink, a soft laugh catching in your throat.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I mean… how else am I gonna see you again?”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your chest ache—like maybe he didn’t mean to want more, but he does now. Like maybe it snuck up on him between the way you screamed his name and how you didn’t ask for anything in return.

You reach past him, dragging your bag clumsily toward you with a shaky hand. Pull out a pen. A napkin.

He watches you scribble your number, eyes never leaving your face.

When you hand it to him, he folds it carefully. Tucks it into his back pocket like something sacred. His hand lingers there a second longer than it should, like he’s trying to anchor it—you—in place.

“I’m gonna call you,” he says, cocky but soft. “Tomorrow.”

You don’t tease him for it.

You just smile, a little lazy, a little satisfied. “I’ll answer.”

And for a while, you both just sit there. In the heat. In the quiet. In the after.

But later—

Later, when he’s back in his car, still smelling like you, still tasting you on his lips, hands shaking around the wheel like he can’t drive straight—

He reaches for his pocket.

And it’s empty.

He checks the other.

Then his wallet.

Then the floor.

Then the passenger seat

The napkin’s gone.

His heart punches hard in his chest, jaw clenched as he rifles through everything again, again, like maybe it’ll just reappear.

But it doesn’t.

All that’s left is the soreness in his thighs, the mess drying on his skin, and the ghost of your name echoing in his head like a song he already knows he’s going to forget.

And fuck—

He never even asked for your last name.

______________________________________________________________

INT. SKZOTEL SPA – EVENING

The spa is lit with soft ambient lights. Calming music plays faintly in the background. There’s a large hand-lettered sign taped to the eucalyptus diffuser: SPA TRIVIA NIGHT – Hosted by Your Favorite Masseuse 💆🏻‍♂️

JEONGIN (confessional): [He’s sitting cross-legged in a spa robe with a clipboard, trying very hard to look calm.] “Spa Trivia Night is a sacred SKZOTEL tradition. Or, well, it’s been a tradition for three months. I made it one. And everyone said they’d come this time if I brought snacks, so…”

[Cut to the refreshment table. There is exactly one bowl of pretzels and a half-full Brita filter.]

______________________________________________________________

INT. SPA FLOOR – MOMENTS LATER

JEONGIN stands in front of a whiteboard that says: “QUESTION 1: What is the difference between a Swedish massage and a deep tissue massage?”

The staff are loosely seated on beanbags and floor cushions. SEUNGMIN looks like he wants to die. FELIX is filing his nails. CHANGBIN is already halfway through the pretzels.

JEONGIN: “Okay! Question one. Please raise your hand, don’t shout—”

CHANGBIN: “Is one of them what Chan gave that guest in the lounge last week?”

[Loud laughter. CHAN makes a strangled noise.]

JEONGIN: “No—nope. No, we’re not doing that—”

MINHO (dryly): “What’s the difference between a deep tissue massage and being deeply in someone’s tissues, though?”

CHAN: “I will revoke your comped minibar, Lee Minho.”

MINHO: “Worth it.”

CHAN (confessional): [He’s sitting with arms folded, clearly unamused.] “Did I lose a napkin with a phone number on it? Yes. Did I forget to get her name? Also yes. Is that anyone’s business but mine? No. Absolutely not. ...Have I checked laundry for it? Also yes.”

Back on the floor, JEONGIN tries to regain control.

JEONGIN: “Let’s… let’s keep it spa-related, please? This is supposed to be relaxing. Educational. A safe space.”

HYUNJIN (stretching, dangerously casual): “Did she seem relaxed, though? The guest? Because she left very relaxed.”

CHAN: “Hyunjin.”

HYUNJIN: “I’m just saying. She walked out of here like she’d been realigned spiritually and physically.”

JEONGIN: “Please.”

FELIX: “Honestly, I respect it. I’ve been trying to get someone to rail me against the eucalyptus diffuser for weeks.”

SEUNGMIN: “Can you not say ‘rail me’ within ten feet of a scented candle?”

JEONGIN claps once. Too loud. Too desperate.

JEONGIN: “Okay! Lavender-scented trivia, not libido-scented trauma. Next question.”

[He glances at his laminated list. Regrets everything.]

JEONGIN: “What are the therapeutic benefits of exfoliation?”

MINHO (without missing a beat): “Emotional cleansing. Like when you scrub away a one-night stand by pretending it never happened.”

CHAN: “I will throw a hot stone at you.”

JISUNG: “I’d just like to say, I exfoliated my ass this morning and I feel amazing.”

SEUNGMIN (without looking up): “No one asked. Ever. In the history of time.”

______________________________________________________________

CUT TO: CONFESSIONAL

JEONGIN, now aggressively applying eucalyptus balm to his own temples.

JEONGIN: “I wanted one night. One single trivia night without a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting in the wings.”

[He breathes in. Holds it. Blinks.]

JEONGIN (more to himself): “Maybe next quarter.”

______________________________________________________________

Back in the spa, JISUNG raises his hand.

JISUNG: “Not to derail, but—can I get bonus points if I guess exactly where in the lounge the incident happened?”

CHAN: “No.”

JISUNG: “Because I have a theory.”

CHAN: “No.”

JISUNG (already standing): “So, the curvature of the velvet couch—”

CHAN: “Jisung. I swear to God.”

CHANGBIN (to Seungmin, deadpan): “Why didn’t he just take her to a guest room? Like a professional.”

______________________________________________________________

CUT TO: CONFESSIONAL

FELIX, twirling a marker, looking suspiciously angelic.

He pulls a folded napkin from his pocket.

FELIX: “Still haven’t decided what I’m gonna do with this. Part of me wants to return it like a loyal friend.”

[He grins.]

FELIX: “And part of me wants to rewrite it with Minho’s number and see what happens.”

[He tucks it back into his robe pocket.]

TEXT OVER BLACK:

"The spa is closed until Jeongin stops crying in the foot soak room. No refunds."

series taglist: @nightmarenyxx @miyaluvvsyou @jisuperboard @fackeraccount @silly250 @lov3rachan @lze325 @angel-writes-here @jesuisstay @lov3rachan @lze325 @scribblesnsketches05 @jesuisstay @slut4junho @wickedbutlovely @woozarts @pixie-felix @dessianna1

[hitlikehammers]

This Is Your Life (¿ǝɟı˥ ɹno⅄ sıɥ⊥ sI)

Steve Harrington never thought he’d end up like his parents. He never thought he’d allow his life end up like this.

…but did it really?

He wants to grab for his wallet: he knows there’s gotta be pictures there, he always knew if he did become a dad he’d be that dad and maybe he can’t fucking grasp how he’s here, how it all went wrong, but he, it’s… He can’t have gotten it this wrong; he might have fucked up the love of his life, somehow—and he knows that’s what it was, the one, came out of nowhere and made him feel more than anything he’d ever known his chest could hold: he might have failed the soft brown curls he can feel against his cheek with his eyes closed, but he’s shaky on the smell of them, the scent of this person he knows that he loved, fuck, no, he knows that he still loves—but he can believe that part. He doesn’t want to believe it, really thought this was different, feels it in his chest that this was so different, and this time was forever—but Steve’s history speaks for itself. Doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want to think it fell apart—again. But. That said: he swore he’d never be his own parents. He can’t have gone and failed this bad, with his own kids—

rating: t ♥️ tags: post S4, established relationship (?), drama, introspection, angst (?) with a happy ending (!), steve harrington and the inescapable reality of becoming your parents no matter how hard you try, (it IS inseparable, right?), creeper hitting on a sad divorcé at the bar, SINCERE APOLOGIES TO PEOPLE NAMED A NAME MALIGNED HEREIN SOLELY FOR PLOT PURPOSES

for @steddielovemonth Day Twelve—“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”―The Sandman —

“You look like you shouldn’t be alone.”

Steve, actually, feels like he should definitely be alone. Certainly isn’t looking for company from this random, hair-slicked-back, not-even-being-subtle-about-the-sleaze stranger.

Who sees fit to put his hand on the back of the empty chair across from where Steve sits.

Alone.

“I meant,” and his voice is…soft, but like he wants something. Soft like he means to pull you in. Steve doesn’t fucking need this, not tonight. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Steve wants to laugh. Steve wants to throw his glass and watch it shatter, watch the other patrons of this fairly high-end restaurant gasp and clutch their pearls for it.

He wants to know how he ended up here. How his story unfolded to this. He knows there was a time when they were happy. When he was happy. Lots of memories of being unhappy, especially when he was a kid, but Steve knows in his bones there was happiness, there was lov—

“Hmm,” the stranger hasn’t figured out he’s unwelcome yet, apparently; Steve tries sipping his drink as a hint.

It has the opposite effect.

“Ah,” the man watches Steve’s hand, then points: “it’s been a while, but you still remember the weight, no?”

Steve makes the mistake of taking his eye off this nuisance of a human to follow the pointing: he grabbed for his drink from the left.

Yeah, he does still keep his presently-empty ring finger the slightest bit off the glass. Like a habit.

Motherfucker.

“Children?” the stranger who absolutely cannot take the goddamn hint presses on, too curious, too poised at innocence to be wholly genuine.

Steve doesn’t know what could have possibly given him away—he knows he looks run through the wringer, but kids, there wouldn’t be a tell for the kids in his wrinkled suit, his mussed-up hair from running his fingers through it, greasier than he ever allowed before, tie rumpled and half-undone, what—

His right thumb catches his eye, just out the corner: nail polish. He didn’t have the heart to take it off, and, well. There’s a little corner of Barbie pink on the inside of the tip, hanging on months later. Taunting him.

Must be pretty quality stuff.

“How old?”

And Steve’s lips part, he intends to answer actually because the drive in him to tell this asshole it’s none of his business and that he needs to fuck off was strangled in a second at the thought of the girls, his three girls, the six little nuggets he always dreamed of, plus one more besides as a bonus, a fucking gift, and maybe it’ll hurt less in the long run to say anything about them to a faceless person he’ll never see again, so he intends to answer, but…

Suddenly he can barely form a coherent thought about his kids, it all hurts too much—like the burning, the wetness caught on his lashes; like that’s flooding full-on in his own mind’s eye as much as his lungs all at once.

He wants to grab for his wallet: he knows there’s gotta be pictures there, he always knew if he did become a dad he’d be that dad and maybe he can’t fucking grasp how he’s here, how it all went wrong, but he, it’s…

He can’t have gotten it this wrong; he might have fucked up the love of his life, somehow—and he knows that’s what it was, the one, came out of nowhere and made him feel more than anything he’d ever known his chest could hold: he might have failed the soft brown curls he can feel against his cheek with his eyes closed, but he’s shaky on the smell of them, the scent of this person he knows that he loved, fuck, no, he knows that he still loves—but he can believe that part. He doesn’t want to believe it, really thought this was different, feels it in his chest that this was so different, and this time was forever—but Steve’s history speaks for itself. Doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want to think it fell apart—again. But.

That said: he swore he’d never be his own parents. He can’t have gone and failed this bad, with his own kids—

“She took them?”

Steve turns—he hadn’t been looking at the pestering asshole, had kind of forgotten he was there. Steve stares at him a little open-mouthed; blinks. The fuck is he talking about—

But it makes sense. Steve got his picket fence and his gaggle of Harringtons, maybe only got a handful of their trips across the country under their belts before it went to shit, before Steve fucked it up like it was always in his blood to do: lost his marriage. Lost his kids.

“For Henry?”

Finally, the man turns away, automatic: so that’s his name. That’s the only reason anyone looks so quick.

Steve…doesn’t know any Henry, but he bristles to hear it anyway. Like a…a back-of-the-mind instinct that it’s a bad name for bad people.

Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s obviously had too much to drink, for now fuzzy him mind is proving; for how quick his eyes are to sting in public—for how much of a mess he is.

How much of a mess it all is—

“Let me grab that, but,” and the man, this Henry, he gestures to Steve’s glass of mostly-melted-ice; “what were you drinking?”

“Old Fashioned.”

Steve’s voice is metal on gravel. He licks his lips.

“I’ll bring you back another,” this Henry, he thinks he can touch Steve’s shoulder as he walks away.

Once he’s reached the bar and shoots Steve a…deeply discomforting smile as he waits on the second drink and—

Steve doesn’t remember what he had been drinking.

But he knows in his core, somehow, that it wasn’t an Old Fashioned.

“Shame they can’t just turn the music off,” Henry slides the drink Steve’s way before sliding back into the seat he was never invited to sit in in the first place; “not loud enough to really hear is it,” and where he’s started the out-of-fucking-left-field comment with more annoyance than Steve thinks it warranted, he hadn’t even noticed there was music playing until now; “but not strong enough to make an impression.”

Henry ends with more…satisfaction, and weirdly, kinda like self-satisfaction, and fuck but this guy’s weird as shit.

“Oh, unlike the drink,” Henry laughs, shifts the mood—or tries to—after a sip of whatever he’s got for himself and he laughs…too forced. Too much like a game, and unsettling for it when Steve doesn’t know the rules, let alone the playbook.

And honestly, Steve is more interested in the music, now, than his unsavory tablemate.

“You were talking about your children,” Henry leans close his arm extended like it wants to grab for Steve’s in something comforting, too presumptuous—Steve moves that closest arm to grab his glass, but not to lift it.

“I’d rather not,” he says as flippant as he can because he doesn’t want to go back to the hurting, to the lack of anything to hold to in remembering that’s still closer to the surface than the actual face of his kids, his kids—

“Don’t see them much,” Henry says, kinda…tuts, like he’s regretful on Steve’s account, and it’s less a question than an observation, but Steve’s face must do something without his permission at those words because to en Henry’s got this too-bright, too eager sympathy painted all over him before he starts damn-near cooing:

“Oh,” he says, breathy, sour at the back of Steve’s mouth somehow; “oh you poor thing, you’re not even in their lives? Barely remember them sometimes, no?” And the weird thing is…he sounds too invested, yeah, but not just like a creepy fucker looking to maybe take a sad sap to bed. It’s…

It’s different.

“Like they never existed.”

Steve doesn’t understand why of all the things this asshole says, it’s that that shakes him, that trips in his pulse in a way he can feel, and hard.

He stares, jaw clenched, at the unsampled drink still in his hand: whiskey.

Like your eyes, sweetheart, just like whiskey in the morning sun, magic and full of their own perpetual light—

“She took the house, I bet,” Henry sighs, shaking his head, while Steve shakes his own from the voice that had floated at the back of his mind through to the front, close, so close and so fucking clear; “your white picket fence. Your Winnebago.”

And he looks over Steve’s shoulder like he’s really aiming at sympathizing, but…

Something about those exact words seems too precise. Lights something up in Steve’s wobbly memories—but the light feels old. Like it’s a thing he did know, once; followed and looked to, but…changed course.

