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hh0320 · 1 year

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໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco.

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on.

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you.

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle.

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you.

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone.

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world.

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz felix #stray kids felix #felix skz #stray kids #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #felix x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #hyunlix #mine.

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slexenskee · 1 year

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Ru-kun’s Excessive Guitar Collection

Fell down a rabbit hole debating what guitar Ru-kun plays and decided there was no reason to narrow it down to one lol. Also he’s totally the type to just have way more guitars (and shoes) then he could possibly ever use and should totally have one of those epic guitar walls whenever he gets around to making that recording room.

Squier Contemporary Jaguar HH ST Electric Guitar (Sky Burst Metallic): His first guitar. He bought it as a teenager living in Endeavor’s house to a) make noise and piss his father off and b) because he really liked the color. It’s still his favorite. He played it in his junior-high garage band Band Aids. Fans saw a bit of it during the first few years of No Scrubs’ live shows, back when they still played in tiny dive bars and Ru-kun was so close you could touch him 😭. It makes fans very nostalgic whenever they catch sight of it.

Fender American Ultra Stratocaster Electric Guitar (Arctic Pearl): Another guitar he bought because it was very pretty (let’s be real, that’s the reason he bought all of them). Achieved critical acclaim as a fan favorite when Ken-chan grabbed it out of his hands on stage and threatened to beat a belligerent drunk out of the venue with it. She was talked out of it after Ru-kun said she’d have to pay for a new one if she busted it over some guy’s head.

Gibson Les Paul Traditional Pro V Flame Top Electric Guitar (Blueberry Burst): Super glossy beautiful guitar with a great sound. Recorded the albums Thanks I Hate it Here and Good News for People Who Love Bad News with this guitar. He also gives it away in MDNSY Ch 39 to Shouto, who treasures this beauty as it deserves, even if he really doesn’t know how to play it all that well.

Gretsch “Stump-O-Matic” Electromatic Electric Guitar (White): He really likes to play this one during live shows, very versatile and unfussy. Played it all throughout the ‘Scrubs Unite’ tour and eventually gives it away to Izuku in MDNSY Ch 38(?) and reclaims it briefly in FLW Ch 29 to play Say It Ain’t So.

Gibson Lzzy Hale Signature Explorerbird Electric Guitar (Cardinal Red): His guitar for the “I’m never going to Hosu again” show Makoto dragged them all to during their hiatus in MDNSY Ch 15, aka the guitar he serenaded Tensei with 🤣 Also recorded Glass Onion Heart on this guitar, bc I love the idea of him playing Misery Business on this baby. He also posed for his magazine cover for Sound & Sundry in FLW Ch 20 with this guitar.

D’Angelico Premier Series Gramercy LS Acoustic Guitar (Matte Sky Burst): I call this the Limitless guitar cause it’s just the perfect color to match his eyes lol. He went out and bought this just to record the acoustic album Tensei guilt-tripped him into making, Don’t You Know Who I (Think) I Am. Also serenaded Hawks with it during the No Scrubs radio interview with Present Mic in FLW Chapter 23.

Fender American Pro II Stratocaster Electric Guitar (Miami Blue): Very cool vintage blue guitar he recorded Death Before Decaf on, bc I love the very neon 90′s era look and I love the idea of him playing Nirvana/Weezer/3EB tributes (even if no one knows they’re tributes) on it even more. It’s also Yui’s favorite guitar, for obvious reasons. Did he buy it because he knows it’s her favorite color? Probably. He already promised he’d never sell off his collection (gifting them is another story) but he especially promised not to part with this one. It’s a legacy guitar that’s going to end up in the hands of someone special someday (aka Eri lol)

Fender H.E.R Stratocaster (Chrome Glow): I have been told rather reliably by the mysteriously large amount of friends I have in indie bands that there’s no such thing as too many guitars, and on a related note, no such thing as too many Stratocasters. I am obsessed with H.E.R’s stratocaster and I can 100% envision it being custom made by Fender for Ru-Kun once No Scrubs reaches the international critical acclaim they deserve. He names it Infinity, and records the album Infinity on High with it. In recorded performances for the album he alternates between this one and the Gibson Explorerbird.

Duesenberg USA Starplayer Electric Guitar (Crimson Red): Yet another stunning guitar with a very vintage vibe. I was so torn on whether I liked the black one or the red one more bc both are so beautiful. Let’s be real he probably buys both but plays the red one live just because it’s pretty and shiny and red always reminds him of Hawks’s wings ♡ Records the May Death Never Stop You album on this baby, and plays the tour of the same name. Also the guitar

Taylor 614ce Special-Edition Grand Auditorium Acoustic-Electric Guitar: Has a lot of Feelings™ and goes out and drops 3k on this baby just because it reminds him of Hawks and that’s got him feeling a way and records his second acoustic album with it. He absolutely plays a lot of Anti-Hero on it, just bc the brand name lol

#fic may death never stop you #I spent way too much time on this tbh #but they're sooo pretty #mdnsy FAQ

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catherinetcjd · 7 months

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This is: House No. 9

of The 1946 Project - a 12 house series 2-Step Foundation (Made with the Grid-Adjuster.) 3 Bed/2 Bath/Garage Front Porch Mostly UNfurnished - 1 CC (the chimneyless fireplace) AND - You will need Numenor's Unlevel Wall #90

These floor plans came from this book: Popular Home's Ideas Galore : how to build, buy, modernize and decorate. Found on the Internet Archive.

One Custom Content Included - Mia86's Chimney-less Colonial Fireplace

Lot Size: 20X40 Lot Price: $48,148

DOWNLOAD @ SFS

Cross-posted to MTS, and Simblr.

#sims 2 #ts2 #sims2cc #catherinetcjd #sims 2 lot #ts2 lot #sims 2 download #ts2 download

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alyceinwonderland777 · 15 days

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Soul saviour

Pairing; Sylvie x Hunter D-90 (Ship name: SylD90)

Summery: The TVA is now in charge of protecting the timelines instead of destroying them and everything goes smoothly, but D-90 is tormented by the curiosity to know who he was before he was kidnapped by He Who Remains and so he goes to the only person who can give him all the answers he is looking for.

⚠️WARNING⚠️: THIS ONESHOT CONTAINS SOME SPICY CONTENTS AND THE DETAILS ABOUT D-90'S IDENTITY ARE MY HEADCANONS ABOUT HIM

Everything goes like clockwork. The TVA now does some real good and ensures the safety of the timelines. The atmosphere is less oppressive and there is finally freedom in there. Some employees decided to leave to build a new life in another timeline and come to visit from time to time, while others decided to stay and protect the multiverse. D-90 was one of those who decided to stay, but there was a doubt plaguing his mind. A doubt that made his guts twist with curiosity: Who was he before he was kidnapped by He Who Remains and recruited as a hunter? Only one person could resolve this doubt and that was Sylvie Laufeydottir, the Goddess of Mischief.

That evening he decided to go to her. He wanted to remove this doubt once and for all. He took out his TempPad and typed in the coordinates for Sylvie's timeline. The Timedoor opened and D-90 walked through it. He found himself in front of the McDonald's where Sylvie worked. Luckily it was closing, so he didn't have a chance to attract attention.

He saw Sylvie exit the fast food restaurant and approach her vehicle. At that moment D-90 approached her.

D-90: Hi Sylvie.

Sylvie turned around and recognized him immediately.

Sylvie: Oh it's you. How are you? How is it going at the base?