And how the fuck does this jackass know that Steve maybe wanted, ever, or thought he could have wanted but knew it was a past want, a no-longer-want—in the marrow of his bones he knows the way he’s remembers it, if he is remembering it, he knows the last time it left if lips he didn’t mean it anymore, he’d turned toward wanting something else, something somehow more—

His chest feels stretched for thinking all of it through and…something equally uncertain and shimmering, just out of reach: that part knows this.

And is very fucking suspicious of how this fucker sitting across from him knew about a fucking Winnebago he doesn’t even want anymore?

“Love,” Henry, fucking, yes, Steve is now 100% convinced that that’s a bad name, it’s a bad name that means a bad person, his brain might be fuzzy right now but he knows that part: “even if it werereal,” and he says is almost dreamily but more mocking, kinda, but he’s…he’s not sincere in it. At least not the hints at empathy.

Steve knows he’s being played, even without having the rule book. Even without knowing the game.

“It’s never quite enough, is it.”

It’s not a question. But still. Nonetheless.

Love isn’t enough?

Wrong.

That he knows deeper than any narrow. Closer to the soul of him than of the other things his brain has thought it’s known so far, he’s—

Wait.

Wait, why did Steve think that? Whose voice was that, in his head? A deep voice, smooth and sweet and beloved, Steve feels that undeniable in his chest—thinks it might have been the same voice as the one that talked about his eyes, and, he, it’s…

Is that what he lost, the ring not on his finger, the kids he’s apparently walked out on in every way that matters—if the voice is right, if love were enough then why is Steve, why is Steve here, now, and he’s—

It’s always enough..

It’s a man’s voice. Steve tried to think of any man in his life who would say such a thing in the first place—no family, and friends? He—

Maybe not enough to fix everything alone, but it’s the foundation, Stevie. If it really is love, then it’s more than enough to build anything out of, or back up from.

That’s a man’s voice. And it rolls through Steve’s veins like embers, like the light catching precious stones and sparkling prismatic.

Steve may not be able to place the where or the who just yet. But he knows that it’s there.

There was no ‘she’ to take anything from him, not anything that mattered, when it mattered.

It’s the weight of the memory between his lungs and his steady-pounding heart, gaining pace and punch with every breath—the first inklings of some knowing. It’s the face of kids he’d die for. It’s the knowledge in his bones they’re not the only people he’d die for, and that he’d feel his life more than well-served in doing it. More than.

Steve swirls his glass, watching the smoke from the bar haze through real crystal—thick where the cloud in his head is dissipating more every second. It’s a meta…metafort? It’s a thing that’s making a point about another thing. Illustrating it poetically, or whatever.

The smoke left in his head. The clearest thing shining through it is that voice. That voice telling him not just about love, but something crucial embedded inside: this man seated across from him.

That man is wrong.

“What did you say your name was?” Steve asks, because there’s power in redirecting someone’s attention. And Steve feels…electricity building in his body. Lightning in his limbs; familiar.

He’s on the brink of something, and if all of the losses this man is underscoring are the reflection of who Steve’s grown into, after all that he’d sworn not to become what he knew, what nearly ruined him growing up, fucked him up so bad it took another fucking dimension and its literal monsters to yank him back from the path to becoming like the monsters at his mother’s cocktail parties, his father’s business dinners—

If this man, sitting here, is still somehow who he’s become anyway?

If Steve feels on the brink of something, so fucking close—and maybe the thing he’s close to is total oblivion, to whole-on forgetting and decimating any chance of recovering the losses this fuckface across from him with his martini glass has lifted up to the light—if he’s this close?

Last time Steve can remember breaking through the disaster of his present self was swinging a bat, and swinging to crack fucking skulls.

He’s not sure what that means but he feels weirdly inclined to trust it. So…he figures: what’s the harm?

He’d very much like to break this sonofabitch’s skull in, so.

“Could have sworn you did,” Steve finally takes a sip of his refreshed drink—the single sip alone is sharp assault on his tongue, and he bites at his bottom as the taste shoot through the nerves in his limbs and the pathways in his ways and lights them all up at once, and he hears the music in the background make a bigger impact than the way his heartbeat starts picking up in his ears as he set the drink back down, and leans in on autopilot to meet the guys eyes and make sure the way every cell in his body’s waking up is real, is telling him the truth:

“Henry, right?”

The man barely blinks, just hides less a smirk now and more a grimace in the curve of his martini glass.

Fucking bingo.

The clouds are gone. The haze has fully lifted, or at least is on its way. Steve couldn’t have said how much his body felt like a wrong-sized suit before this very moment until this very moment, when it starts to feel like his own again, like this body and every scar it’s marked with belongs to him alone.

“I’m also in the mood for forgetting this evening,” Steve lowers his tone a bit, bats his lashes as subtly as he knows and then tips his chin down the look up through them, a move that’s never failed him once when he really tries:

“Could I persuade you to accompany me?”

Henry tries to play his wordless agreement cool, almost aloof, but now that Steve knows the truth of it all, now that his own mind is clear, it’s so obvious.

Motherfucker’s champing at the bit.

They make it just out the door into the half-packed parking lot before Steve pauses, looks up at the sky—notices the eerie starlessness, the shadowy-faltering veil over the ominous red of the clouds.

“It’s funny,” Steve tells the sky as his eye catches the impression of a bolt of lightning behind the shade; “what you said earlier.”

Henry hums, but it’s…it’s an impatient, or maybe unsettled, at the very least annoyed sort of sound. He wants to leave. He wants to take Steve farther from a neutral setting.

Or at least: neutral by comparison.

“About the music,” Steve tosses his head back toward the bar beyond the doorway. “Too low to really set the ambiance,” Steve agrees, because he knows the why; “but there enough to be,” Steve sucks his teeth, pretends to look for the right word: “distracting.”

Distraction.

Henry stills. Steve isn’t feel patient enough to drag this out any further, really, now that his gaze is clear.

“We knew it wouldn’t work this time, the music,” Steve taunts, feeling the adrenaline suddenly rise in his veins like an untamable force; “you’re not strong enough for it to matter, can’t even lift the tool you need for half your dirty work.”

Literally. Because Steve’s still cognizant. Steve can feel the bleed of the real world—even if he’s floating he’s not down for the count yet. And by rights, he damn well should be—based on all previous encounters.

And yet here, on top of everything, all the memory and clarity rushing back in one heartbeat, one breath—the choice of the cocktail, the song in the background wasn’t a song anyone would know, it was written for Steve and it was in the voice of its composer, probably sang at his side without any instrument to smooth it out to anything less than raw and real—

The last nail in the coffin were the eyes.

“Can barely hear at all, the state you’re in,” Steve kicks at the ankles of the man unraveling before him as the parking lot around them starts to fade into dead trees and shot-red skies; “the bats could have, if they’d made it.”

And there it is, even diminished, even rotting: Vecna’s eyes were always the same; unmistakable. Dead giveaway.

Still full of the same fucking unhinged, megalomaniacal hate.

“She took everything, didn’t she?”

Because Steve knew it didn’t sound right for him, when it was thrown at him beyond all of it being twisted and wrong—that part had felt different, and now he knows why: no woman was taking his house, was dismantling the life he was building with someone his heart belonged to, full stop.

But this sorry excuse for crawling corpse had a young woman whose buzz cut was growing back to her curls again; and she sure as shit took everything, and was poised now to come back for the stragglers and make it final. Make it done.

All this pathetic scrap of not even a man, not even a monster—this pathetic scrap of nothing really was?

Was lingering in the dead space, half-a-ghost on borrowed time.

So Steve thinks, given his role in this was always to be the bait, and to keep him preoccupied until that ill-borrowed time needed returning to its rightful owner, and what was left of Vecna had run out of it entirely—Steve thinks he’s more than entitled to kick this fucker when he’s down.

He doesn’t even feel bad when he trips the bastard up again, too uneven on his disintegrating legs to even try to fight; honesty feels kinda giddy, like he wants to laugh when the fucker let’s loose a fittingly inhuman scream when Steve jumps with both feet on what’s left of his knees, one by one.

“Never tell me my kids don’t exist,” Steve growls, enraged, half-feral at what this creature tried to sell him; “do not even suggest I don’t remember my fucking kids.”

Because Steve could never. Steve would never. He had the nuggets he used to dream of. Almost missed the gift of those shitheads, for too long, in clinging to a different version of it he’d just absorbed from what he thought was the way the world worked; hadn’t yet readjusted to knowing the world worked wholly fucking differently, and the things he heart really wanted of course would shift accordingly.

Had shifted. Goddamn perfectly.

“And it’s wild,” Steve takes a second, considers the writhing vermin on what’s given way entirely from the mirage of anything else than soggy ground, littered with dead leaves, blackened bark.

“I’m really not a whisky drinker,” Steve muses, circling the pathetic heap of this self-style god: some fucking god.

“Not yet, anyway. I’ve been told it’s a drink you have to grow into,” Steve hums consideringly, even as he catches a hand try to reach, try to grab, try to bring Steve down again and sap his energy, the lifeblood in him to steal a few more minutes, a few more gasps before the end.

Steve crushes the hand that darts out from what’s left of the wrist, unforgiving under his heel.

“But you ordered me that cocktail with bourbon,” Steve says, almost blasé, as the figure on the ground writhes and howls.

“I drank a lot, after our first round with you,” he had. Figuring out you might very well be falling in love with someone when that someone’s not guaranteed to make it through the night for too many nights in a row takes a goddamn fucking toll. “Only time I’ve ever touched bourbon,” and it’d been top-shelf shit, his dad didn’t keep anything less on hand:

“Only time I ever will.”

Maybe Steve could grow into enjoying another kind of whiskey in the future but…that taste was always going to be tied to the heart-pounding nightmares, the bitter fear of unmitigated loss.

“Really throws me out of the moment here and now, though, y’know?” Steve makes a point of crushing every individual finger on the hand he’s still got under one shoe with the other. For insurance. “Takes me back somewhere else.”

When the cretin slowly quiets his yelping to heavy panting—and Steve is not above admiring to himself that he does weight crushing his windpipe next because Steve’s not a vicious person, he’s not violent like that but this animal nearly cost them everything, nearly cost him everything.

Might still, if Steve can’t get back out of this half-mindfuck, half-hellscape.

He really, really thinks about it.

“You fucker,” he desires to hiss, to lean down little and catch those wrathful eyes; “you really thought you had me, didn’t you.”

And the second hand tried to shout up to take Steve by the neck, but Steve’s faster, not least because he’s not coming apart at whatever stands in for the cells of a reconstituted corpse multiple times over. He knocks that arm away hard enough to snap something clean enough to echo, and then takes his time repeating the through crushing of wrist, finger, finger, finger, finger, thumb.

And then, because the screaming isn’t load enough for Steve’s liking just now, not for this monster, he decides to see if there’s anything in the crotch area left of this wrinkled ballsack of a man. It never really looked like it, the few times Steve had seen him in full, in better days for his…already-rotting body…thing.

But the pitch of the agony that rings out when Steve grinds his heel down in that general anatomical…area must mean there’s still something.

It’s something like the middle of that scream that Steve catches under his shoe at what’s left of the neck he wanted to crush before but now…now it’s just pressure. Painful. Inconvenience, dialed up to Eleven.

“What’s wrong, Henry?” Steve taunts, meets those eyes with what he knows, means to be a crazed fucking grin:

“Never heard of a Piggyback?”

And those hate-filled go wide, go fearful.

Fucking excellent.

“El, take him!” Steve cries out and feels a seismic wave knock him far from where he was standing, but he’s still grinning wide when he lands far in a heap, knocked hard but…this was the plan.

Everything goes dark very fast after he crumples in the ground, hears mostly yelling—rage and pain, triumph and total decimation—and it’s the last thing he does hear, might be the e last thing he hears ever, save for a desperate cry of one word before it all fucking fades:

“Steve!”

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

…..tbc??😬🫠

SERIOUSLY: I have nothing against people named Henry! I promise! 🫠

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @eternal-sunflowers @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and, oddly, also me!

[captain039]

Wild horses

Drover x reader

Warnings: Light swearing, olden times, sexism, angst, age gap Drovers like 30-40 isn’t he? XD, tension, intimate, eventual smut, violence

I haven’t watched Australia in a while so it’s pretty rusty lol

You follow your sister down the steam boats ramp, watching her fiddle with all her luggage that the poor man behind you is hauling. You brought two suit cases, mainly because you’ve been here before and lived here.

“Ash come on” you sigh heading into town. There bars rowdy, fight breaking out with in as you catch a glance while your sisters things go flying over the muddy ground. Two men fly out, you know one figure instantly, Drover. You step back as he punches a man, he’s got a bloody lip and bruised eye already.

“Cowgirl!” You jolt as you feel something collide with your legs and look down seeing little Nullah hugging you.

“Hey” you smile giving his back a pat keeping your hand on his shoulders.

“What’s going on here?” Your sister says flustered and in a state as the Drover finally looks up from beating the man unconscious. He looks to your sister than to you, then to Nullah.

“Evening” he picks his hat up and nods it standing up off the man as the crowd helps him.

“Drover” you nod to him.

“This is my sister” you introduce the two noticing the way his eyes scan her intently.

“Lady Sarah Ashley” she introduces and you smile shaking your head.

“You take care of Estella while I was gone?” You ask Nullah as he leads you to two horses hitched by the saloon.

“Fed, brushed and water just like you said” the boy says happily and you smile at him going to the horses side gently petting her.

“Hey girl” you greet softly as she nickers and bobs her head almost in greeting.

“I’ll be back ok?” You tell the boy before walking back to the sister.

“Drovers got an old buggy you can load your stuff in Ash” you tell her and she nods huffing softly and whisking a way flys.

“I’ll meet you at the ranch ok?” You add and she looks to you confused.

“You’ll be fine” you grin to her handing your suit cases to the helper Sarah brought along. You head to your horse and mount up before urging her into a walk and heading out of the small town and into the wild country.

It’s peaceful for once, no fancy house or servants running around, you love your sister but she’s a handful sometimes and rather lady like compared to you. Your mother left your father when you were 16 and Sarah was 20, you went with your mother to Australia while your father kept Sarah in England, once a year you’d visit till your mother got sick and passed away then you stayed with your father till now. You follow a familiar trail, taking it slow knowing the route like the back of your hand. You don’t arrive at the ranch till sun down and when you do arrive there’s yelling. You hitch your horse letting one of the house watchers take her before heading inside listening to the argument.

“What’s going on?” You interrupt seeing your sister furious and the Drover with his arms cross his chest.

“This place!” She snaps and you raise an eyebrow looking around. Sure it’s a bit dusty and hasn’t been cleaned in a while but it still looks the same from when you were a kid.

“What’s wrong with it?” You ask crossing your arms across your chest as your sister bristles.

“There are random men and women walking around! It’s not cleaned! There is only one bathroom! And no food!” She lists off and you side glance to the Drover watching him approach you.

“Good luck” he mutters before leaving out the front door.