D-90: I'm fine, thank you. At the TVA everything goes like clockwork. As you know, we now only capture the dangerous variants of He Who Remains and work on protecting timelines rather than pruning them. Anyway, I'm here to ask you a favor. *He said*

Sylvie: What's going on? *She asked a bit concerned*

D-90 took a deep breath and spoke.

D-90: I wish you would enchant me like you did with C-20. I want to know who I was before I was turned into Hunter D-90.

There was a special glow in his eyes. His tough, impassive hunter mask was crumbling.

Sylvie: Get in.

D-90 got into the car and Sylvie started the car. After about 40 minutes they arrived at Sylvie's house. It was the classic American house with a garden, flower beds, a backyard and a garage.

Sylvie opened the door and the two entered.

Sylvie: Feel free to sit on the sofa. I will be right back.

D-90 sat on the sofa and Sylvie went to her room to change.

D-90 looked around. He had to admit that Sylvie had good taste when it came to decor. A few seconds later Sylvie returned to him. She was wearing an emerald green nightgown. D-90 smiled when he saw her. He had to admit that she was truly beautiful.

Sylvie: Can I get you something to drink?

D-90: Yes. A glass of orange juice, please.

Sylvie went to the fridge and got the juice. She poured a glass for D-90 and a glass for herself. She walked over to the sofa and gave D-90 the glass.

D-90: Thank you *He said with a smile*

Once they had finished drinking Sylvie asked D-90 the fateful question.

Sylvie: Are you ready?

D-90 took a deep breath and nodded.

Sylvie placed two fingers on D-90's temple and began to enchant him.

D-90 felt as if a hurricane had been unleashed in his brain. A wave of memories made its way into his brain. Finally everything was clear now. His real name was Brandon Williams, he was born in Scotland and moved to London at the age of 16 with his family. He was an English teacher by profession and was 28 years old when he was kidnapped by He Who Remains. Bittersweet tears fell from Brandon's eyes. Finally the doubts had stopped tormenting him. Sylvie stopped enchanting him and took his hand between her hands.

Sylvie: How do you feel?

D-9O: I've never felt better. Thank you so much, Sylvie. *He said with a tone full of gratitude*

Sylvie smiled widely. The two talked all evening about this and that and discovered that they had many things in common. From the first moment she saw him, D-90 / Brandon had immediately caught Sylvie's eye and he felt the same way about her. In the 30 years he had worked for the TVA, nothing like this had ever happened to him.

At some point their gazes crossed. Their hearts were pounding as if they were about to explode. Their lips met in a sweet, passionate kiss. They were clouded by passion. They rushed to Sylvie's bedroom and fulfilled their desire. He eagerly removed her nightgown, revealing her beautiful body. He lunged for her breasts, biting and kissing them. Sylvie moaned uncontrollably, clutching at his hair. He undressed, revealing his muscular physique. Sylvie caressed his chest, making him moan. The most primitive and wild instincts immediately took over.

Screams and moans spread through the room. They went on for two hours and at the end of it all they lay down on the bed, tired but happy. She leaned against his chest and he held her close. That night was the beginning of a strong and passionate love. That kind of love that romantic films talk about and that humans desperately seek.

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whinlatter · 7 months

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A 2,14, and 17 on Angelina Johnson for the character ask

well well well if it isn’t the hottest girl in school/everyone in gryffindor’s first crush, angelina johnson! thank for this one @titaniasthings 💞

2 A canon/headcanon hill I will die on

angie is northern. she’s from manchester or leeds, and this is partly why she is both attractive to the weasley twins (cheeky) and why her orders barked on the quidditch pitch are always followed (if an aggy northern woman bellows instructions at you quickly obey). she teases her in laws about being southern softies for their entire lives. more black brits from outside london representation pls 🤙 think like AJ odudu or (angie’s hero) mel b

14. Most heroic moment

when ron tries to quit the quidditch team and she’s like errrr no. or when she gives future harpies superstar ginny weasley her first big break. she’s getting a shoutout in gin’s speech at young sportsperson of the year 100%

17. Quotes/song/poem I associate with them

i love the idea of angelina as ferocious fun on a night out and a big fan of like UK dance garage and house music of the late 90s, as all hot girls ought to be. but she’s also got a radio pop vibe to her too. in this vein i have chosen the following absolute bangers:

- it feels so good by sonique

- show me love by robin s

- never ever by all saints

angie’s the coolest aunt and i will not be told different!

#angelina johnson #the woman that you are #living legend #ask game #thank you!#headcanons

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zippocreed501 · 5 months

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FROM THE BADLANDS...

...images from the lost continent of cult films, b-movies and celluloid dreamscapes

Crime bosses in 90's films

...you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you ask me to do murder for money.

No, we've come to give you the bill for removing that headless dead horse from your garage.

The Godfather Part III (1990) King of New York (1990) New Jack City (1991) Reservoir Dogs (1992) Pulp Fiction (1994) The Usual Suspects (1995) Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead (1995) Desperado (1995) Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) Payback (1999)

#crime boss #crime lord #mafia #the mob #the godfather #quentin tarantino #noir #from the b-movie badlands #from the badlands #the usual suspects #christopher walken #al pacino

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randomvarious · 10 months

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Today’s compilation:

12" Of Pleasure 1994 House / Garage House / Dance-Pop

Firmly settling right into the middle of Pride Month with this look back at some vintage, early-to-mid-90s, certifiably gay dance jams. UK label Almighty Records has been a very popular outfit among the gay crowd since its 1989 founding, and with this album from '94, they put together a little collection of tunes that was made of both dance covers from their own catalogue as well as tracks licensed from other labels.

Now, you all know that classic early-to-mid-90s gay club sound. It's that carefree shit that makes you feel like you're dancing blissfully on a light and fluffy cloud. High-pitched string synths that surge and squeal; sharp, rich, and cheery piano chord stabs; soft combinations of kicks and snares; and a female vocal that exhibits some passion as she typically sings about love. It's deadly when done right, but by that same token, given that there's a basic formula for it, it can also feel, well, a bit formulaic and disposable at times too.

But there's two songs that manage to pull that sound off exceptionally well here: the "Woman's Prerogative mix" of Sybil's "When I'm Good and Ready," and the "Mad March Hare mix" of Kylie Minogue's "Better the Devil You Know." Both of these tunes apply that early-to-mid-90s gay dance formula, but Sybil's song comes with these added polka-dot electronic bleeps on it, and Kylie's song is just a prime example of the formula being executed perfectly. And both songs on the production tip involved the same people too. Sybil's was written and produced by Mike Stock and Pete Waterman, and Kylie's was by Stock, Waterman, and Matt Aitken. That Stock, Waterman, and Aitken trio were known as prolific UK pop producers for quite some time too, but Aitken ended up splitting from the other two in 1991.

But my favorite song of all on this album is UK dance group Undercover's 1992 poppy house cover of Gerry Rafferty's 70s smash hit, "Baker Street." The original version of this song features probably the second most iconic use of saxophone in the entire pop music canon—just behind George Michael's "Careless Whisper"—and Undercover cleverly decided to bring it back in the early 90s to use within a dance context. But while that sax part is from the 70s, the use of it here in Undercover's version is also somewhat paradoxically way ahead of its time too, because it's utilized as the song's drop, which seems to presage that whole early-to-mid-2010s craze when using sax as the drop in a dance tune appeared to be all the rage. And I'm sure that Undercover's version received some updated remix treatment in that era too.