“Ash I love you, but this is a ranch in the outback of Australia it isn’t the mansion back at England ok. The random men and women have been allowed to stay here on my terms as long as they keep the place tidy. As for the food it’ll be delivered tomorrow like the schedule says there should canned goods though in the cupboard” you explain to her watching her pale face redden before she walks off to the main bedroom. You sigh and head out the front door into the porch seeing Drover chatting with a woman by the old water tank. You frown at the water tank noting the rustiness and the holes before walking over to it. There’s no water in it either.

“Hey you know about this?” You ask Drover jumping off the ladder as he walks closer.

“Nah, only found out now, haven’t been here in a few weeks” he answers and you nod.

“You just gonna ignore me?” He grins head tilting to the side and you roll your eyes before going over to him and hugging him.

“Missed ya rascal” he mutters his hold tight. You let yourself bask in it, his warmth even if he’s a little sweaty, the smell of him, his muscles.

“Yeah yeah old ranger” you grin pulling back as he chuckles and shakes his head.

“So, your sister huh?” He asks and you sigh.

“Whatever she said to you ignore it” you say quickly.

“She was just kicking a stink up about the place” he shrugs and you nod clenching your jaw. You love this place more than anything, you lived here with your mum, around horses and cattle, the people, Drover.

“Hey she doesn’t know what this place means to you” he says softly and you almost hate him for it.

“I don’t think she will” you mutter back shaking your head before you spot a familiar face.

“Magarii” you smile hugging the older man as he greets you.

“Keeping the place tidy I hope” you grin at him as he nods his hat to you.

“Course I am” he grins.

“I appreciate it, really” you smile warmly.

“Anything for you little Cowgirl” he nods his hat again before leaving.

“That nickname didn’t leave did it?” You huff as Drover laughs and shakes his head.

“No it didn’t, Cowgirl” he grins at you.

[mrs-padalecki2341]

Princess (Sam x Reader)

Warnings/Promises: Sam gets jealous, smut, nickname, unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it), I think that's it but lmk

~~~

You strutted over to the bar in your heels and sat down next to the demon you were hunting. The plan was for you to flirt with the demon, get him to let his guard down, and lure him outside, then Sam and Dean would sneak up behind you and kill the demon. Sam, being the overprotective boyfriend he is, didn't like the plan at all, but this demon was stronger than the average demon so the element of surprise was your best chance.

"Hiya~" you smirk at the demon. He turns on his stool to face you.

"Oh, why hello there gorgeous~ What's your name?~" he leaned on the bar and waved to the bartender for another drink.

"I'm Y/n" you responded, sipping your own drink. You saw Sam shift uncomfortably in the corner of your eye, still watching you like a hawk.

"A pretty name to match a pretty face," he says with a smile. "I'm Zander." He moves his hand to touch yours and you see Sam move to come interfere, followed by Dean grabbing his wrist and holding him back.

You let him touch your hand, but when he moves it to try to hold it, you pull away, stirring your drink as an excuse of why you moved.

You kept talking for another minute or two, when he moved his hand to rest on your thigh. You scooted away and looked over to the boys. Dean was practically pinning Sam in his chair, trying to keep him from messing up the plan.

"What's wrong, princess?" Zander asked when you moved away.

As soon as the word left his mouth, Sam threw Dean off of him and stormed over with a deadly stare in his eyes.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, but there was no stopping him.

He turned Zander on his seat and jerked him up by his shirt collar to meet his gaze.

"Only I can call her that." Sam snapped through clenched teeth before using his free hand to jab the demon knife through Zander's throat.

"Sammy, what the hell?!?" You scold him.

"Holy shit," you both look to see the bartender staring in shock. "What is wrong with you?? Get the hell out of my bar before I call the cops."

And with that, you were all in the impala driving back to the bunker.

Dean looked pissed.

"Dean, I-" Sam started.

"Save it." Yep, definitely pissed.

~~~

You pulled up to the bunker after what felt like an eternity-long car ride in complete silence. With the slam of car doors, you all exited Baby and headed inside.

Dean stormed off to his room, and the second he was gone, Sam's lips were pressed firmly against yours, aggressively claiming your mouth with his.

"Mine." He mumbled against your lips.

The two of you made your way back to Sam's room, stopping outside the door. He pressed you against the door, once again finding your lips, before opening it and stepping in, with you right behind him.

You were both already breathing heavily and you could feel the desire pooling in your stomach.

He quickly got to work at undressing himself and you did the same until you were both fully naked.

With one look at you, standing there, bare before him, Sam was all over you.

Sam planted desperate kisses all over your neck as his rough hands roamed your bare figure.

He slid his hands down your back to your thighs, then back up again to cup your ass.

He lifted you with ease and walked over to the bed, laying you down on top of the covers.

You smiled up at him as he moved on top of you, pressing his chest against your breasts and leaning down to connect lips with you.

The kiss was warm and passionate, and hot and needy all at the same time. His lips moved against yours as he smiled into the kiss. You felt his hand envelop your breast and his fingers toyed with your nipple. He gave it a sudden pinch, earning a shocked moan from you, and instantly he seized the opportunity to slide his tongue between your lips and explore your mouth, as if it was planned.

He suddenly broke the kiss and lifted himself up enough to line up with your wet entrance.

He wasted no time with easing into you and instantly began pounding into you at a fast pace.

The sex between you and Sam was usually pretty rough, so you didn't mind, bucking your hips up to meet his as he moved his hard cock in and out of your heated core.

Your voice rises in your throat and leaves your mouth in breathy moans as Sam's hand massages your breasts and his cock massages your aching core.

"Mm, fuck yeah, you feel so good baby." Sam says through groans of pleasure.

He stopped and pulled out for a moment, leaving you empty as your nearing orgasm faded back away.

You opened your mouth to complain when he grabbed you by the hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

He lined his cock back up with your opening, running it against your folds a few times to tease you before pushing back into you.

At the new angle you were in, he was able to slam into you harder and faster, bottoming out with each thrust inward.

With the new, faster rhythm you felt yourself building back up towards your orgasm in no time.

Each time he pushed into you it was like another step was placed down as you built a stairway to heaven.

You lifted your leg to bring it to your chest, giving him better access as both of you panted heavily.

"Mm, fuck, you're so beautiful," Sam hummed as he pushed himself deeper inside of you, his cock throbbing as he struggled to hold back.

"Shit, Sam I'm close," you moaned out as your hands gripped at the sheets.

"Me too. Cum with me, princess~" he reached one of his hands down to toy at your clit, causing just enough stimulation to push you over the edge.

You clenched down around him and came on his cock, setting off his orgasm.

"Fu-uh-uh-uck, Y/n-" He called out as he threw his head back and his hot cum poured into you, mixing with yours.

With one final rock of his hips, Sam pulled out his worn-out cock and smiled down at you, before flopping down next to you with a content sigh.

"I love you, princess," he whispered in your ear before turning you to look at him and placing a soft kiss on your lips.

-SP<3

[impala-dreamer]

What Are The Odds?

A Short Story

~A chance encounter. A dangerous moment. A blossoming romance. Sometimes facing your fear leads to something incredible…~

Sebastian Stan x Reader

3,812 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Panic Attack, Trapped in an Elevator, So much teasing and touching and kissing, Smuts…

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

You’re running late again. Which isn’t too much of a surprise as you’re almost always running late. Heels in hand, you make your way down the hotel hallway towards the lavish elevator doors. The polished marble is cold beneath and you hiss at the first touch before taking off in as brisk a walk as your tight gown will allow. Dressed to the nines for your company’s charity ball, you’re bound by lycra beneath the thin sheath, studded by sparkling gems, and carrying more ice on your neck than currently lives in your freezer.

Truly, you feel like a princess.

But princesses are rarely seen running late and stumbling over a rented dress.

The doors open and you pick up the pace, running as the short ding of the elevator echoes down the hall. Almost immediately, they begin to close.

“Hold the- hold the doors!” you yell, praying that someone’s inside to help.

A hand presses against the left door and the process is halted. Another ding sounds as you hop into the car, an out-of-breath mess.

A giant sigh leaves your lips and you shut your eyes momentarily, willing your heart to slow. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

The voice pulls your eyes open and your breath catches. Tall and handsome, he’s leaning against the wall with one hand in his pocket and the other on the gilded bar. His black suit is immaculate and his jaw is strategically stubbled, the contrast making your head spin.

Blue eyes shine as he looks you over.

“Running late?” he asks, a hint of a laugh on his tongue.

“Always,” you reply, tearing your gaze away and backing up into the opposite corner. You can feel him staring and it takes all your strength not to return the action. Taking a deep breath does little to help as the scent of him floods your senses. A strong hit of lavender then a soothing, woodsy darkness that seems pulled straight out of the past. Rosemary lingers in the air and you have to hold back from exhaling a sultry moan. “Always running late,” you repeat, shaking your head a bit in a pointless attempt to push the heat away.

He laughs gently, his voice playful and flirtatious. “I wouldn’t worry.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, lifting your leg to fit a shoe in place.

His eyes dart to your bare calf and he licks his lips unconsciously. “Whoever’s expecting you will wait.” He smiles and meets your eye. “I’m sure you’re worth it.”

“Thanks” There’s a flip in your stomach and you’re not sure if it’s him or the elevator dipping too quickly. Looking away, you steady yourself against the bar, pull your other shoe on and stand up as evenly as you can. “That’s sweet.”

He turns and leans on the bar, slouching down a bit so his long legs can cross casually. “It’s the truth.”

The stark white of the socks covering his ankles against the polished black shoes capture your attention for no good reason and you sigh. “Well… thank you.”

The car jerks oddly and your hands fly out to grab the bar on either side of you. Nothing happens and you laugh at your nerves.

“I hate these things,” you mutter.

His interest grows and deep lines appear above his raised brow. “Claustrophobic?”

Loosening your grip, you relax a bit. “No. I’m good with close spaces. It’s the falling to my death when old cables snap that scares me.”

He nods and smiles kindly. “Ah, we’ll be fine. Statistically speaking.”

“Oh?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean- what are the odds?”

Feigning a gasp, you turn to face him. “Hey, don’t jinx it!”

Before the words could die in the air, the elevator jerks again, tossing you forward a step. Quick to move, he grabs your arms, keeping you steady. His hands are warm on your bare skin and you pull in a quick breath: shock, fear, and arousal all mixed into one. You stare up at him, eyes wide and jaw momentarily slack.

“Sorry.” Fearing he’s crossed a line, he backs up with his hands raised. “Didn’t want you to fall.”

With your hand on the bar, you pull yourself back together. He’s ridiculously handsome and being this close is startling. Among other things.

“Well, it’s your fault I almost did. Tempting fate and all.”

He laughs softly and nods. “For that, I am also sorry.” Dropping his right hand, he holds it out to you. “I’m Sebastian, by the way.”

It seems almost strange to shake his hand, but you want to feel his warmth again. Gently, you slip your palm against his and smile. “Y/N.”

He stares into your eyes, probing your soul, picking out every little bit of you. You can feel him like a slow, snaking spark of electricity and you wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating.

“It’s very nice to-”

The floor shakes as the elevator jerks to a halt. The brakes squeal in a painfully high pitch; the lights flicker an eerie warning, and a deep, echoing boom vibrates down the shaft as the car slams against the chamber wall.

Panic rises in you, screaming louder than the alarm bell plaguing your ears. Flung back against him, you cling to Sebastian’s jacket and hold your breath, begging the moment to pass.

“No. No. No…”

He holds you tight for a few blessed seconds before moving to the panel beside the door. The buttons are blinking faster than the lights overhead and he slams his palm against the alarm button, silencing the bells.

“Shit.” He presses a few buttons, hoping to reengage the computer. “Come on!”

“Oh my god. Oh my god…” Your entire body is tightening up and your eyes go as wide as saucers. “Don’t break it!”

He looks back over his shoulder, ready to shoot a flirtatious quip your way, but when he sees your worry, he pauses. “It’s OK. It’s gonna be fine.” Another slam into the panel seems to work and the lights stop flickering. The wheels begin to turn and the world seems right again.

A deep breath fills your lungs but comes out as a scream as the elevator suddenly jumps downwards. The drop feels like a thousand miles and you plaster yourself against the wall. Eyes closed and head thrown back, you wait for death, for that inevitable pressure of gravity flattening your body like a pancake dropped from the Empire State Building onto the gum-stained sidewalk below.

It falls a floor and then stops but the damage in your mind is done.

The lights blink out and don’t return; the computer screen shares a bright red “ERR” message, and Sebastian pries open the phone panel below the buttons.

“Don’t worry. Someone will come fix this. I’m sure it’s fine.”

His voice is light and calming but there’s no way you can relax.

“We’re gonna die.” Your thoughts whirl. “We’re gonna die and I’m never gonna know how Lost ended and-”

Sebastian freezes and cocks his head to look back at you. “You never saw the end of Lost?”

Your hands are shaking and your chest hurts but you need to defend your life choices. “I just never- I got busy!”

“It’s been like fifteen years…”

“Really busy!”

The discourse is a welcome distraction and your jaw unclenches just a bit. Sebastian turns his attention back to the phone and he lifts the antique receiver, hoping someone picks up.

“It’s OK,” he says again, and you realize he’s telling himself as well.

His worry kicks yours up a little and your knuckles blanch around the bar. “Please… please… please…”

Someone answers and Sebastian relays the situation, but you can’t follow the words. Either he’s speaking too quickly or your head is too full of death to translate. Visions of crashing to the basement from the seventeenth-floor flash before you and you shut your eyes against them, whispering a prayer you remember from childhood. But really, you reason, if God cared, he wouldn’t have put you in this situation to begin with.

“Hey…”

Your call to God is interrupted and you look up to find Sebastian in your face again. He dips his chin to look straight into your eyes, and you forget the danger for a second as the blue envelops your mind. So deep, so rich, you know you could be swept away at any moment.

“We’re gonna be OK.” His hands hover politely over your shoulders. “The maintenance guy said they already know, and the tech is on the way to help. No more than an hour and we’ll be out of here.”

There’s mint on his tongue and you manage to take a breath, so lost in his closeness that his words sound more like a song.

“So just relax, OK?”

You nod and smile as your muscles ease. “Yeah. OK.”

He grins and moves back, giving you space. When his warmth is gone, his words click in your head.

“Wait… an hour?” Panic returns. “A fucking hour!”

Sebastian holds up his hands in a halting gesture but there’s no way your nerves will calm again.

The car starts spinning in your vision so you move with it, turning frantically on your stupidly high heels. “We’re gonna be stuck here, dangling from a broken cable for an hour?! This is how every fucking horror movie starts!”

He laughs despite your tantrum. “Come on, every horror movie?”

“The ones in my head do!” Another spin and you stumble, the train of your dress catching on your shoe. “Fuck!”

Strong arms catch you from behind and suddenly you’re lying against his chest. It’s oddly perfect; somehow familiar.

It feels right.

“I got you.”

Back on your feet, you turn once again, this time to face him.