I also don't think that most Americans are aware of this song either, because while it was an enormous top-fiver throughout most of Europe, it didn't actually end up charting Stateside at all. So, you could probably slay something like a wedding dancefloor with this in the US, because practically no one would be expecting to hear that famous Gerry Rafferty sax part, and once they did, it might cause them all to collectively lose their shit 🤯. It would probably work better with the radio edit instead of this extended version though, because the radio edit hides the sax until the chorus, and this extended version actually opens with some of it.

And another reason why I particularly adore this song is because it also incorporates my favorite synthesizer sound from this era: the Korg M1's Organ Preset 2, which has been used in a whole bunch of different songs, and perhaps most famously in Crystal Waters' "Gypsy Woman," which is another early 90s gay club classic.

Much of this album honestly feels a bit lacking almost three decades later, but the few tunes that I've mentioned in this post here still make for some exquisite examples of terrific early-to-mid-90s gay dance fare.

🏳‍🌈Happy Pride!🏳‍🌈

Highlights:

Sybil - "When I'm Good and Ready (The Woman's Prerogative mix)" Kylie Minogue - "Better the Devil You Know (The Mad March Hare mix)" Undercover - "Baker Street"

More certifiably gay dance posts:

1995 Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras: The Party Anthems Nights in Heaven

#house #house music #dance pop #dance #dance music #pop #electronic #electronic music #music #90s #90s music #90's #90's music #garage house #garage #garage music

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fullmoans · 1 year

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Home is a Fire | Part 3

They left Stiles out because they knew the nogitsune would tear him apart, but now the nogitsune is gone and Stiles can feel the nemeton telling him it isn’t over — not for him. And maybe not for Derek either.

It was just after noon when Stiles pulled up to a small gas station a few blocks from the address his dad texted him for Derek’s house. He needed gas, a sandwich, and a plan. Would Peter have any idea how to contact Cora? It’s not like they were close. Had Derek ever gotten back into a semi-consistent contact with her? After a few minutes, his tank was full and he’d grabbed a cold sandwich from the store.

The new Hale house was very similar to his fathers’. A simple, two story home likely built in the early 90’s. He noticed multiple locks on the door when he knocked.

“No one’s home,” he heard Peter call, though the locks clicked open one-by-one just a moment later. “Ah, my favorite.” Stiles stared at him. In the back of his mind, he wondered what had changed him so deeply that he didn’t have a sarcastic remark even for Peter Hale.

“We have to find Cora.” Stiles walked past Peter until he found a small living room and sat down. “When’s the last time you heard from her?” Looking around the room, he noticed Eli was sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. His attention was pulled up, curious about the new guest in their home.

“I know that Derek had gotten back into contact with her but I’m not the biggest family man these days. He did say she had given him a phone, in case of emergencies only, but I don’t know where he would’ve kept it.”

“What do you want to know about Cora?” Eli’s full attention had shifted to Stiles and Peter now.

“I need to talk to her. It’s important,” Stiles said. He didn’t want to give up too much information to Eli. Getting his own hopes up was one thing but he wouldn’t let Eli think there was a chance until he was sure. Eli seemed to be thinking, deciding whether to trust Stiles with some information he knew, and Stiles took the time to really look at him. He saw so much of himself in Derek’s son. There was an expression on his face that he couldn’t hide – one that Stiles knew well. That was the face of someone who liked getting himself into trouble. “You’re the kid with my Jeep right?” Eli met his eyes then.

“I’m just taking care of it. I get it if you want it back.”

“That Jeep is the last thing my mother left me. She meant everything to me. I know a little about what you’re going through and when I was lost most, when I couldn’t find a reason to keep going, fixing her was something I could focus on. In a way, she gave me a purpose every time that I wasn’t sure if I could live without my mom. As long as you keep her running, she can be your purpose too.” After he spoke, Stiles broke Eli’s eye contact. He could feel tears in his eyes and see them reflected in the kid’s. It was silent for a moment.

Eli spoke more enthusiastically this time. “Dad and I had a plan if anything ever happened to us. We were supposed to meet up in the garage and then we’d leave town and go to Cora’s. He kept a duffle bag there – he called it our ‘go bag.’” He got up and took a few steps towards Stiles. “I can show you where it is. I should’ve called her anyway.”

Stiles considered Eli’s offer. He didn’t want to get the kid involved in whatever he was doing but it didn’t seem like there was another option. Peter wasn’t fighting to take him there instead. Peter, well Peter seemed to have completely disappeared from the room. Stiles spun around but there was no sign of him. He sighed. “Okay, my car’s out front.”

“Are you kidding? We’re taking the Jeep.”

It was so unusual for Stiles to sit in the passenger side of the Jeep. He had forgotten how rough it was on even the smoothest of roads and being in the passenger seat, not being able to feel the engine from the pedal, emphasized every bump. Still, he enjoyed the breeze on their short ride over to the garage. When they parked, he studied the kid again. ‘He’s so much like me,’ he thought. ‘I bet he gave Derek Hell.’

“What?” Eli asked, when Stiles didn’t make any move to get out of the car.

“What happened to your mother? You don’t have to answer –”

“She was killed.” Stiles nodded, not wanting to push him, but he kept going. “I was a baby so I don’t remember any of it. Apparently, Dad had gone to live with Cora and her pack. He met my mom in Cora’s pack – said she reminded him of an old friend. I got a lot of her features, that’s why I only really have Dad’s hair. One morning, him and Cora had taken me so that my mom could catch up on some sleep. A few rogue hunters attacked. When Dad and Cora got back, the pack had killed the hunters, but not before one of them killed her. That’s the way he told the story to me, at least. I never really knew her.”

All Stiles could think was how hard that must’ve been on Derek. All of his life, he had been through so many shitty things. If there was a god, they really had it out for Derek Hale. “He was lucky to have you,” Stiles said.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I pushed him too far, I think.”

“When my mom died, I pushed my dad. I snuck out every night. Once, I overheard him talking about a body in the woods and I made Scott come out, in the middle of the night, and try to find it with me. That’s how Scott got turned. Anyway, I gave him so much shit. Still, he always said I reminded him of my mom. He said it hurt less to lose her because he got to have me. I know Derek would’ve thought the same.”

It was silent again, until Stiles opened his door. He heard Eli’s door open too and followed him into the garage. “He talked about you,” Eli said.

“I talked about him, too. I should’ve talked to him, instead.”

Eli left Stiles standing in the middle of the garage. He’d gone into an office where he said Derek hid important things. He came back with a duffle bag that was almost half his size. “This is the bag. I’ve never looked inside of it – always thought it was probably boring stuff like my birth certificate.”

Stiles laughed. It was a small, short laugh, but still something he didn’t do a lot these days. With a smile still on his face, he kneeled down as Eli dropped the bag. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Eli was smiling too.

The bag did have a lot of boring stuff. Eli was right about the birth certificate – it was in a big file folder which had the deed to the land of the Hale House, a few old car titles, and more papers. There were also a few pairs of pants and approximately 20 black shirts. There was a smaller black bag at the bottom which Stiles pulled out and unzipped. Inside were 3 burner phones, all turned off. He switched each of them on and looked through the contacts. One had names he knew – Malia, Peter, his Dad, and Scott. One had Deaton and a bunch of names he didn’t know. Family friends, maybe. Maybe other packs Derek had come across. The last one that he turned on had only a single number in it. There wasn’t a name on this contact but he knew it had to be Cora. He pocketed this one, turned the rest back off, zipped the bag, and put Derek’s ‘go bag’ back together. “Got it,” he said.

Eli took the bag back to where he’d gotten it from before returning. On the way out, Stiles noticed that Eli was putting a code into the office door. He hadn’t been paying enough attention before. “You keep it locked?”

“Yeah, no particular reason. Dad’s big on security. The code’s 7687-9653 if you need to get back in. The numbers spell ‘sour wolf.’ Some kind of joke he always set his passwords to.” Eli passed Stiles on the way to the Jeep because Stiles had stopped walking. He’d made the wrong choice when he left. Lydia had been everything he told himself he wanted ever since he could remember and she’d become smarter, stronger, and even more beautiful with every passing day back then. And yet, it was so obvious now that he’d made the wrong choice. “You coming?”

“I need to take a walk.” Stiles said, making his voice loud enough for the feet between them now. “Thanks for your help, Eli. Cora should hear what happened from me so I’ll call her. I’ll drop the phone off to you later in case you want to talk to her, too.”

He could feel Eli’s eyes on him as he walked away. Still, he needed to be alone and he didn’t want Eli to hear what he had to say to Cora.

Cora picked up before the first ring finished.

“Derek? What happened?” She said, immediately.

“Hey Cora, it’s Stiles,” He said so softly he worried she didn’t hear him. She didn’t respond. “I’m sorry, Cora.”

“What happened to him?” She whispered back

“He sacrificed himself to save everyone else. He did save everyone else.”

“Of course he did.”

“Cora, I know this isn’t the right time to be asking you for a favor, but I was hoping you might be able to help me. Deaton said Talia kept information on your family, Beacon Hills, and the nemeton. If any of it survived the fire, I need to know where it is now.”

“You don’t think he’s dead, do you?”

“I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up,” Stiles said, avoiding answering the question. The answer was simple though – no, he didn’t think Derek was dead. Not for good, anyway.

“We re-built the library. Before Derek came to live with me, we re-built it underneath our house. The door is under the wolfsbane. Everything that was left and everything that we’ve found since – it’s all there… Don’t tell Eli about this. It wouldn’t be fair to him,” She finished. Of course they’d built a secret bunker underneath the Hale house. Of course they would.

“I told him I’d give him this phone after we spoke. No matter what I find, he’s going to need you. Scott is a good leader when he needs to be, but he doesn’t believe in the pack like Derek did.”

“Give me a week,” Cora said and hung up.

Stiles looked up at the afternoon sky. It was going to start getting dark soon. If he headed towards the Hale House now, he could reach it before the sun went down, but he’d have to go home in the dark. He pocketed the phone and started walking. Walking through the woods, the sky darkening, headed to find a secret buried under wolfsbane on Hale land, he felt like he was 16 again.

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knickynoo · 5 months

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Back to the Future: The Animated Series, s02ep09 “Hill Valley Brown Out"

Previous episodes linked here.

In this episode: Clara and Doc's dynamic continues to upset me, the townsfolk can't decide if they love Doc or want to banish him from Hill Valley, and a reference to a '90s show makes me do ten minutes of research.

The opening sequence with Doc is super quick and not particularly interesting, so I'm going to skip it and get right to the cartoon.

The citizens of Hill Valley are preparing for the annual Founders' Day celebration, which is a thing that I know about from watching Little House on the Prairie and The Waltons, lol. Both of those shows had Founders' Day episodes as well. We see a statue dedicated to the founder of Hill Valley with a plaque that reads, "The Old Pioneer and His Mule Standing on a Hill."

We then go to the Brown home, where the family is very busy preparing for the festival. Jules and Verne are hard at work making a papier-mâché mule, Clara is putting together a handmade costume, and Doc has been put in charge of the food booth. Unfortunately, Doc is being his typical bumbling cartoon self, and he ends up making a mess of things in the house. Clara, as usual, is angry and annoyed at him and sends him out of the house with these parting words:

If you read the post for the previous episode, you'll recall Clara and Doc flipping out at each other and having a major fight, and they've been unkind to each other in other episodes as well. It's particularly prevalent with Clara, who seems to have this whole "I married an idiot" thing going on??

I do not like it. Always amazed at how little these characters resemble the ones from the movies sometimes. Clara is often framed as the nagging, long-suffering wife, Doc is so ridiculously goofy and incompetent at times that it's a little much even for a cartoon, and Marty is just Some Generic 90's Cartoon Guy that they slapped the name Marty McFly on and called it a day.

This series could have been good. It could have been so good. Alas.

Anyway, Doc goes off to the garage, where he soon gets a phone call. It's the sheriff, calling to remind Doc not to partake in any "monkey business" prior to the Founders' Day celebration. Doc assures the man that all will go smoothly.

As soon as he hangs up the phone, Doc gets a visit from Biff who asks to borrow some chairs for a party he's throwing. While he's there, Doc sees it as the perfect opportunity to test out his invention for the town celebration: a machine that cooks and serves 1,000 hot dogs per hour.

As expected, the machine malfunctions and ends up covering Biff in the food (as well as slapping him). Doc makes up for it by loaning Biff a bunch of his specialized folding chairs. After Biff leaves, Doc attempts to clean the machine using "super sudsy soap" he's invented. Does it work as it's supposed to? Of course not. This guy invented several fully functional time machines, but he's yet to invent anything in the cartoon that actually functions properly.

The soap is SO SUDSY that it flows out of the garage and into the house, where Clara is busy fixing her costume and muttering angrily to herself about her husband. As she does so, she mentions Doc's full name, and it's at that point that I discovered Lathrop isn't pronounced "lah-throp" like I'd thought all these years; it's pronounced "lay-throp." I don't know why this bothers me, but it does. It doesn't look like it should be pronounced like that.

Clara, absolutely fed up with Doc's shenanigans, gets into the DeLorean and tells him that she's taking the boys into town for the tractor pull contest. Jules and Verne are utterly delighted and seemingly oblivious to the fact that their family is one step away from crumbling.

As she pulls out of the driveway, Clara says, "And find a new lab, or you'll have to find a new family!"

HELLO??? I know married couples fight but. What is happening with these two?? This is ridiculous behavior.

Doc takes his invention over to the McFly house, hoping to use their garage as his workspace. We've never seen the McFly home in the cartoon before!

The outlets in the garage don't have enough voltage for Doc's power tools, but he decides it's a good idea to tap directly into the nearby transformer to get the power he needs. He proceeds to cause the entire town's electricity to go out.

The next day, Clara is harassed and then chased by an angry mob of protestors outside the grocery store, and Verne is tormented on the playground by kids who are singing a taunting song about Doc.

Later on, as Doc sits in the yard with Einstein and wonders if he'll be allowed back inside the house tonight (Clara had kicked him out), his wife and the boys appear and shut down that possibility real quick.

Yes, she's making him eat dog food. Also, why does he have a dog bowl, and why does it say "Doc" rather than "Emmett"? WHO PUNCHED MY BOY JULES IN THE EYE??

Doc believes he has a solution to restore electricity to the city, and he heads off to gather supplies. While walking in town, he's picked up by the sheriff, who drives him to the city limit, tosses him out of the car, and tells him not to show his face in Hill Valley again.

Things are not looking good for our pal Doc.

He quickly finds a loophole, though! Doc sneaks over to the McFly house, explains to Marty that the sheriff said not to show his face, and then shows off his new disguise.

As confident as Doc is, the disguise doesn't work all that well. A worker at the hardware store recognizes him instantly, and all I got to say is...how? That does not look remotely like Doc. This plan should have worked. Back at the garage, Marty offers to go pick up whatever Doc needs, but Doc says Marty going to the hardware store would look suspicious.

He eventually finds a way to get his supplies and is able to build a giant generator that runs off of water, wind, sunlight, and moonlight.