“I don’t want to die today,” you tell him firmly. Your eyes are wide with panic, your breath racing faster than your thoughts. “I can’t. I have things to do. I’m late. I’m so fucking late.”

“They will wait for you,” he assures, struggling to keep your gaze and calm you down. “What can I do? Tell me how to help.”

 He’s so sweet, so incredibly handsome with his forehead creased with concern and his pink lips slightly pouting.

“I don’t know! I’m panicking!”

He smiles. “I know. Tell me what you need.”

The shaking has turned into a deep, almost painful shiver that vibrates your entire frame. “I don’t know. I just need… I need to not think for a fucking second and it’ll pass.”

Blue eyes dart around in the void for a moment until an idea sparks. Sebastian leans close and lifts his hands to the side of your face. “May I?”

Unsure of his idea but sure you want his hands on you again, you nod quickly. “Yeah.”

His palms press gently into your cheeks; fingers splay out with a tender heat that flows into you like hot coffee on a cold morning. He holds you there and stares into your eyes again, keeping you safe until the shiver subsides. A smile twitches on his lips and you feel the fear melt.

“Better?”

Without a thought, you push up and into him, kissing his perfectly pink lips.

He startles, eyebrows raising as his eyes close, lungs taking you in with a deep, unexpected breath. He exhales a curious sound somewhere between a moan and an objection and you pull away, stepping out of his space and embrace.

“I’m… I’m sorry-”

Quickly, he shakes his head. He can’t get the words out, stumbling over his shock and desire. “It’s… no. It’s OK. I, uh…”

Shying away, you try to turn, but he grabs your arm and pulls you back. He takes the lead this time, kissing you with purpose and urgency. His lips are soft and hot, his big hands back on your skin. He strokes your cheek and you part your lips for him, gasping as his tongue snakes inside.

Mint and rosemary.

Slick heat and a needy moan.

Panic vanishes and arousal rises. You back up against the wall and he follows. You lick at his lips and he rocks into you, pressing you into the ornate mahogany with his entire weight.

“This is…”

Grinning, he slips a hand behind your head, keeping you close and safe. “Yeah…”

He licks at your lips again and you pull him in, sucking on his tongue while scratching a hand up the back of his neck. He hums and you scrape his scalp teasingly; you tug his hair and he jerks his hips into yours.

Breathless, you pull back an inch to stare at him. Near-death experience or not, he’s gorgeous and your senses are reeling. “Fuck, you’re so hot…”

“Ditto.” Sebastian chuckles lightly at your heated whisper and tips his head back, exposing his muscular throat. He looks down with heavy lashes lidding his beautiful eyes and bites his lips as you trace a finger down the length of his neck. “Feeling any better?”

You hum affirmatively, your lips far too occupied with tasting him to answer fully. He sucks in a breath as you lick at his pulse; moans darkly when your teeth scrape over the sensitive flesh of his ear.

“I guess that’s a yes.”

Ignoring his banter, you push at his firm chest and turn, shoving him up against the wall. He lets you move him, curious as to your plans.

“So much better now,” you whisper, returning to leave a kiss behind his ear. “Thanks.” A deep breath nearly knocks you down as his cologne seeps into your mind and takes over. “Fuck…”

His arms fit around you, hands easily finding their place on your lower back and ass. He squeezes and you let out a noise that drives him crazy. In an instant, he’s back at your lips, destroying your makeup as he tries to drink you down.

Every pulse of his lips makes your pussy throb. Each press of his fingers jolts your heart.

“Of all the elevators in all the world,” he murmurs, “you walked into mine…”

Pulling back, you grab the knot of his tie and tug his chin upward. “Don’t remind me where we are or I’ll start freaking out again.”

Visibly melted by your scolding, Sebastian licks his bottom lip and nods. “Gotcha.”

The tie slides from your fingers as you run your hand down his chest. He sucks in a quick breath and you attack, pulling the exhale out of him with a deep, open kiss. When you reach his belt, you tug and he moans. His right hand lands on your cheek again as he holds the kiss and you slip your hand lower, laying your palm flat against his crotch.

The muscle throbs and you marvel at the feel of him, the thickness growing harder by the second.

“Fuck…”

His head falls back against the wall and you rub him over his slacks, chase his lips, and watch his eyes flutter. He’s beautiful.

“Wait…” He rocks his hips into your hand and you rub a little faster. “I was supposed to be distracting you.”

You grin and suck his bottom lip through your teeth. “I don’t mind.”

Curling your fingers, you find the base of him and smooth your hand down. He stiffens, holds his breath, grits his teeth. His hand clamps down on your wrist and you’re frozen, shocked by the touch and the ease at which he lifts your hand away. In a simple motion, you switch places again and he pins your hand above your head; looks down at you with hunger in his gaze.

“I do.”

Everything fades away as he leans close, holding his kiss back, making you desperate for it. His breath is sunshine on your skin, his fingers like burning embers. Your blood is singing, begging for him.

“Consider me distracted,” you tease, hoping he’ll kiss you again and end your starvation.

Instead of giving in, he bends down and catches the hem of your dress in his hand. His eyes never leave yours, unblinking and intense as he lifts the heavy fabric and bunches it at your hip. He shifts and spreads your legs with his knee as he pushes his hand between your thighs.

The sudden pressure makes your legs shake and you struggle against him, wanting more than the small space and the fancy clothes will allow.

“So warm,” he whispers, still holding back his kiss.

Your pussy clenches and you whimper.

“So needy.” His fingers curl and your teeth dig into your lip.

Your clit is throbbing, your body’s so tight and aching, you wonder if he can feel it through your stockings.

The hand holding your wrist lets go and Sebastian covers your cheek again.

“So beautiful.” He plucks your lips with his thumb and presses the heel of his hand up against your clit in the same moment, drawing a gasp from your lungs. He smiles and gives you his tongue, licking deep into your gaping mouth.

There’s no way you can escape. No way you can strip your layers of clothing away, or drag him to your room and do what needs to be done. He’s growling into your ear as he rubs between your legs, feeling the fire just as intensely.

You grab at his collar, claw at the nape of his neck, pull a fistful of his silky hair. “Fuck. Wanna fuck you so bad…”

His lips follow the line of your throat, teeth dip into the crook of your shoulder. He holds back, afraid to mark you, but the need is there. The pull to leave a tiny bruise behind, claiming you for the evening.

Suddenly, his hand is gone and his thick thigh takes its place. He pushes up against you and you grab at his jacket, holding on as you start to ride him. The friction is heaven but it’s not nearly enough. You want him inside of you, stretching you open, filling you up.

He holds you tight and presses his forehead against yours. Your breaths mix; heavy and fast. Your lip trembles and he slots his mouth against yours. You shudder and he takes over, bouncing his knee as you grind down on him.

“Fuck, I’m so close…”

Your words spin around in his mind and Sebastian gives up trying to hold back. He kisses your throat and then parts his lips, sucking hard at the tender flesh below your ear. The flash of pain breaks you and the pleasure bursts, spreading up from your cunt through every tingling cell inside. You bite down a cry and he pulls back, ready to strike again, lick at your lips, and drive your orgasm higher. A deep hunger takes over as your wetness seeps into his slacks and Sebastian lets out a rumbling growl.

Shaking, you reach again for his belt, determined to pull his cock free and taste him. Once more, he tears your hand away even though he’s painfully hard and desperate to see what your delicious mouth can do. He jabs his knee upward again and sparks ignite behind your eyes. Pleasure takes over and you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you up and braces you on the bar. He kisses your throat, palms your tits; rolls his covered cock against you.

A tug through his hair makes him moan.

A pulse of your hips makes him grunt.

The sound of the alarm pulls him back.

“Fuck!”

Reality crashes down on both of you and Sebastian ducks away, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He can smell you on his fingers and he shivers a bit as your scent is tattooed on his brain.

It’s a struggle to right yourself. The dress falls awkwardly to your toes; your hair refuses to stay in place. Your body is pulsing with energy and it takes all you have not to grab him again.

He’s breathing deeply in the corner, eyes closed and jaw tight.

“I… I don’t know what to say…”

He peeks his blue eyes open as you whisper and tries to find the right words. “Uh-”

The doors open and the moment shatters. He smiles sadly and you turn to the open portal, washed in the bright lights of the lobby.

You’re safe. The Reaper doesn’t want you yet.

The impulse to reach for him is strong, but he shakes his head subtly and hangs back, unable to move just yet.

A pair of drunken twenty-somethings rush inside the elevator, pushing you out. You turn to call to him, but the doors close too quickly, offering you just a final glimpse of deep blue eyes and a sexy smile.

The ballroom is packed with yapping business folk swimming in a sea of black tuxedos and beige gowns. Their voices carry like a mismatched melody on the wind of the jazz band playing by the bar.

Nothing makes sense to you, nothing holds your interest.

The champagne glass warms in your hand and the bubbles tickle your nose.

Your supervisor, Joann drones on about her grandkids, and although you smile and nod in interest, your mind is back in the elevator. When you shut your eyes, you can see his face, so perfectly close. As you take a deep breath, you can smell his cologne. The moment lingers, tugging at your heart. You should have stayed in the elevator. You should have said something, given him your room key, done anything but walk away.

When you open your eyes, a ghost appears in the doorway. Blue eyes find yours, shadowed pink lips curl into a sexy smile.

Your heart swells and your cheeks burn. What are the odds he had been late to the same event? Shly, you turn away to hide your awe as your thoughts swirl. It didn’t seem possible. A look back breaks your heart. He’s gone; a vanished apparition of lustful hope.

“Shit.”

You want to run to the door, search the entire city until you find him again. Before you can move, there are hands on your hips and lips at your ear. You hold your breath and close your eyes as his voice fills your mind.

“You fucked up my suit. My pants are wet.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “I am only partially to blame for that…”

Sebastian laughs softly and slides his right hand forward to rest on your stomach. “I think you owe me.”

“Oh? And what’s the going rate for a Gucci suit these days?”

“Actually, it’s Valentino.”

You huff teasingly. “Well, I’m in trouble then.”

His fingers tense on your stomach and his lips graze your throat. “How about you buy me a drink and we go from there?”

Leaning into him, you turn to capture his lips. “Deal.”

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[thelargefrye]

February Filth Fest : DAY FOUR : PUBLIC SEX ... mature one - shot

pairing : outlaw!mingi x f!reader

genre : western au, outlaw au, smut, slight comedy

word count : 2.2k

warnings : language, mentions of crime, weapons (guns), mention of a bar fight, probably incorrect horse things (you've been warned), murder (yn shoots a guy)

smut warnings : unprotected sex, public sex (in an alleyway)

note : a part of a western au that i've been working on since october, so i hope you enjoy this little teaser

honorary tag : @sanjoongie

the town is thrown into a ruckus when an unknown stranger comes into town, but why exactly is he here and what does he want?

DAY THREE ↤ THE OUTLAW ↦ DAY FIVE

you knew something was going on int town when there was several older women gossiping. and not just one group, but several. someone new was in town, but who?

you knew it wasn't hongjoong, because if it was him then he would have come by to see you. not be in town and causing a ruckus.

perhaps it was just a traveler, they usually come through town to get supplies before leaving to the next town.

"miss y/n," a voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn your head to see one of the younger women rushing over to you. you recognize her as eunha and she comes up to you with a smile.

"have you heard about the stranger that arrived in town this morning?" she asked, voice in a whisper and you raise an eyebrow at her. curious as to what she would say.

"is that what all the fuss is about?" you ask and she nods excitedly at you.

"yes! he's got all the other girls swooning over his looks and how mysterious he is. rode into town this morning on a friesian horse and booked a room at the inn," she says and the color of the horse is what catches your attention.

"a... black horse you say?" you ask, tilting your head to the side and she nods her head.

"yeji saw it this morning and said it was the most beautiful friesian she had ever seen. those are so rare to see in these parts, expensive too," eunha says. you knew how rare that type of horse was in these parts, so it shocked you that this stranger would be riding one.

"would you excuse me, eunha, i need to finish my errands for the morning," you say and she nods, bidding you a farewell before rushing back to the other ladies.

"friesian horse, huh?" you say, clicking your tongue before you continue on your way. you'll have to talk to this "stranger" when you get back to the inn.

just as you're about to step into the inn, you halt in your footsteps as you look at the horse tied to the post outside. the horse and you look at each other before the animal lets out a few nays and sighs. it's hoof driving into the ground and kicking up dirt. you couldn't help but feel see red, fist clenching by your side as you recognize the horse.

you let out a sigh before attempting to calm yourself. putting on a smile as you turn towards the inn doors and walk inside.

"welcome back miss y/n, did you get all your errands done?" the innkeeper, sooyoung, asks as you step into the inn you had been staying at for the past three weeks.

"i did! anything happen while i was out?" you ask, walking over to her and hoping she would tell you anything about this stranger that had the town buzzing.

"got a new neighbor across the hall from your room. i would be careful though," she says, leaning closer to whisper the next part, "fella seems a little too suspicious if you ask me."

you smile at, "don't worry, i'm a big girl that can take care of herself," you say and she quirks an eyebrow at you, but doesn't question you.

"if you say so," she says and you smile before making your way up the stairs and to your room.

as you walk up the stairs, you pull the room key from your dress pocket as you reach the end of the hallway. you put the key into the lock and as you unlock the door to your room, you hear a door behind you open.

you open your room door, but don't go in. "you've made quite the ruckus in town," you say and you hear the stranger let out a deep chuckle.

you turn your body to see the stranger standing tall in all his glory as he leans against the doorframe of his room. a smirk on his face and hat tip just enough to almost obscure his eyes from your own.

and then you feel the rage you felt earlier wash over you as you look at the stranger. you drop your basket to the ground before marching over to the stranger and shoving him into his own room. you watch him stumble back, clearly not expecting you to have shoved him. he barely manages to catch himself, hands landing against his bed as he still falls to the floor.

carefully, as to not alert sooyoung, you close the door behind you before turning. mingi opens his mouth to say something, but you are quick to cut him off.

"you bastard," you said, teeth clenched tightly together, "you stole my horse!" you yell pointing a finger at mingi who looks at you with wide, shocked eyes.

"i-i didn't steal your horse!" he says immediately, as he tries to ease your anger. it doesn't work.

"then care to explain why the fuck my horse is outside the inn right now, when i sure as hell didn't ride her into town?"

"h-hongjoong said for me to take cher and ride her into town," he says, and you frown at his words but you say nothing. so he takes this chance to continue. "he sent for me to come find you, that he received a letter from yunho giving him info on this new gig."

"new gig?" you question, crossing your arms as you watch mingi stand up and sit on the bed. you takes something out of his pocket before handing it to you.

you read the letter, looking between the paper with hongjoong's handwriting and the outlaw in front of you. you turn on your heel, crumbling the paper up before tossing it back to him.

"you're lucky hongjoong saved you or else i would have shot you for riding my horse," you say before leaving the room. mingi watches as you pick up your basket before going into your room and letting the door close behind you.

its a few days later when you are walking through town near the saloon when hear a number of different shouts and other noises coming from the bar. at first you are startled by the noises, eyes darting over to the town's saloon that isn't a stranger to the bar fights that break out every now and then.

however, this bar fight felt different. mainly because you knew mingi was lurking around and being a wanted criminal in a town that frequented other outlaws and bounty hunters didn't look good for him.

"fuck..." you trail off with a huff as you make your way over to the saloon, crouching right below the window. just enough to peek and see what is going on.

and sure enough there mingi was standing in the center with his pistols out and shooting at whoever is also shooting at him.

at least take cover you dumbass, you think, rolling your eyes. you're about to reach for your own pistol, willing to risk exposing your cover to help him when you hear the neighing and whining of a familiar horse.

turning you see cher throwing her head back and forth, front legs up and attempting to kick at the three men who are... trying to steal her.

"hey!" you shout, taking your pistol out and running towards the three men. "that's my horse you bunch of stealin' bastards, get away from her!"

"now little lady–

you immediately cut one of the men off by shooting a warning shot near his feet making him jump up and yelp.

"i told you to get away from my damn horse! now get, i don't miss my shots and that was your only warning."

then men are quick to look between each other before back at you and you notice one of them attempts to reach for his own pistol and you immediately shoot the man, watching him fall over dead.

the other two run off, leaving their dead buddy and you rush over to cher, to make sure they didn't harm her.

"hey girl, i've missed you. hongjoong and san been taking care of you?" you ask with a smile and you pet the spot between her eyes on her head. she lets out a noise and you laugh before hugging her. "hongjoong at least knows how to take care of you. sannie not so much," you tell her.

"i didn't know you were some type of horse-whisperer," you hear mingi say from behind you and you turn to see the outlaw looking at you with a smile. he looks a little roughed up, but probably nothing that has bothered him before. "also, san was taking good care of her. talkin' to her just like you were," he adds.

"she's a smart girl, he better be talkin' and takin' good care of her," you say matter-of-factly. "he learned from the best after all."

you watched as mingi walked closer to you, and that's when you noticed a cut across his nose. you note that'll treat him later when you get back to the inn – if that was even possible thanks to mingi's bar fight and you killing guy.

"whoa, what happened to him?" mingi asked, kicking the foot of the man that laid dead next to you and cher.

"him and his friends were trying to steal cher, so i took care of him," you tell him, "which wouldn't have happened if you didn't leave her alone to get into a bar fight."

"listen i–

"no, not here. too many ears around," you cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips to shush him. you look around before seeing that no one was around before dragging him to the alleyway nearby.

once the two of you were alone in the alley, that was when you started to yell at him.

"god, how could you be so stupid! starting a bar fight, what if yo–

mingi cuts you off by smashing his lips to yours and effectively shutting you up. you are stunned for a second before you return the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull your bodies closer.

you tangle your fingers into his hair and mingi's hand travel down your body and to your waist. however, before he could do anything you gripped his hair pulling him away from you. he let's out a small cry at the grip you have, the two of you out breath from the kiss.

"don't think this means you're off the hook," you say with a serious tone and mingi hums before he's kissing you again.

his fingers come up to untie your dress before you're hiking up the skirt of your dress and he's undoing his pants. you watch his dick spring out, already more than half erect and you wonder if the bar fight had anything to do with it.

you'll tease him later.

you feel a sort of adrenaline run through you as you realize that the two of you are about to have sex in an alleyway that anyone could possibly see the both of you. mingi pulls your undergarments to the side before he's rubbing the head of his cock between your folds.

the two of you let out several moans as you lean against the wall in order to hike your leg up as mingi pushes his cock into you.

"oh fuck," he says, his hand coming up to move your leg to wrap around his waist as he bottoms out into you. "fuck, so tight."

mingi gives you an experimental thrust and takes your breathy moan and your walls squeezing around him as the go head. and soon he's setting a quick pace, and maybe the knowledge of being in the open is fueling his speed.

the two of you don't say anything other than a few curses here and there as mingi leans down to press his lips against your neck. his cock abusing your pussy that hasn't had a cock in it in almost a month. you were desperate to come and encouraged mingi to go faster.

"f-fuck, mingi– f-fa-faster," you say with a moan, leaning your head against his shoulder as you feel your juices begin to leak down your thighs.

mingi doesn't say anything, instead listening to your pleas in going faster and his moans fill your ears as he goes even faster than what you thought was possible.

"i-i'm close," he says in your ear, thrust getting sloppier than usual and moments later he's stilling inside of you. you feel his cock throbbing inside of you as he fills you with his seed. mingi attempts to ride through his own orgasm to help you reach your own.

you also manage to come with a cry of his name, eyes filling with white spots as your head comes back to rest against the wall. you feel your body go limp from exhaustion as mingi rests his body weight against you and the wall for support.

after several minutes, mingi pulls away from you and brushes away any stray hairs that decided to stick to your face.

he opens his mouth to once again try and say something, but you cut him off before he has the chance, "you still aren't off the hook. wait till we get back to camp."

you then fix your dress, retying it before you're making your way out of the alleyway. mingi can only watch in shock at you before he follows quickly behind you.

"hey wait!"

tag list : @frankenstein852 @watamotee33 @kawennote09 @mixling-blog @marahleiwhen @kpopnightingale @harry-the-pottypus @pyeonghongrie @sanniesbum @marvelahsobx @khjcoo @mysticfire0435 @exfolitae @dementedaly @simeonswhore @moonm1st @nvmbheart @spooo00oky @frgogh @sookacc @seongwin @burnsmepls @ad0rechuu @tunaasan @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @cheesekimchi @confusedmoonchild777 @mjyungi @innieontop @iweirdthingsblog @s0obinluvr @worcesheshestershiresauce @moonlightgrleric @wineyoungie @jeongwangjessmina @lemineso

networks : @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

[bidisasterevankinard]

I’ve just woke up and the fandom is so down after that interview… but we still have reasons to be hopeful, right?

I read that int bc another nonny was feeling down and it's like that Lou's exist one. "journalist" trying to make it like "bt is done and buddie canon trust!" Don't read any int, esp that start with "Buck is in love with Eddie" and not just start but has it's as an title

Oliver is the guy who loves to not stop buddie fans too much (I can see the reason bc he WAS death threaten before and he's careful with words to make them watch.) But read his answers he went from the question and was polite, PR trained and literally said "idk waht will happen but i'm down". And it's for bt too. I'm not sure if he actually still doesn't know if bt will be back together or understood who he talks to and just didn't say it, but I don't see him being against it (The man literally was down for whole make out scene that was really good ) (also that tv insider video where he was ready to kill when he was asked if Buck is lying about not being in love with Eddie)

Don't read any of that shit buddie "journalists". write (you give them money with it btw bc they have cloud from your read). Look at TV and for now show is def is hopeful for bt. GA don't read that shit, they watch screen and they see that Buck is crazy about Tommy and Tommy wants him too, but they need to work over their shit

I'm carefully optimistic, 8x6 left big pain and not trust to 911, but for now they did too much stuff to keep the bt alive for GA. Why baking and talking about Tommy every episode after break up? Why show Buck still interesting in trying again and Tommy too? Why show whole bar, hook up and mornign after scenes? Too much just for Buck to lose Tommy easily

Show is close to an end. It's inevitable and set Buck to finally be happy with Tommy is their best shot

So yes nonny till 2-parter, and I even going to say till finale bucktommy has more than enough reasons to reconcile than break up forever

[axicallian]

Starstruck [Ninjago x Male Reader]- Ninjaball Run

Lloyd let out strained groans as he supported his body one one arm. Not only was he supporting himself but the other ninja and Master Wu who sat atop the human tower. M/n looked on in concern at the child's feat, his tail flicking nervously behind him.

"Focus," Wu demanded as he calmly poured his tea, "In order to bear the fate of Ninjago on your shoulders, you must first learn to bear the weight of all of us."

"Focus," the old man repeated after sipping his tea.

M/n's dragon ears perked up at a curious noise outside and was excited to investigate before the demands of his guardian on Lloyd gave him a heart attack. He quickly escaped through the dojo door without the others noticing.

"Sensei, I'm starting to think this was a bad idea," Jay, who was perched on Zane's left shoulder, spoke up.

Cole seconded, "Yeah, Sensei, he's just a kid," as he tried to keep balance between his Sensei on top of him and Zane below him.

"In order for him to succeed, we must all trust one another," Wu waved off his students' concerns.

Machinery sounded in the background, everyone too focused to notice. A giant crane appeared in the windows of the dojo with a large wrecking ball attached. M/n can barely be seen outside telling off the workers in the large machine but they ignored him. He transformed into a dragon in order to physically stop the construction workers. The giant metal ball came swinging at the dojo and M/n intercepted it, causing his back to hit the front of the dojo, shattering all the windows.

The commotion outside and M/n's contact with the building causing the tower of ninja to scatter onto the floor. The shaken ninja graon and rise to their feet slowly.

"What was that?" Cole inquired with a hand on his throbbing head.

Dareth came sprinting though the beaded doorway and outside, yelling "WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!!!! This wasn't supposed to happen until tomorrow!"

Past M/n's giant form the ninja could see the construction vehicles and annoyed workers who were barred from doing their job. The conversation could be heard clearly through the now empty window frames.

"Tomorrow?" the foreman, who had previously berated the dragon, questioned. He demanded from his coworker, "Let me see that order."

The man examined the slip of paper, "Oh, yeah. My bad. Sorry 'bout that. We'll be back in the morning," he replied casually, leaving with his equipment and workers.

Dareth somberly returned inside, picking up one of his fallen trophies with a sigh. The ninja gathered around the dojo owner while M/n stuck his dragon head through the used-to-be-windows inquisitively.

"Dareth, what is this all about?" Cole asked genuinely.

"Well, I fell behind on some of my payments and some developer named "Darnagom Enterprises" is buying the entire block to put in some stupid frisbee-golf course," Dareth explained, "They say if I don't come up with 50,000 by tomorrow, the dojo is gone"

M/n gave the brown-clad man a gentle nudge with his muzzle to reassure him.

"But, we already lost the Bounty. We can't lose the dojo.." Jay worried.

Dareth got on his hands and knees and held his bronze cups to his chest "My trophies. Oh, my fakes trophies!" he cried.

"Wait a minute," Zane said through Dareth's sobs, "'Darnagom'? When you rearrange the letters, it spells—"

"'O grandma'?" Jay guessed, earning a slap on the back of his head from Kai.

"No! Garmadon," the hothead corrected with a scoff.

Jay rubbed his head and chuckled awkwardly, "Right! That would make more sense."

"Ugh, my dad is behind this?" Lloyd groans.

"If he destroys the dojo, where will we train Lloyd?" Cole asked to Wu.

Dareth scootched up to the old man, still on his knees, and eyed the blue teapot, "Any chance you got 50,000 in that teapot of yours?"

"Worry not, Dareth. You're not in this alone. We're all with you," Wu replied, pulling the dojo owner to his feet.

"Did someone say 50,000—?" Nya began, hopping through the windowless frames casually.

Jay quickly interrupted the girl, much to her annoyance, "You didn't happen to win the lottery?"

"No, but I did hear about Ninjaball Run!" She announced dramatically.

"Ninjaball Run?" the ninja parroted while M/n just tilted his head.

"It's the biggest road race in Ninjago, with a prize of 100,000 big ones," she explained, "And it's tomorrow."

"I thank you, little lady fighter, but you're talking about the most dangerous race known to man.." Dareth said theatrically, "Only the most serious of racers even stand a chance.."

"But didn't you just do a few upgrades on our Ultra Sonic Raider?" Kai inquired to his sister who nodded in response, "Maybe we might stand a chance."

Lloyd chimed in, "And we have M/n! He'll give us an air advantage!"

"So it is agreed," Wu announced, "You will all enter this 'Ninjaball Run' to save the dojo."

"Are you still crying?" Nya asked with a comforting hand on Dareth's shoulder.

"Yes. But these are happy tears," he sniffled.

~

The next day the ninja arrived at the Ninjaball Run location. There were several bleachers with audience members chatting and eating popcorn. Many lines were painted on the asphalt to indicated the starting positions of the competitors. Banners and posters hung across lights and on the sides of structures. Near the spectators an announcer booth stood tall with two men inside wearing headsets, projecting their voices to everyone in the vicinity.

Jay piloted their giant Sonic Raider into their starting spot. The ninja gathered in front of the vehicle, talking and observing Nya perform last minute checks and repairs.

One of the announcers' voices rang through the speakers, "Welcome, everyone, to the 14th annual Ninjaball Run!"

The other, in a green hat that matched his green jacket, shouted, "The Grand Prix where it doesn't matter how you get there, as long as you get there first!"

The first one announced, "Well, let's take a look at the racers."

The hat-clad one chimed in again, "I see the starter's line. We have a few familiar faces."

M/n landed as gently as possible next to the postman but his wing grazed the man's bike, almost toppling it. "Hey! Watch it, you big oaf!" he yelled with his fist in the air.

M/n only huffed but Lloyd wouldn't take the disrespect. The blonde threw his now empty juice box at the postal worker, clocking him in the head. The dragon gave a purr at pushed his head back against Lloyd as a thanks.

Nya hopped off the hood of the vehicle she wiped her brow and began explaining the change she made, "One final thing: I installed a pretty cool upgrade so if you're ever in a really tight spot, pull that lever because what it does—" she was interrupted by Brad and his classmates in a bus (which none of them had a license for) revving their engine. She continued to explain but to no avail, the ninja couldn't hear her.

"What?!" Kai yelled over the commotion.

The group could only catch glimpses of what she was saying, "..Pull that lever, because if you pull that lever.."

"Alright, the race is about to start. And officials are saying pit crews must take their places," one of the announcers narrated over Nya.

"...only under those circumstances and no other," she finished her explanation with the ninja casting confused glances at each other.

"We're about to begin!" the commentator's voice rang through the speaker.

"That's my cue. Gotta go!" she gave a swift salute before jogging to join the rest of the audience, "Good luck!"

"Wait, Nya, we couldn't hear you!" Kai exclaimed, reaching toward his sister, who couldn't hear him either over the commotion.

A large truck painted blue and red with a 'Royal Blacksmiths' sign on the side pulled up to the starting line with four men standing on the truck bed in matching outfits humming the same tune.

"Hey it's my dad," Cole pointed out.

Another vehicle pulled up next to the Royal Blacksmiths, a large, silver, custom-built car with several more lights and tires than the usual vehicle. It gave a honk to the group of boys as Edna hopped from her seat, excitedly waving to her son.

"Oh, no.." Jay sighed with an exasperated hand on his forehead.

"Jay! Jay! Oh. Oh, look, he sees us, Ed," the hyperactive woman shouted between her son and husband.

"I see him, Edna," Ed replied calmly, "You don't have to embarrass the boy."

"Is there anyone we don't have to compete against?" Jay whined, turning away from his parents.