It works, the town gets power back, and the sheriff welcomes Doc back to the town. Back at the Brown home, Clara is relieved to have the power back, as she'd been busy using an exercise bike to power the TV.

Side note: She says, "What I go through so we won't miss Northern Exposure." This led me to then look up what that was, and I discovered it was a popular show in the 1990s. The imdb page lists this as the synopsis: "A city doctor is forced to work in the remote Alaskan town of Cicely, where he encounters peculiar locals, including a former NASA astronaut, as he adjusts to small-town life."

And right away, my brain went, "That just sounds like Doc Hollywood but in Alaska."

So, I fell down some additional rabbit holes and found several articles and message boards of people also discussing this connection. Doc Hollywood premiered a little over a year after Northern Exposure did, but some people mentioned that the show might have been inspired by the 1979 book called "What? Dead Again?" Doc Hollywood is based off of.

So, basically, it might have happened like this...

Ok, I need to get my train of thought back onto the tracks because that distracted me for several minutes.

Clara welcomes Doc back with a hug, and the townspeople declare Doc a hero.

The happiness doesn't last too long, though. The power is back, but Doc later discovers that there's no way to turn anything off. Every light and appliance in the entire town has become permanently on. A mob forms to run Doc out of town. Again. Before they do that, they decide to try to shut the generator down. Biff pours soda on it, which shorts the device out.

We get a brief shot of the local movie theater, which is playing Back to the Future. (this can be seen in a past episode as well)

Everything around town starts exploding. Lampposts, traffic lights, etc. It's a disaster. The very people who were ten seconds away from driving the Brown family out of town then beg Doc to help. He springs into action, shuts down the machine, and the angry mob goes back to cheering for him.

What a wild ride this episode is.

We cut to the Founders' Day celebration, where Jules, Verne, and Marty are grumpy since the destruction of the generator means the town has fallen back into not having electricity. The boys complain that all the fun parts of the fair need power (bumper cars, rock concert, etc). An old man then approaches and tells them that the original Founders' Day didn't have electricity either, and they still had fun. Marty concludes that they can still enjoy the day by participating in other activities like the citizens did back in the day.

Btw, the old guy looks just like the guy from the statue shown in the beginning.

After his inspirational speech, the old man asks Clara to take him back home in that "fancy carriage," which confirms that Clara had gone back in time to get him so that he could offer the town some encouragement. This brings us to the end of the cartoon.

We return to Real Doc, who, long story short, ends up accidentally opening the water reservoir gates on the Hoover Dam. Don't worry, he fixes it right away. All is well.

This feels like the longest post I've done for this show so far. It took forever to watch the episode and type it up. Though that may be due in part to me getting sidetracked by the Doc Hollywood thing.

Definitely not one of my favorite episodes. I'm so tired of Clara being mean to Doc and acting like she doesn't love him. I hope the next episode is better. I'm not even going to look up the summary because I want to just go into it without any background.

If you managed to read this whole thing, this is for you.

#back to the future #bttf: the animated series

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lipglossanon · 2 months

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When You’re With Me I’m Smiling

⁂—————✵————— ⁂

Ark Thompson x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: cute fluff!, kissing, flirting, cheesy banter 🤭 Ark’s just a soft boy who I wanted to write ✍️

not proofread 👌 kinda came out of nowhere and wrote this in like an hour 🫣

Title from Lady by Styx 💜

⁂—————✵————— ⁂

He’s quiet. Something you’ve come to appreciate the more you work with other agents. His friend Leon tends to be a smart ass on the best of days, so when Ark is the only one teaming up with you on projects (no sandy haired menace in sight), you can breathe a sigh of relief.

He works hard and keeps his head down, but also jumps into it when he needs to get his hands dirty. You tend to stick to the admin side of things, being the researcher and liaison for the missions you both take on for the agency. All in all (when you’re not able to work with Rebecca) Ark is your next choice on the roster.

It’s how you both end up working late nights, ordering Chinese takeout and comparing which 90’s boy band had the worst hair. This particular Friday evening is the great debate between 98° and LFO on who is least remembered.

“If it wasn’t for Nick Lachey marrying Jessica Simpson, no one would remember them,” Ark points out, spearing a piece of broccoli onto his fork and pointing it at you.

“Exactly,” you roll your eyes, reaching for the soy sauce, “they’re more recognized because of the association. No one in hell remembers LFO.”

Ark cracks a smile at you, tossing a fortune cookie at you, “Alright, I guess I can see your point. I only know the one song by them anyways.”

You gesture with your arm while closing your empty container, “Thank you. I deserve this win after you won against Justin’s ramen hair.”

“Two words: frosted tips,” he laughs as you flip him off and grab your fortune cookie.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you scrunch your nose, “why was that even a thing in the first place?”

He shrugs easily, leaning back into his chair, “Same reason tribal tattoos around the bicep were in style.”

You both make eye contact before cracking up loudly.

“God, I’m so happy some styles die out with time,” you giggle, standing up to toss your stuff into the trash.

Ark follows suit, walking with you out of the conference room to the nearby break room, recycling what needs to be and throwing away the rest.

“You doing anything this weekend?” He asks, stalling by the door until you’re finished as well.

You fall into step with him as you head over to your desks out in the bullpen.

“Binge some brain rotting television and clean my messy house,” you grin, shouldering him before stopping at your desk to grab your jacket and purse, “what about you?”

He hums and shuffles awkwardly as you slip your jacket on, “I was, uh, going to see if you wanted to meet up tomorrow sometime?”

You frown, “To work on the case?”

You watch as a blush colors the tips of his ears before sweeping down to his cheekbones. His brown eyes dart away and then back to you.

He clears his throat nervously, “Not exactly. I was wondering if you’d want to go out on a date?”

“Oh,” you draw up short, eyes taking in his flushed face and nervous uptic of his lips.

Nodding, you give him a shy smile, “Y-yeah that sounds nice. You have my number, right?”

His smile broadens until you can see a flash of teeth, “Yep, I’ve got it. I’ll call you tomorrow to hammer out the details?”

You laugh, “Maybe work on the sweet talk, huh?”

He flushes harder and rubs the back of his neck, “S-sorry, kinda nervous.”

Chest fluttering with butterflies, you link your arm with his and walk over to his desk.

“We can work on it.”

Stopping to grab some files from his work area, Ark walks with you out into the company parking garage.

“See you tomorrow,” you press a quick kiss to his cheek, “drive safe.”

Smiling bashfully, he rubs the skin you pressed your lips against, “You too.”

By the next afternoon, Ark calls and invites you to try out a new Italian place that Leon swears is the best. Much to your surprise, it’s actually authentic and delicious. You both spend the next couple of hours chatting over pasta and bread, work being completely off the table as a topic. After learning that Ark has never been to the local malt shop (who knew they even still existed!), you convinced him to make that your next stop.

Now, milkshakes in hand, you walk along the pavement to the nearby park, the late evening sun casting long shadows. Coaxing Ark to sit on a bench, you sit thigh to thigh, sharing bites of your cold treats until you’re both giggling and sharing sticky sweet kisses. Sitting your empty cups to the side, Ark takes your face in his calloused hands and presses the softest of kisses to your cold lips.

“I’m glad you agreed to go out with me,” he murmurs in the small space between your mouths, “I’ve been crushing on you for months.”

Your eyes light up, giddy excitement bubbling in your chest, “Really? I never picked up on it.”