Out of nowhere an underworld portal opened out to reveal Kruncha and Nuckal atop their giant, skull-themed monster truck. Next to them were Captain Soto and a few of his crew manning a soccer mom van. The ninja gape at the giant truck which made for steep competition.

"Wait a minute, it appears some skeletons have crashed the party. Is this against the rules?" the green announcer inquired.

The other replied, "Rules?" and laughed, "There's only one rule in Ninjaball Run, and that is cross the finish line first." A big map was brought up onto the screens which only showed ads previously. The map displayed the track that the competitors would be racing on. "Let's take a look at the course. The first grueling leg starts on the streets of Ninjago City and empties out into the treacherous Sea of Sand," the screen changed to pictures of the named places as the announcer kept talking, "Racers, look out for the dangerous crater way known as Crash Course Canyon, where the slightest mistake can be your last! The next two legs of the race take us into the winding maze known as the Birchwood Forest, and then through the perilous and icy Glacier Barrens. Finally, in the fourth and final leg, racers must beat the desert heat in the Badlands, which then takes us back to the finish line here in the heart of Ninjago City!"

During the announcement all the ninja had gotten in their seats with their hands on their controls. "I don't know, guys, if we're gonna save the dojo, we're gonna have to beat some pretty stiff competition," Kai worried, looking down the starting line.

"One final word: let's have a good clean race!" the white-jacket announcer cheered which contradicted his encouragement of no rules.

Gene and another schoolboy left their bus and used a screwdriver to dig out a screw from the ninja's vehicle tread system. The redhead left out an annoying snort and giggle before climbing back into his own car.

"So good luck to everyone!" the commenter pointed out to the viewers.

On the TV a traffic light appeared, flashing red. Then it flashed yellow to indicate to the racers to get ready to drive. The competitors roared their engines in preparation then the light finally turned green causing the vehicles to start speeding down the track. A yell came from the speakers as the race started, "Ninjaball GO!"

M/n quickly threw himself into the air, startling Lloyd who had been too lost in thought to realize the race was starting. The boy clung to the dragon who slowed down a bit. Once Lloyd was adjusted to the flying he patted M/n's side twice, a signal they decided meant the dragon could go faster. They gracefully glided above the other racers, swerving around buildings and around bends. In order to avoid any tricks the other competitors may have M/n took a different turn, leading him to an alternate route.

The ninja barely got away from the starting line before the tread on their left got tangled and they were forced to come to a stop.

"What happened?" Zane inquired, looking out the window to assess the Sonic Raider.

"We've been sabotaged!" Cole exclaimed at seeing the broken tread. The ninja exited the vehicle to take a look at the smoking part.

"Ooh, things just got interesting. And it seems some new competitors have entered the race," the speakers boomed, causing them to turn their attention to the screen. the ninja could see that the serpentine were now on the track in a familiar snake-like bus. "Meanwhile, the ninja remain at the starter's line in dead last!"

"Oh, great! We're already out of the race!" Jay threw his hands into the air while his friends examined the tread.

"We can't quit now, not with everything that's on the line. Help me lift this thing," Cole proposed as he held the underside. The group rushed over and strained to lift the left side of the vehicle. Once there was an opportunity Jay readjusted the tread and Kai reconnected it.

They rushed to remount their vehicle and reenter the race. "So that's how this is gonna go. Alright, boys, let's do this!" Kai grinned competitively. They revved their engine and roared down the track.

~

The Ultra Sonic Raider came speeding up to the canyon, observing the pirates who crashed into the sandstone.

"Yeah! We're no longer in last! Things are looking up," Jay exclaimed.

At noticing the giant shadow looming over them, the ninja slowly turn their heads to the sky. Their ship, now the Black Bounty hovered menacingly above them with snakes all over the deck.

"Oh no! Garmadon!" Kai hissed.

"What!?" Jay chirped with irritation, "we're sitting ducks! There's nowhere to run!"

Garmadon and the Serpentine prepared the canons to be fired and just as they lit the wick there was a resounding roar. M/n had turned tail and was heading back to protect the ninja. Using Earth from Cole, the dragon hit the front of the ship head-on causing it to slow and the cannonball to miss the Raider. The Black Bounty swerved because of the force of the blow and all its occupants being thrown around including the pilot.

M/n returned to going the right direction a little to fast, Lloyd slipped up his neck and held onto his horns. This gave the boy the perfect opportunity to speak with the ninja speeding just below them.

"Nice going!" Kai appreciated with a toothy grin.

"You saved us!" Cole beamed.

"We did?" the boy wondered before realizing, "I mean, yeah, we did! Hey, what do you say we work together?"

"Yeah, I say let's show 'em what we ninja are all about," The Lightning Ninja declared.

"Ninja, go!" They all cheered in unison.

M/n raised his head high allowing Lloyd to slip back down his spine. The group took off maintaining the same speed in order to look out for each other.

The sandy desert abruptly turned to barren winter as the ninja caught up to the competition. The ninja and M/n watched as the truck of the singing quartet caught on a fallen tree, sending them into a pile of snow. The four men continued singing, now singing about losing the race, "Too big, too big. Too slow, too slow. We had a lead but let it go."

Cole facepalmed and sighed, "oh, man."

"We'll never get through those trees to catch up," Kai groaned.

"We'll find a shortcut!" Lloyd responded, signaling M/n to gain altitude. The duo shot up and found a different path through the trees before swooping back down to the Raider. "Follow us!" the boy called.

They sped through the more wooded path with ease and were spat out right next to the rest of the competition. Lloyd whooped and cheered from the back of the dragon.

"Wow they make a good team," Jay remarked.

"And it looks like we've made up the lost time," Cole chimed.

The skeletons noticed the two different racers working together and grumbled to each other about it. They positioned themselves behind the dragon and using a grapple that looked like a skeleton hand, grappled to M/n's ankle. The dragon growled in annoyance and tried to shake it off but Kruncha and Nuckal used their momentum to drag him and Lloyd to the ground. As M/n fell into the snow he made sure to make a safe landing place for Lloyd using his wings. The boy let out a small groan as he landed while the dragon give an annoyed huff.

The skeletons didn't realize they were still hooked to the dragon. As they cheered their vehicle got tied around a tree and kept going around until they ran out of momentum. The two boneheads emerged from the snow and fought like children, slapping each other's hands. M/n roared at them for ruining their place in the race to which they both let out a girlish yelp.

The ninja turned their heads toward the commotion but kept going, Zane's gaze lingering the longest. The Nindroid felt guilt bubble in his stomach at not helping him comrade who he felt did so much for them. Suddenly his mind was wandering, thinking of M/n's selflessness, his elegant manner, his soft hair, his gentle eyes. Now he just wanted to be back at their shitty apartment cuddling again, tail wrapped around his legs, head against his chest, dragon ears flicking with soft breaths.. Oh right, they were saving the dojo.. good thing he wasn't driving.

~

The terrain changed from forest to cliffs as they drove past people playing in the snow. The police who had been chasing Skales but now were participating in the race, collided with a snow structure. Likewise the mailman ran straight into a snowman and veered off the track.

Kai watched the competitors crash and jeered, "Finally. Nothing can stop us now."

The engine starts to cut out and splutter. Zane quickly checks the dash for problems, "Oh, no! We've used up all of our fuel! We're not gonna make it to the finish line!"

"Oh, I don't want to say it, guys," Jay sighed "but I think our goose is cooked." (I've literally never heard that phrase in my life)

Ed and Edna pulled up next to them, honking their horn. "You guys look like you could use a hand there," Ed called to the ninja, "We heard on the radio that you're all trying to save Dareth's dojo," his accent peaking through.

"Oh, yeah, we're so proud of you, son," Edna agreed in an accent matching her husbands.

"Oh, thanks, mom, but we're out of gas," Jay admitted.

"Ooh, then take ours," She chirped.

"But how? If we stop, we'll lose the lead," Jay inquired.

Ed held up a makeshift tube, "Well, then we'll just have to do this the hard way, son."

He exited the driver's seat and let his wife take over driving down the snowy hill. He shimmied his way to the gas cap of his vehicle and stuck one nozzle of the tube in. "Take this end, son," he held out the other end for Jay to grab.

Jay carefully climbed to the back of the jittery Sonic Raider, "Keep it steady," he told his friends piloting the vehicle. He threw the filler cap open, trying to keep his balance. Ed reached across the chasm between the cars and handed him the other end, "Here you go, son."

"Ready, dad," he affirmed once the nozzle was in place.

Ed pulled down a lever on the hose, causing the gasoline to transfer from Ed and Edna's car to the Ultra Sonic Raider. Two snakes who had fell from the Black Bounty onto the Serpentine bus, jumped onto the Raider next to Jay. "Ninja, go!" he yelled, spinning into a tornado of blue light and fighting off the snakes. "Need some help, guys," he called to his friends.

"We've got your back," Zane replied, now on the roof of the vehicle with Cole. "Ninja, go!" the duo yelled; one fended on snakes from the roof and the other fending off Serpentine from the hose.

Jay jumped across the gap to defend his parents. He and Cole packed snow into balls to throw at the snakes but one such snake flew off the Raider and toward Enda. The reptile managed to grab the steering wheel, making the jalopy (i had no idea that's what their vehicle was called lmao) spin out of control. It knocked into the Raider also causing it to lose grip of the snow and start sliding. The Serpentine bus was knocked into a spin and Brad swerved the bus to avoid the chaos but lost his tires' grip. Everyone held onto their vehicles for dear life, screaming and yelling.

All the vehicles can to a stop at the bottom of the hill, the Sonic Raider ending up undamaged but the rest of the cars were in a smoking pile. Cole and Zane were ready to enter their vehicle and race once more but Jay yelled, "Wait! Stop!" He ran up to his parents who were now out of their broken jalopy. "Oh, thank goodness you're okay," he sighed, taking off his ninja hood.

"Oh, we're fine, son," Ed reassured, "Just wish I could say the same for the old jalopy."

"Yeah. Shame she didn't get to the finish line," Edna lamented.

Jay takes a piece of the broken headlight, "I'll make sure a part of her will," he beamed before running back to the Raider and attaching the piece to the vehicle. " Let's go. We've got a dojo to save," he declared as the Raider sped off.

"Go make us proud, son," Ed breathed, holding his wife close, both watching their son ecstatically.

~

Snow turned back into sand as the ninja made it to the Badlands. Finally having a road to drive on, they were able to speed closer to Ninjago City. The only competitor left was Garmadon on the Black Bounty as Cole pointed out, "Looks like it's just us and Garmadon."

"This time let's make sure the good guys don't finish last," Kai smirked, speeds up to pass the flying ship.

Suddenly the earth began shaking and cracking. The ground split open and giant pieces of land fell away; a giant chasm opened up in the ninja's path. They skidded to a halt to avoid falling to their deaths.

"That's totally cheating!" Jay barked as Garmadon passed them.

"Guys, it's impossible to cross that divide," Zane stated.

Kai had backed the vehicle up 1000 feet or so and he examined the control panel, eyeing the lever Nya spoke about.

"We're not gonna win now!" Jay complained.

"Wait a minute. This ain't over," he insisted, gripping the handle of the mystery lever, "Everybody, hang on!" he accelerated toward to gaping hole in the earth.

"Uh, you do know we're heading straight for that cliff, right?" Jay worried, "you're sure that's a good idea?"

"I haven't had time to think it through," the hothead replied, "what was it that Sensei said? You gotta have trust."

"Yeah, in each other, not in miracles!" Cole retorted as he held Zane who sat in front of him.

"Oh, Nya, don't fail us now," Kai begged as he pulled the lever, "Alright, NOW!"

The top portion sprouted thrusters and launched itself from the bottom section. Jay, Cole, and Zane were forced to leap from their seats to Kai's part of the Raider. The jet-like contraption flew across the ravine with no difficulty and continued, speeding up to surpass Garmadon. The two competitors approach the city and cross the finish line at similar times,

The announcer declared through the speakers, "It looks like it's going to be a photo finish!"

The ninja's vehicle landed harshly on the ground and they were quick to dismount. The audience surrounded them and lifted the group up, chanting, 'Ninja! Ninja!'

"I won. I won! Clearly I passed the finish line first!" Garmadon snapped as he jumped onto solid ground.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!" the speakers interjected. Everyone turned to the monitors to see the result, "The ninja! The ninja have won!" The screen showed that the headlight from Ed and Edna's jalopy was the first thing to cross the finish line.

"Yeah! I knew it would bring us luck!" Jay rejoiced as he held the piece of vehicle in his hands.

"No! That's not fair!" Garmadon fumed, "That wasn't even part of the vehicle in the first place! It's not even street legal! My ship was—"

"Your ship?" Lloyd's sly voice interrupted. Everyone turned to see the boy on M/n's back who held the beloved jalopy in his claws and had Ed, Edna, and the quartet on his back. He gently set the Walkers' damaged vehicle down before landing and letting his passengers off. "I believe this belongs to us," the Green Ninja declared, standing on the deck.

"No! No! No!" the oni whined, now being surrounded by police cars.

"Alright, Garmadon, you're coming with us," An officer stated after exiting his vehicle and approaching the Lord of Darkness.

Skales drove up to the chaos in his snake-bus and opened his door to Garmadon, "Look who needs who now," he taunted. Despite his pride, the oni begrudgingly boarded the bus which sped off before it could be stopped.

Ed and Edna approached their son, the older woman giving him a kiss on the cheek, "We're so proud of you! We knew you could do it!"

Ed chuckled, "When did you get a dragon? They're so well trained."

Jay scratched the back of his neck, "Actually he's a dragon shifter, so he can turn into a dragon."

The elderly couple looked to the dragon in surprise. Ed started "Oh dear! I didn't mean that—"

M/n approached as a humanoid with Zane at his side and interrupted the man, "It quite alright, I promise."

Edna blurted out, "Wow! You're a cutie."

M/n's ears perked then drooped, his hand coming up to cover his red face, "Thank you, ma'am.."

"Oh, you can call me Edna, dear!" Jay's mom chirped.

Zane's chest warmed at the scene. He knew Wu was the dragon's only parental figure (and he wasn't a great parent anyway) so to see M/n bonding with an adult in a parental manner and not a teacher/student relation made him smile.

After Ed and Edna stop conversing with M/n, he decided to introduce himself to Cole's dad as well. The ninja were basically his family so their family mattered to him too. The dragon approached Lou and his son and held his hand out to the mustached man. "Hello sir, we haven't met before but I'm M/n, a friend of Cole's," he introduced.

Lou perked up at hearing his name, "M/n? My son talks about you all the time!"

"Dad!" Cole chided with a red face.

The two pretty much hit it off, Lou enjoying M/n's mature nature and M/n enjoying the man's stories about his son and quartet.