Ark grins, thumb coming up to tug your bottom lip down, “Kept it close to the chest, didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You melt into him a little, nipping his thumb before leaning in to kiss him more firmly than before. Losing track of time, the sound of cicadas alerts you to the late time when Ark finally pulls away from you, lips looking bee stung and swollen (you’re sure you don’t look much better).

“Let’s get you home,” his voice comes out rough, sending chill bumps skating across your skin.

Holding hands from the park to his car, he only lets go to help hold open the door for you to get in before climbing into the driver's seat and taking your hand up once more. He randomly kisses your knuckles as he drives, shooting you soft little smiles that make your heart beat fast. Making it back to your apartment, Ark walks you all the way up to your door.

“I had a really wonderful time,” you bite your bottom lip, feeling a little zing at the soreness you feel from your earlier make out.

“I did, too,” he rumbles, eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to your eyes, “can I kiss you goodnight?”

“Please,” you breathe out, hands reaching around to tease the soft brown hair at the nape of his neck when he leans down into your space.

With a soft groan, he kisses you deeply, tongue licking past your swollen lips to rub against yours. You eagerly suck on the slick muscle as your nails scrape against the base of his skull. A deep hum echoes from his chest making you press the dough of your thighs together. He pulls away, resting his forehead against your temple as you both catch your breaths.

“I’ll call you when I get home?” The last word lilts upward as in a question and you smile, stepping back to your door.

“I’d like that,” you murmur happily.

He grins, boyish and charming, “Alrighty. Have a goodnight.”

He dips back in for a quick kiss to your cheek and leaves back to the elevators. You quickly unlock your door and slip inside. Once you’ve shut and locked it back, you slump against the hardwood with a sigh. Feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl, you laugh out loud and press a hand to your lips.

Seems like Ark might take the top spot as your favorite partner to work with from here on out.

#lipglossanon #lipglossmasterlist #ark thompson #ark thompson x fem!reader #ark thompson x reader #Ark Thompson x you #resident evil survivor au #resident evil fic #fluff #fem!reader #resident evil au #resident evil fanfiction #don’t ask what this is cause I have no idea lmao

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phillippadgettwrites · 1 year

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Partager 5

Rated X / 3533 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

See AO3 for tags regarding content

“Where are you off to next?”

Bradley reaches across Scully and takes the joint from Mulder.

“Just north of Seattle, a city called Everett,” he replies, then takes a hit and holds it.

“Sounds wet,” Mulder remarks, and Bradley smirks.

“It’s actually pretty nice this time of year,” he says, wisps of smoke escaping from his mouth and nose. “But I don’t mind wet.”

Scully smiles to herself, seated between the two men on the couch in their living room. It’s surprisingly comfortable, though the pot probably has something to do with that. Bradley and Mulder seem to get along quite well, which only reinforces his insistence that there is no underlying feeling of jealousy on his part. They’re even dressed similarly in jeans and T-shirts that are complementary shades of green. Scully herself opted for a stretchy, black, form-fitting dress that she’s never felt comfortable wearing outside the house. The evening is mild and pleasantly warm given the season, and alternative 90’s music plays at a nearly inaudible volume, noticeable only during intermittent lulls in their conversation.

After their first experience, a haze of euphoria seemed to envelope her and Mulder twenty four hours a day. Never in their entire relationship have they been so physically affectionate, so emotionally intimate, so completely enamored with one another as they were in the days following. At work, she and Bradley were completely cordial and professional, as was her requirement. No sidelong glances, no covert ass-grabbing, no trysts in the parking garage. At home, Mulder met her at the door each day already half hard, doting on her all evening and making her come as many times as she could stand.

It was a full week before he worked up the courage to ask her if she wanted to do it again. She had from the moment it was over, but was afraid that if she asked, it might give the impression that she had interest in Bradley beyond the role he played in their fantasy. Once they established their shared desire for a second act, his next question was whether he could watch.

The lift of her eyebrows provided the answer before she had a chance to open her mouth.

“It’s okay to say no,” he’d quickly added.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” she told him, trying to picture it in her head.

Mulder in the corner with his dick in his hand while Bradley fucked her. Could she enjoy herself with his eyes on her? Would he become jealous if he had to see it happening live? Not to mention the fact that Bradley may not be open to it.

“That’s totally fine. Forget I asked,” he insisted, and she knew he meant it.

An invitation was extended to Bradley, and enthusiastically accepted. She asked him how he felt about Mulder’s presence in the house while they were together. Bradley had shrugged, alluded to the fact that he’d partaken in group sex in the past, and told her was fine with whatever she and Mulder were comfortable with. Leading up to tonight, she’s been toying with the idea of leaving the guest room door open so that there will be no sound barrier between them.

Mulder smacks his lips, frowning.

“That shit gives me horrific dry mouth,” he says, standing. “You want a glass of water, Scully?”

She nods dreamily, and Bradley scoots closer to her on the couch.

“I’m gonna miss Our Lady of Sorrows,” he says with a sigh, draping his arm across her shoulders. The lit joint dangles from between his fingers, sending a tendril of smoke through her periphery.

“I bet,” she replies, throwing him a coy smile.

He pivots his body towards hers slightly, his hand coming to rest on her thigh. She feels a little spark of danger, knowing that Mulder is just a stone’s throw away in the kitchen.

“That was a lie,” he says in a stage whisper, his thumb brushing back and forth across her bare skin. “I’m actually only going to miss you.”

She bites her lip at the teenage thrill of a cute boy making a move on her. Teenage Dana never indulged them in more than a chaste kiss. Grown up Dana has decidedly more erotic plans.

Bradley bends the arm that is draped over her shoulders, leaning forward to bring the joint to his lips. His face hovers inches from hers as he takes a hit, holding the smoke in his mouth. Moving his hand away, he brushes his lips over hers until she opens them, and then exhales directly into her mouth. She sucks in a breath, surprised, and with it pulls the smoke into her lungs. She feels the heat of his tongue on hers and she responds, leaning into him as his hand sails higher up her thigh.

She forgets, for just a moment, that Mulder is also there, until she feels the dip of the cushion beside her and the brush of his hand against her upper arm as he takes the joint from Bradley. She startles, whipping her head over to look at him with a mildly shocked expression. He furrows his eyebrows, concerned not by what she’s doing, but by the look on her face.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, no trace of hurt in his voice. He just wants her to be comfortable.

She considers him for a moment, then shakes her head slowly as the pot seeps into her bloodstream. Bradley’s hand on her jaw turns her face back toward him, and it’s abundantly clear that Mulder’s presence will in no way deter him from doing exactly as he likes.

The haze of her high lets her focus on sensation, and not on her partner of over a decade sitting less than a foot away. Bradley’s kiss, his touch, is different than Mulder’s. Both men are self-assured, possessive, dominant. But Mulder is, by his very nature, a giving man. When he kisses her, his lips are charged with his emotions, pouring his desire and his love straight down her throat. When he fucks her, his own pleasure is an afterthought until she comes. Bradley kisses her hungrily, urgently, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh. He grabs her hand and presses it against his groin, humming and arching into her palm. Not to say that he’s selfish —he’s demonstrated his willingness and desire to get her off—but it’s clear that it’s just the price of entry. For Mulder, her orgasm is more important to him than his own.

She fumbles with Bradley’s belt buckle, breaking the kiss to look over at Mulder. She needs to see his face, to know whether he’s having second thoughts before she does something that he’ll never be able to erase from his memory.