( @sir-aadiboii a chapt jst for you)

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Country Christmas

pairing: zach top x f! reader

The barn glowed with warm golden light, festive garlands strung along the rafters, and the hum of holiday cheer filled the space. It was Christmas Eve, and the annual town party had everyone in high spirits. Snow blanketed the world outside, but inside, it was all music, laughter, and the rich smell of cider and cinnamon.

Zach Top leaned casually against the bar, a beer in hand. His gaze wandered over the room, taking in the crowd of familiar faces until it landed on her.

She was standing by the dessert table, wearing a fitted sweater and jeans that hugged her figure just right. Her hair caught the light, gleaming with hints of warmth, and when she laughed, it was soft but captivating, like it didn’t belong to the chaos of the barn but rather to a more intimate, quieter moment.

Zach tipped his hat slightly, his lips curving into a small smile. But when her sharp gaze cut through the room and locked onto him, she didn’t react the way most women did. No flustered smile, no glance away. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, smirked, and turned back to her friend, completely unfazed.

That smirk, that little flash of defiance, hooked him instantly.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, taking a long sip of his beer.

Normally, he was quick to approach someone who caught his eye a tip of his hat, a smooth line, and he’d have them laughing in minutes. But something about her held him back. She wasn’t the type to swoon over a cowboy with a guitar. She had sharp edges, and he liked the challenge they promised.

He stayed put, stealing glances at her every chance he got, watching as she laughed, gestured animatedly, and sipped her cider. He caught himself smiling more than once, though he’d never admit it out loud.

“C’mon, cowboy,” one of his buddies teased, nudging him as they passed by. “You’ve been staring at her all night. Gonna talk to her, or are you writing a song about her in your head?”

“Maybe both,” Zach replied with a chuckle, but inside, his nerves buzzed like the first time he ever stepped on stage.

Finally, after finishing his beer and talking himself into it, he squared his shoulders, adjusted his hat, and made his way across the room. She was mid laugh again, her head tipped back slightly, when he stopped a few feet away.

“Is this where all the sass comes from?” he asked, nodding toward the cider in her hand.

She turned to him, her smirk already forming. “And here I thought you’d just keep staring all night. Took you long enough, cowboy.”

“Didn’t want to rush it,” he said smoothly, tipping his hat. “Some things are worth waiting for.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving as if she was sizing him up. “Is that one of your lyrics, or do you save the corny lines for parties?”

He chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

She tilted her head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm. Tempting. But if you’re going to interrupt my quest for dessert, you’d better make it worth my while.”

“Well,” he said, glancing toward the table, “how about we make a deal? You let me steal a dance later, and I’ll split the last slice of pecan pie with you.”

Her smirk deepened, her eyes sparkling. “Bold of you to assume I’d share.”

He laughed, his confidence growing. “Fair enough. But if I can’t have the pie, I’ll settle for your name.”

She held his gaze, letting the moment linger before finally saying, “Y/N.”

“Zach,” he replied, his voice dropping slightly. “And just so you know, I’ve been working up the nerve to talk to you all night.”

“Really?” she teased. “You don’t strike me as the shy type.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, a grin tugging at his lips. “But you’re not like anyone else here, and I didn’t want to mess this up.”

Her breath hitched slightly at the sincerity in his voice, but she recovered quickly. “Well, now that you’ve got my attention, what’s the plan?”

“Dance with me,” he said, offering his hand.

She hesitated for a split second before sliding her hand into his. His grip was warm and firm, and when he led her to the dance floor, the barn seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them swaying to the soft strum of a guitar.

The air between them shifted, the teasing banter giving way to something quieter, more intense. His hand rested lightly on her waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her sweater. She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes searching his, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

When he leaned in, it wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It was deliberate, like he’d been waiting for this all night. Their lips met in a slow, heated kiss, his hand sliding up to cradle her jaw as she pressed closer.

When they finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her breath warm against his. “So,” she said, her voice soft but still laced with sass, “do you kiss all the girls who insult your hat tips?”

“Only the ones who steal my pie,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers again.

She laughed, shaking her head as he pulled her closer. “You’re lucky you’re charming, Zach.”

“And you’re lucky I’m not giving up that easy,” he replied, his grin wide and unrepentant.

Christmas Eve had never felt so magical.

should i make part 2?

[classicrocknlove]

~Jimmy Page Fanfiction~

Spread Your Wings

“I’m just looking for an angel with a broken wing…. But somehow, they always seem to fly, fly away…”

-

Chapter Four

Night of July 26th, 1973.

-

Cynthia’s P.O.V.

The driver arrives at the bar and I spot Richard out front talking with a couple of fellows. I approach him and he notices me, gaping at me from across the narrow sidewalk in front of the bar.

“Cynthia?” He asks, almost incredulously. He looks at me up and down, once, twice, three times. I suddenly feel uncomfortable and my usual shyness creeps up my red neck. “You look… just bloody tasteful! Come, the boys are inside.” His “compliment” furthers my shyness, I didn’t like the feeling he gave me. But, I stride next to him with my head held high despite it.

As I walk in next to Richard, I am met with the smells of cigarette smoke, people, and sounds of music throughout the bar. It is dimly lit, but as Richard escorts me through the crowds of people hanging around, I see the gang of Led Zeppelin at a corner booth.

Robert’s golden locks are what catches my eyes first. He is sitting in the middle of the booth, Jonesy on his left and a bleach-blonde young woman on his right. She was stroking his hair as Richard tugged me forward.

“Ah, lass! You’ve arrived in one piece! And my God, look at you!…” Robert exclaims at me with his crooked smile, making everyone in their huddled crowd turn their heads toward me.

I throw a quick, but nervous smile to Robert and I spot Bonzo making his way toward me.

“Cynthia! What kept you so long? I’ve almost drank the bar out of bloody whiskey!” Bonzo comes raving towards me and pulls me into an embrace.

“Now, how about that inte- interview?” Bonzo slurs as he pulls away and I laugh.

“How about we sober up a bit and hit it hard tomorrow when you are fresh?” I ask and my poor choice of words made Bonzo ‘woo-hoo’ to the boys. At that moment, I spot Jimmy. He is standing next to the booth with a drink in his hand, the whiskey in his glass only leaving a gulp left.

“‘Hit it hard’ tomorrow? Well you do look wonderful tonight but I think ol’ Pagey would have my head!” Bonzo laughs and my eyes widen.

Jimmy is staring at me, his eyes dark and his face is taut. His gaze never leaves my body as he looks at me up and down with hungry eyes and I quickly look away. Even in this dim light his eyes are a stunning emerald green and he looks like a painting. I was suddenly very conscious of my look, the boys pointing out my new and risqué look tonight did not help. My cheeks began to blush.

“Oh, don’t mind him. But you do look fantastic!” Jonesy added and Robert nods. “Love the frock. Ravishing!” Robert smirks and I return the smirk. My anxiety is through the roof and my face feels as red as a tomato but I insist on keeping my cool.

There are several other individuals at the table whom say their greetings, excluding Jimmy, who refused to even say a word to me. But I am not surprised. Another one of his mood swings, I suppose.

A barmaid suddenly appears to the booth, her breasts practically spilling out of her top and her shorts not leaving much to the imagination. She asks what I’d like to drink and I try to order a soda, and the boys scoff.

“Come on, Cynny. At least order a gin and tonic or something, it’s our night off!” Robert insists and I shake my head. I haven’t drank in a while and my head is already spinning. My anxiety has calmed down a bit after being introduced to the other bar-goers at the booth and the mingling has become enjoyable. But, Jimmy’s constant looks to me are driving me wild.

“Enjoy yourself, Cynthia. You are not clocked in now, are you? Unless you are still up for an interview?” Bonzo asks, wiggling his eyebrows back and forth. Then a certain voice perks up and makes my anxiety levels go through the roof.

“If she doesn’t want a drink, then she doesn’t have to bloody order one.” Jimmy states and takes a sip of his own. What the hell is that about? Is he… trying to put up for me? Or is this another one of his twisted backhanded offerings? He is probably insinuating that I can’t handle a drink.

“I think the lady can speak for herself, princess.” Bonzo retorts and I snort a laugh.

“Oh, piss off.” Jimmy replies and scoffs. He gives me one last look, almost a ‘warning’ type of look and begins talking with a needy red-head next to him. Who the hell does he think he is? I will do what I want! He hasn’t spoken one word to me since I arrived.

I am bewildered by Jimmy’s comment and amused by Bonzo’s dismissal.

Maybe I do need a drink. That’ll show him.

“Tequila Sunrise, please.” I simply request and the woman nods and scurries away after receiving a slap on the butt from Bonzo. She is probably just as confused as I am with the exchange that just occurred between Jimmy and I.

My drink is brought back very quickly and the alcohol, which the drink is very mostly made up of, my God is it strong, goes down my throat with a bit of a sting. But, I get used to it and my mood lightens. Robert and Jonesy have wandered off somewhere, Bonzo is talking up some cute brunette at the end of the booth, and I am left in the middle. I was having a conversation with a really handsome young man by the name of Gasper. He had the classic teddy boy hairstyle, that, really, went out of style about two decades ago. But he was very kind and had a manly, handsome face with light stubble. His build was very muscular, not really my type, but I was enjoying his company. That is until I felt familiar eyes burning into my skull like wildfire.

As Gasper continued on rambling, I looked over to see Jimmy staring at me intently, a bitter look on his face as he was in a similar situation himself. A different girl than earlier, of course it’s always a different girl, was rambling in front of him, her legs practically splayed over his lap underneath the table of the booth. A pang of jealousy roared through me and I found myself wanting to be talking to him instead of Gasper. But, Jimmy, for some reason, hates me, or wants to make my stay with the band as miserable as possible, or whatever, so I will keep my distance. Besides, I was quite enjoying the feeling of letting loose and forgetting about Jimmy’s hundred personalities and Jack’s constant phone calls about how he misses me.

I order another Tequila Sunrise, then another, and find myself feeling quite dazed, but in a good way. My shyness has completely diminished and I am feeling loose and alive. Is this why these rockstars drink so much?

As I was sipping my third drink of the night, Gasper got up to go to the bathroom and I was left alone in the booth. Suddenly, a certain heat was beside me and I figured Gasper was back from the restroom. I look to my left and there sits Jimmy, his same stare burning into my eyes. He’s wearing a dark purple silk shirt and black pants, looking gorgeous as ever. Ugh.

“How many have you had?” He inquires, taking the glass from my hands and looking at its contents.

“What’s it to you?” I spit and grab my drink back, taking a generous gulp. Why does he even care?

“You’ve had enough, don’t you think?” Jimmy states and I shake my head. What is his problem?

“Leave me alone! Unless you’d like me to pull out my notebook and ask you some questions.” I tell him, wanting to scream but keeping my voice to an inside volume. I didn’t want to attract unwanted attention. I wanted to make the reason know of why I am still here with the band. To do my job. But Jimmy was not making it easy for me. I actually really enjoy myself with the other band members, but Jimmy has put such a damper on this experience with his mood swings and his undiagnosed, as far as I know, personality disorder.

He opens his mouth to say something else but is interrupted by Gasper reappearing from the bathroom and sliding his brawny body around the booth to scoot closer to me. I silently thank the Heavens that Gasper is back because now, hopefully, Jimmy will leave me alone and tend back to his date.

But, my prayers were not answered as Jimmy wraps his arm around the back of the booth where I am sitting and he scoots closer to me. Gasper gives a confused look, but doesn’t protest. Jimmy’s daunting glare at him said it all.

“All right, mate?” Jimmy spits at him condescendingly, taking a swig of his whiskey, giving Gasper a chance to assert any dominance toward me, but Gasper knew better. Gasper shakes his head, shrugs, and grabs his drink that was now sweating on the walnut wooden table and scoots out of the booth, disappearing into the larger crowd in the middle of the bar.

I immediately move away from Jimmy’s embrace, but it only makes Jimmy scoot closer to me and he places his hand on my thigh.

“What are you doing? Are you trying to ruin my night?!” I exclaim at him. He is the most confusing person I have ever met. What exactly does he want? I already feel my body getting hot with anger.

“Is it working?” He smirks and lifts his hand to take another gulp of his iced whiskey. I rip the glass out of his hand and shove it to my lips, drinking whatever contents were left of it. The dark liquid coursed its way down my throat and the burn from it was excruciating. I slammed Jimmy’s glass back down onto the booth’s table.

To my surprise, he isn’t pissed. He is smirking at me by the time my eyes were done being glazed over from the two shots of whiskey that I just gulped down.

That damn smirk. His face will one day be permanently twisted into that smirk as much as he presents it!

He moves impossibly closer to me and his body heat is radiating off of his skin and my eyes suddenly became glued to his open chest exposed by the unbuttoning of a few notches of his shirt. My mind and body feel like they are swirling and tingling. Jimmy’s body, his hand, touching me is not helping. I need to get out of here.

“Would you move?” I ask him impatiently. He shakes his head.

“You owe me a drink, love.” He tells me and lifts up my sweating Tequila drink and takes a sip. He makes a disgusted face.

“What?” I ask him and he explains. “Too sweet.” He informs me and then, “but I’d bet you are sweeter.” He throws the line out, surely to try and impress. I roll my eyes and turn towards him, the alcohol coursing through my body heightening my confidence.

I get really close to his ear, one of my hands darting up to cradle his jaw, my other hand pressing down onto his thin, lean thigh- dangerously close to his…

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I whisper hotly in his ear, pressing harder onto his inner thigh and he groans and reaches for my waist. His groan brings back that familiar tingle in my lower area only he has brought on and I’m immediately warm with thrill. Before he can trap me, I quickly retreat and fastly scoot my body around the round leather seat. I hurriedly get up from the booth, my body swaying slightly and I grab onto the back of the booth to steady myself. I walk away quickly, not wanting to look back at Jimmy or else I’d be too tempted to stay put and let him touch me.

I decide to go to the restroom to relieve myself from the hot and steady influx of rowdy individuals around the bar. I spot Robert and Jonesy and I give them a quick wave, though things started to become a blur.

I wander around the circular bar and finally find the bathroom. I walk in and I’m met with a group of girls, all look to be less-than twenty-one. I recognize the one girl who was sulking in the middle of the group, she is the one whom I particularly had negative thoughts about. She’s who had scurried out of Jimmy’s room earlier while we were departing the Garden.

“He’s been an asshole all night!” She exclaims to her friends, not even acknowledging my presence, not caring who might hear her sobs. One of her friends blots her tears and she continues as I make my way into a stall.

“You should’ve seen what he did earlier. He brought me into his dressing room, I thought for a shag, but he just sat there! Literally not even looking at me! I tried to get him off with my hand but he refused to let me! Now he’s just being a downright prick tonight!” She tells her girlfriends and I immediately smirk to myself. My slight jealousy and curiosity about what may have happened earlier in the day when she raced out of his room with that nasty look on her face has now been resolved. I feel a bit better knowing he didn’t have sex with her… today? I’m sure he indulges in sex more than the typical person. Certainly more than me. He probably has had more sex in one day than I have had my whole life.