He’s reclined against the armrest, one leg folded up against the back of the couch. His vacant, transfixed stare lifts into a soft smile as he meets her eye, his head bobbing in indication that all is well. She flashes her eyes down to his lap and sees the thick ridge of his erection strapped to his thigh by his jeans, and feels a hot throb between her legs.

Turning back to Bradley, she kisses him as she unbuckles his belt and pops the button on his jeans. She draws the zipper down and slips her hand beneath the rough denim, immediately frustrated by the lack of space to move. Sliding off the couch and onto her knees on the floor, she tugs on his jeans at his hips, and he lifts them off the couch so she can pull his pants and boxers down past his knees.

She flashes her eyes again to Mulder, finding his lips parted and his eyes pinned to her mouth. She runs her tongue across her bottom lip and he pulls in a shuddering sigh.

Bradley has worked one leg out of his jeans, creating space for her between his open thighs. She takes a good look at his cock, which she’d been too nervous and sober to do before, and smirks to herself. Uncut, thick, and on the average end for length, he’s almost the antithesis of Mulder’s long, curved cock. One dirty blond and curly, the other sable and straight, they’re really incomparable, which makes her feel like she’s got the best of both worlds. She takes him in her hand, sliding his foreskin down to reveal the shiny pink glans. Leaning forward, she darts her tongue out and flicks at his frenulum, making his hips jump.

Mulder chuckles, and she turns to look at him. He’s smiling, his hand rubbing at the bulge in his jeans. He shakes his head at her, and she gives him a questioning look.

“You’re such a tease,” he chides playfully.

She narrows her eyes at him with a haughty smirk. I’m no tease, she thinks to herself, turning back to Bradley and taking every inch of him into her mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” Bradley says tightly, his hands going to her head.

She hears the rustle of fabric and the murmur of a zipper, then a little satisfied grunt that tells her that Mulder has his cock in his hand. She tilts her head slightly, peering at him from the corner of her eye as she draws her mouth tightly up and down over Bradley’s shaft.

Mulder’s eyes are on her. On her face, on her mouth, flashing down to her body. It’s like Bradley doesn’t even exist. Mulder sees her looking and holds her eye, his hand gliding smoothly from head to base. They stay that way for moments, eyes locked with his hand mirroring her pace, up and down, up and down. It’s so insanely erotic she feels feral and overwhelmed.

She reaches for him, touching his knee, and he stands up and pushes his jeans and boxers down before moving to sit on the cushion beside Bradley. She moves on him immediately, Bradley’s spit-slick cock wrapped up in one of her hands while she sinks down on Mulder, making her own eyes water as she takes him into her throat. He hums, pushing her hair out of her face so he can see, and after a couple minutes she switches back, Mulder now in hand and Bradley in mouth.

She can’t help but notice the different way they feel against her tongue, the distinct taste of their respective skin. A drop of precum beads on the head of Bradley’s cock and she licks it away, finding it slightly metallic and bitter. When she turns to Mulder, his familiar bright, bleachy flavor is intimate in a new and indescribable way. There are so many ways she knows him that she’s not even aware of.

She slips Mulder out of her mouth and he moves off the couch as she resumes sucking Bradley. She feels him behind her, tugging her dress up over her hips and slipping his hand between her legs. She startles, then sinks down as his finger pushes into her cunt. He pumps slowly in and out, then drags his finger over her vulva from her clit to her asshole.

“You’re soaked,” he says, and she feels herself clutch at nothing, wanting him back inside her.

She hums around Bradley’s cock, pushing her ass out invitingly, hoping he’ll fuck her. But he doesn’t, he just plays with her pussy lackadaisically, running his fingers through her folds and spreading her wetness all over. She’s starting to feel frustrated, and she might call him a hypocrite for declaring her a tease if her mouth weren’t full at the moment. He tugs her dress up higher, and she sits back so he can pull it off over her head, leaving her nude.

“Commando,” Bradley says, pleasantly surprised, his eyes red and sagging.

Mulder grabs her by the hips and pushes her up off the floor and into Bradley’s lap. She complies, planting her knees on either side of his hips on the couch cushion and sliding her slippery cunt across his shaft as he devours her mouth. Bradley slips off his shirt, tossing it behind him and pulling her chest flush against his.

Mulder kneels on the floor beside them, stroking himself idly as he watches. When she lifts her hips and pushes Bradley’s cock back to position him at her opening, she steals a glance at Mulder and watches his face as she sinks down. He is completely enamored, craning his neck to watch Bradley disappear inside of her. All of her worries regarding jealousy evaporate, and she loops her arms around Bradley’s neck, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth as she begins to grind in his lap.

It’s slow and deep, different than before. Stoned and secure in this not being a relationship-ending endeavor, she lets herself relish the hot press of his bare chest and the grip of his hands on her hips. She feels a hand on her lower back and realizes it’s Mulder, once again behind her on the floor. He runs his palm over her skin from her shoulders to her sacrum, touching the outsides of her thighs and the souls of her feet. It’s a loving, tender touch, until his finger dips into her ass crack and slides down toward her cunt.

She feels the firm press of the pad of his finger against her asshole, and she leans forward slightly. She feels him touching her lower, right around where Bradley is slipping in and out of her, and then his moistened finger is back on her asshole, sinking in slowly.

“Oh, god,” she whimpers against Bradley’s mouth. Is he even aware of what Mulder is doing?

Maybe not, but he feels the effects of it around his cock. He grunts as she tightens around him, his hips pushing up off the couch in an attempt to get more of her, to go faster. The flex of her hips and his counter one another, her clit brushing against the base of his cock and Mulder’s finger slowly pushing in deeper. Overwhelmed, she stills as Bradley fucks her from beneath and Mulder fingers her from behind, an orgasm rapidly taking shape as they hit every single pleasure point in her pelvis.

“Goddamn, are you gonna come?” Bradley asks, breathless. “Can I come inside you?”

She gasps, his words and the sensations she’s experiencing making her muscles seize and rendering her vocal cords inoperable.

“Yes, come inside her,” Mulder growls from behind her, and she peaks, hovering at the precipice before she tumbles down and down and down.

“Holy shit,” Bradley hisses, tightening his grip on her hips as he fucks her nosily.

His head drops against the back of the couch, his eyes slamming shut as he finds his own release, groaning and writhing beneath her.

She feels Mulder gently extract his finger, and she slumps against Bradley as they both pant, their hammering hearts beating against each other through their chests.

Minutes pass, and Bradley pats her hip softly. She lifts off of him, and immediately Mulder’s hands are on her waist, guiding her to lie down on the couch. Floating, hazy, she follows his direction as he sits back against the arm rest, his clothes discarded, and settles her between his thighs. The warmth of his naked body against her back and the wash of post-orgasmic hormones coursing through her body make her feel light and happy, and that’s before he re-lights the joint and offers it to her.

“Feeling good?” he asks, his fingers trailing down her arms and across her chest, cupping her breasts and then coming to rest on her belly.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, letting her head drop to the side as she blows a stream of smoke towards the fireplace.

“You looked incredible,” he says quietly, then drops a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re so sexy, Scully.”

She smiles and closes her eyes, thinking about what it must have looked like from his point of view. What could he see, stationed on the floor between her legs? Most likely everything. The idea makes her hips wiggle.

Mulder strokes the skin of her lower belly, combing his fingers through her pubic hair. He touches the inside of her thigh and she moves it aside, tucking it up against the back of the couch. He continues to play, running his fingers along the seams of her legs and teasing her with a brush of his knuckle just above her clit. She sighs and bends her other knee, draping her leg over his.