I’m shuffling in the small stall, it’s barely big enough for one person. I hear the girls leave after their confessions and I am left alone in the dimly lit bathroom.

Suddenly, the door of the bathroom flings open again, the faint sound of music and people filling the bathroom before the door slams shut. I am not concerned in the slightest until I hear the click of the loud lock on the large swinging bathroom door. My eyebrows furrow but I shrug and don’t give it a second thought. Maybe it’s a lady who’s come in to throw up or change clothes and needs privacy. God knows. We’ve all been there.

I finish my business and straighten my skirt and blouse out. I make sure to fix my cleavage, mimicking the waitress we’ve had all night and allowing my top to expose my breasts a bit more. I am suddenly feeling showy and hoping that I might see Jimmy at least one more time tonight.

I unlock the bathroom stall door and slide out, careful not to rub against it in the small space. My head is down as I finish fixing my skirt and when I look up I can’t help but gasp loudly.

There is Jimmy, leaning against the large vanity stretching the long wall of sinks in the bathroom with his arms crossed against his chest. His dark curls are bound upon his shoulders and I can picture him fixing them just so in the mirror behind him before I came out of the stall. Why is he always surprising me?

“Jimmy, what-“ he puts his hand up to silence me and begins to stroll over to me.

“You little siren, you. Thinking you can leave me all rattled in our booth and I wouldn’t come after you?” His accent is like butter and my feet are planted in my spot in front of the stalls. Had he been following me to the bathroom? I feel paralyzed as I watch him walk and close the distance between us. Dear God, he is so hot.

“You wanted that, though, didn’t you? Me to chase you, as I’ve been doing all bloody day.” He whispers roughly in my ear as he gathers me in his long, strong arms.

“Jimmy, you-“ I was ready to correct him, ready to tell him to fuck off, ready to tell him that he has been an asshole all day, chasing is not the correct word. I feel like I lived a year in one day when I look back at all that has gone on. I’ve never felt this way toward any band member of any rock band before. But, Jimmy has had me on my toes all day.

Even during my interviews with Jonesy and Robert, all I could think about was how Jimmy would answer my questions. How his perfect lips would form each answer.

Good God, what a shame I’ve turned into. Rockstars are not my type. They never have been. I’m not the typical wild, head-banging girl who fits in with this kind of crowd and their lifestyle.

As I stand here, listening to Jimmy say the things I’ve never heard any man say, let alone say to little-old-me, I doubt my abilities to continue this job further, successfully. I begin to think I should have never taken this job. It hasn’t even been an entire day with the band and I’m already struggling to keep up.

Jimmy tears me out of my overbearing thoughts with his delicious voice once more.

“You’ve been teasing me all night. Walking in like you did without me even knowing you’d show…” he leans back, one hand trailing down my torso, his eyes wandering from my gaze down my body, “wearing… this. Talking with that stupid git all night. I’ve about had it.” He plays with the lace fabric of my top between his fingers, moving down to the hem of my skirt, his words sending shivers down my spine.

“I mean, I thought the chaste look at the studio was nice on you, but this get-up is… makes you look like the little hedonist I knew you were.” He rolls out each sentence with such precision, his voice is like notes from a harp.

I look up at him as he towers over me. His lips are slightly parted, breathing me in and I catch his eyes. His green stare back into my blue and I am completely and utterly taken aback. He leans down, still keeping our gaze, and stops only a couple of inches away from my lips. Almost asking permission, waiting for me to finish the picture. And I do.

My lips touch his, and it seems like a fire begins to crackle underneath us. He leans into the kiss, wrapping his arms low around my waist and turns me around, walking me back to long vanity littered with sinks and paper towel.

Our hot and heavy kiss continues as he leans down and wraps his large hands around the backs of my thighs and lifts me up onto the vanity. He places himself between my legs, his hands mapping my body.

I gasp as one of his hands moves to the back of my neck, and he takes this opportunity to deepen our kiss. It felt like fireworks were going off around us and the heat of the dull bathroom was becoming a lot to bare. One of my hands was planted on his shoulder, the other in his hair, feeling his thick dark locks. I pulled a bit on his hair and he moaned lowly against my mouth, the moan radiating throughout my entire body and suddenly I want to do anything I can to hear it again.

We pull away after a minute or so, mainly to catch our breath, and he gives me a look of desperation, like he’s been wanting this for so long, though he hasn’t even known me for twenty-four hours.

He plants one more kiss on my lips, still breathing heavily and then simply mutters, “Ah, god.” As if he was truly seeing the man upstairs. Another kiss. “Cyn.” The utterance of the nickname only my family calls me sounded heavenly coming from his lips. We lean forward to continue our hot and heavy moment until a furious banging on the door interrupts us.

“Unlock the fuckin’ door, we are holding our piss out here!” A heavy New York accent bellows from outside the door and Jimmy’s and I’s eyes widen and we laugh as he helps me down from the countertop. We scurry over to the bathroom door and I unlock it, immediately met with glares of four young girls, a couple of them I was familiar with as they were hanging around the booth earlier.

“Get a fuckin’ room next time!” One of the girls exclaim and pushes passed us into the bathroom, letting the door slam behind them. As we walk down the corridor, I realize just how long the hallway is to the restrooms. As we walk, Jimmy takes my hand in his from behind and I suddenly feel dizzy. The alcohol begins to hit me like a speeding truck and I stop in front of him, his torso hitting my back. I lean against the wall, feeling the room spinning and realizing I really need to take a breath. Jimmy’s kiss, touches, and sweet scent, along with my already overwhelming intoxication of three tequila sunrises and whiskey, makes it hard to stay still.

“Cynthia?” Jimmy ponders and his face is a pale blur in front of me and I shake my head, but to no benefit. My vision does not get better and I feel like I’m on a very fast merry-go-round. I feel his hands go to my waist to steady me.

“I need to go home.” I muster and rub at my eyes, surely smearing a bit of eyeliner along the way.

A flash of worry runs across Jimmy’s face and he drags me away to where Richard is, across the bar. The walk, with Jimmy slightly tugging me along like I’m a small child, feels like a mile as the room begins to spin more.

“Rich, she had too much. I told you fucks to not push her.” Jimmy shakes his head and Richard denies the allegation, blaming it on the rest of the group.

Jimmy soon grabs my hand again and states simply, “let’s go.” I follow Jimmy out of the bar, trying my best to keep up with him. His long legs carry him fast and swiftly to the awaiting limo.

Jimmy instructs the same driver I had earlier to take me to where he retrieved me from and I hum in agreement. I rest my head against the cold window and close my eyes. Dear lord, even the darkness behind my eyes is spinning.

The car ride is silent and I am suddenly self conscious, wanting to hear Jimmy’s voice again. Is he angry?

I look up at him and he’s staring out of the window. Hearing my shuffle, he looks over and gives me a crooked, closed-mouth smile and shifts his back again to his previous position to look out of the tinted glass. I sigh and do the same.

Soon we arrive at my building and I look up into the brick structure and back at Jimmy.

“See you tomorrow.” He simply states. He stares at me as I nod and begin to get out. I am disappointed he doesn’t try to kiss, hug, or even touch me. I feel like the little eighteen year old in the bathroom, scorned by Jimmy’s coldness. I step out into the brisk summer air and walk into the night, into the lobby area.

I look back once inside safely, but the limo has already departed from its spot in front of the pavement leading up to my apartment building.

I furrow my eyebrows and trudge up the stairs to my awaiting, lonely bed… surely to dream about him.

—

A/N

Just couldn’t help myself! Here’s chapter four❤️ enjoy! PLEASE heart and comment! Love the support so far! Chapter five will be coming SOON SOON SOON!

[shadyfestivalperfection]

🄵🄰🄼🄸🄻🅈:🄰🅂🅂🄴🄼🄱🄻🄴🄳~4

❝❣︎ᴀ sᴛᴀʀᴋ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ sɪᴛᴄᴏᴍ❣︎❞

🅢🅤🅜🅜🅔🅡🅨:When Iron Man hangs up the suit, he trades battles for bedtime stories. Join Tony Stark, his brilliant wife Y/n, their web-slinging son Peter, and chaos queen Liliana as they navigate high-tech parenting, sibling shenanigans, and family life—with love, laughter, and the occasional glitter explosion.

||Main Master List|| ||Family:Assembled Master List||

Characters: Tony Stark x f!Reader

𝑺1 𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 4: Stark Family Vacation

COLD OPEN

INT. STARK TOWER – LIVING ROOM – DAY

[Tony Stark is standing in front of the family with a whiteboard. On it, written in red marker: “STARK FAMILY VACATION PLAN: BEACH, BONDING, NO EXPLOSIONS.”]

TONY:“Okay team, it’s finally happening. A no-avengering, no-crime-fighting, zero-lab, Stark-only getaway.”

Y/N (raising a brow):“You made a PowerPoint for this, didn’t you?”

TONY:“No… I made three.”

PETER:“Are there graphs?”

TONY:“There’s a bar graph comparing our stress levels with and without beach naps. It’s science.”

LILIANA (bouncing):“Can Harold come?”

[Harold, the hamster, pokes his head out of Liliana’s hoodie pocket.]

TONY:“Sure. What’s the worst that could happen?”

[Smash cut to the private jet engulfed in flames.]

SCENE 1 – INT. STARK PRIVATE JET – MID-FLIGHT

[The family is mid-air, lounging in comfort. Tony is sipping a drink with a tiny umbrella. FRIDAY is operating the cabin.]

Y/N:“Remind me why you insisted on piloting the jet yourself?”

TONY:“Because when you’re a genius billionaire, you fly in style. Also, last time we let a pilot in here, Peter grilled him about Avengers protocol and scared him off.”

PETER (shrugging):“His answers were incomplete.”

LILIANA:“Harold’s seatbelt won’t buckle.”

TONY:“That’s because it’s a cup holder.”

[Cut to Harold sitting in a cup holder with aviator goggles. Liliana gives him a salute.]

TONY (CONT’D):“Relax, team. What could go wrong?”

[A loud POP sounds from the back. The cabin lights flicker.]

FRIDAY:“Mr. Stark… engine temperature rising. Also, someone reprogrammed the intercom to play ‘Let It Go’ every five minutes.”

LILIANA (guilty):“It’s for morale!”

TONY:“I checked every wire on that jet. It’s impossible for it to catch fire.”

Y/N:“You left Liliana alone in the cockpit for twenty minutes with a juice box and an iPad.”

PETER:“She renamed the jet ‘Flamey McFlyson.’”

LILIANA (grinning):“It was foreshadowing!”

SCENE 3 – INT. JET – TEN MINUTES LATER

[Smoke fills the cockpit. FRIDAY blares warnings.]

FRIDAY:“Fire detected. Initiating emergency landing. Deploying sarcasm shields.”

TONY:“…That last one wasn’t me.”

Y/N:“Everyone grab something soft and brace yourselves!”

LILIANA:“Harold’s already in panic mode.”

[Cut to Harold burrowed into a fruit bowl. The family screams comically as the jet jolts.]

SCENE 4 – EXT. TROPICAL ISLAND – CRASH SITE – MOMENTS LATER

[The Stark jet is mostly intact, but the tail is smoking and someone’s inflatable pool flamingo is on fire. Tony stumbles out in a robe.]

TONY:“We landed! Technically!”

Y/N:“You crashed into a coconut tree.”

PETER:“…At least it’s scenic?”

LILIANA (sipping a juice box):“10/10 landing. Would crash again.”

SCENE 5 – EXT. RESORT CHECK-IN – LATER THAT DAY

[The Starks stumble into the luxury resort, sandy, slightly singed, and with Harold riding in a hat.]

RECEPTIONIST:“Welcome to Moon Shell Cove Resort! May I ask what happened to your jet?”

TONY:“Spontaneous combustion. Happens all the time.”

RECEPTIONIST:“…Right.”

Y/N (whispering):“Tony, don’t say spontaneous combustion like it’s normal.”

TONY (whispering back):“I’m trying to sound chill.”

SCENE 6 – INT. HOTEL ROOM – NIGHT

[Peter and Liliana have their own adjoining room. Peter is trying to plug in FRIDAY to the TV. Liliana is building a sandcastle inside the suite.]

PETER:

“I think FRIDAY’s still a little fried. She tried to order a tactical drone strike on the minibar.”

FRIDAY (faintly):

“Those pretzels were taunting me.”

SCENE 7 – INT. PARENTS’ SUITE – SAME TIME

[Tony and Y/N lie in bed. The window shows a gorgeous moonlit beach. Y/N has cucumbers over her eyes. Tony is holding a broken sunscreen bottle.]

TONY:

“So this is relaxing.”

Y/N:

“We’ve crash-landed, possibly broken federal airspace laws, and your daughter turned the resort bidet into a hamster water slide.”

TONY:

“…But we’re not being shot at. Progress?”

Y/N (laughing):

“I’ll give you that.”

SCENE 8 – EXT. POOL – NEXT MORNING

[The family is trying to relax. Tony has 14 gadgets tracking UV levels. Y/N is reading under an umbrella. Peter is buried in sand. Liliana and Harold are floating in a pool donut.]

TONY:“Who wants smoothies?”

LILIANA:“Harold wants watermelon flavor.”

FRIDAY (from a floating speaker):“I am unable to process flavor preferences for rodents. Error. Error.”

PETER (muffled):“Why is no one helping me out of the sand?”

TONY:“You looked peaceful.”

SCENE 9 – INT. MOCKUMENTARY CUTS

TONY:“Listen, I may not be ‘vacation dad’ material…”

Y/N:“But he tries. Even when he programs the beach umbrella to play AC/DC and it chases lifeguards.”

PETER:“I’m not even mad. The umbrella had rhythm.”

LILIANA (with Harold in sunglasses):“Best. Trip. Ever.”

SCENE 10 – EXT. BEACH BONFIRE – NIGHT

[The family is roasting marshmallows. A few beach guests gather around. Tony strums a ukulele poorly. Y/N gently rests her head on his shoulder.]

PETER:“We should do this more often. Y’know, with less fire.”

LILIANA:“I like fire.”

TONY:“Let’s not encourage that.”

Y/N:“Despite the explosions, this was… kind of perfect.”

SCENE 11 – EXT. AIRPORT – DEPARTURE DAY

[A new jet awaits. Tony is inspecting it like a hawk. Liliana places a sticker on the nose: “Harold’s Jet.”]

Y/N:“No more mid-air experiments.”

LILIANA:“Define ‘experiment.’”

TONY:“Define ‘mid-air.’”

Y/N (sighing):“We’re doomed.”

[They board the jet. It hums to life—no smoke. Peter gives a thumbs up.]

FRIDAY:“Welcome back, Starks. I am once again flame-free and emotionally stable.”

TONY:“Same, FRIDAY. Same.”

POST-CREDIT SCENE

[Back at the beach, the burned-out flamingo floatie begins to twitch. A resort staff member approaches.]

STAFF (confused):“…Is it humming AC/DC?”

-to be continued