His finger trails slowly over her lips, inching down until he touches the slick pool at her opening. She feels his erection against her back, and it swells when he sinks a finger inside her. She can hear the wet slick of Bradley’s cum as Mulder slowly pumps in and out, and it’s arousing enough to reignite her, sparking new desire where it was so recently sated.

She hears the thunk of the door and she startles, her eyes snapping open as she attempts to sit up.

“It’s okay,” Mulder reassures her, touching her shoulder to encourage her back down. “Bradley just left.”

“Oh,” she says, moderately confused by his lack of farewell, but distracted enough to quickly move on from it.

Mulder resumes slowly finger-fucking her, slipping a second finger inside and increasing the wet, sloppy sounds of Bradley’s cum and her own lubrication.

“Watching you with him was—fuck, Scully. I’ve never been so hard in my life.”

She whimpers, canting her hips up and bumping her clit against his wrist.

Mulder withdraws his fingers and brings them to her mouth, brushing against her bottom lip. Craning her neck forward, she sucks them into her mouth and tastes her own earthiness against Bradley’s bitter metal.

Mulder grunts, flexing his hips up to push his erection into her back. She rotates her body so that they are belly to belly and reaches between her legs to guide him in, wriggling down until he’s fully inside her. Looking up, she finds his waiting mouth and kisses him as he slowly shifts his hips up and down.

“I love you,” she mumbles against his mouth, and he grabs two handfuls of her ass, squeezing as his fingers creep down between her legs.

“Scully,” he says tightly, his cock brushing against her clit and his fingers swiping around her opening, feeling himself move in and out of her. “You’re—fuck, I love you so much. So fucking much.”

They undulate synchronously, slipping him in and out in a liquid rhythm as he pushes two fingers into her cunt right alongside his cock. They nip at one another’s lips, her hands on the arm of the couch above his head for leverage, his hands on her, in her, everywhere. It builds slowly, just as they did, gathering speed and volume, growing into something more profound than they may have expected at the start.

She begins to quiver around him, her trembling cunt making him groan and whine with restraint.

“I’m gonna come,” he says with disappointment, knowing that he won’t be able to hold back.

She answers him with a sharp gasp and a low moan, her walls clamping down around him as stars explode behind her eyes and between her legs.

“Oh, fuck,” he hisses, increasing the frantic snap of his hips as they both unravel.

He seems to come forever, and his orgasm draws hers out with it, the continued slide of his head over her g-spot setting off little aftershocks as she slowly comes down. Finally, he exhales forcefully and relaxes beneath her, his cock slipping out with a wet rush. He holds his fingers there inside her, moving in gentle, wet circles, and she listens to the beat of his heart as it slows from a gallop to a trot, and finally a steady stroll. He lightly scratches her back, and she feels herself drifting.

“We can’t fall asleep down here,” he says drowsily, and she hums. A few minutes go by. “Come on, honey. You don’t want to wake up naked and cold and covered in spunk at 2am.”

She grimaces and rolls off him, feeling a warm trickle run down the inside of her thigh when she stands.

“Shower?” she asks hopefully, and he nods.

Though only their second such ritual, there’s a familiar comfort in him cleaning her up, running his soapy hands between her legs and rinsing away their fun. They stand beneath the hot spray, back to chest, and sway gently side to side with eyes closed and hearts full. He towels her off, picks out her pajamas, and tucks her into bed.

“You’re my girl,” he tells her, kissing her nose. There is no longer a question in his voice.

“Always,” she says on a yawn, nuzzling against his chest.

In the morning, they find a note on the kitchen counter.

You two were in your own little world. Thanks for the invitation. I’ll be in Seattle for 26 weeks. If you have an urge to go somewhere where you might get wet, email me. -Bradley

#the x files #x files fanfic #xf fic #xf fanfic #smut #dana scully #fox mulder #xfiles

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collecting-stories · 2 years

Note

Hi! Congrats on 11k! Can I request a soulmate au with Luke from jatp with sharing songs please :)

Oh my gosh thank you!!! Also I’m really excited about this, I haven’t written Luke in like, a while so it’s nice to kind of dust off the JatP! Thanks for requesting!!!

Troubadour - Luke Patterson

Summary: YOU’RE THE VOICE I HEAR INSIDE MY HEAD THE REASON THAT I’M SINGING I NEED TO FIND - not quite but Luke gets a set of chords stuck in his head and it turns out they’re yours.

A/N: I went with this one (but like Sunset Curve in the 90’s style) sharing songs = they keep hearing songs that they can’t find on the internet, finally realizing that they are their soulmate’s own, unpublished songs

Julie and the Phantoms Masterlist || Celebrate 11k with me

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“What are you playing?”

Luke stopped mid-hum, fingers stilling on his guitar and looking over at Alex. They’d been taking a break from practice but Luke had been strumming the same few chords for the last couple minutes. It wasn’t unusual behaviour but Luke typically would’ve been writing down lyrics or trying to figure out the next piece of the song. As far as Alex could tell he was just transfixed on those chords and nothing else.

“Uh,” Luke faltered for a minute, racking his brain for the name of the song that had been stuck in his for the last few weeks. “I…I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Do you have anything written yet?” Reggie looked almost hopeful as he asked. He’d been sneaking lyrics into Luke’s notebook lately. They weren’t bad but they also weren’t Sunset Curve by a longshot.

“It’s not mine,” Luke explained, “I spent all day yesterday at the record store on palermo and still can’t find it…”

“Where’d you hear it first?” Alex asked, interest piqued at this bit of information. Luke had an undeniable ear for music. He could know a song just from the opening strum of the guitar or strike of the drums. It was unusual that he didn’t recognise a song he’d been playing over and over again.

“That’s the thing,” Luke admitted, setting his guitar in its stand and getting up to pace around the room. “I don’t really remember. Like I just woke up one morning and it was in my head.”

“And you haven’t heard it anywhere else?” Bobby asked, coming back into the garage with water bottles for the four of them.

“No.” Luke shook his head, getting a little frustrated with the questions but more so just because he felt like he didn’t have any of the answers he wanted. “It just was stuck in my head one day and I haven’t been able to find it anywhere. Look, it’s whatever. Let’s just get back to practice. Reggie wants to go to that show tonight-“

“We can’t miss it, it’s open mic once a month, if it seems like a good crowd, we should think about putting our names down.” Reggie replied, cutting Luke off. He’d been telling them about this venue for a couple weeks now, since he and Bobby had gone down there for a show and seen a flyer about their amateur band nights. Unsigned bands in LA could perform for fairly regular crowds. It was better than anything they’d been doing.

“We won’t miss it,” Bobby said, grabbing his guitar.

The crowd was a good one tonight, not packed but full enough that Luke felt the familiar warmth of being surrounded by eager concert-goers. Alex pushed forward, the other three following him to the edge of the stage. There was a band performing, a group of 20-something guys dressed more like accountants than rockers but their music was good.

As the set finished, Luke turned away from the stage, listening to Bobby talking about how it seemed so far. Trust him to be the most analytical of the four of them. Luke was always all about the music but Bobby had a head for the business side of things too. It didn’t take long to switch out instruments, none of the bands seemed interested in keeping the crowd waiting for too long, not when most of them were just trying to get their names out there.

Luke still had his back turned as the house lights dimmed and the next band came out.

You weren’t normally this nervous about performing but lately you’d had a song stuck in your head and it’d been distracting you from working on your own music. As soon as you sat down to write it was there in the back of your head. You’d had songs kind of, creep up on you before. Words or chords just got stuck until you wrote them out but something about this song told you it wasn’t something you’d dreamed up yourself. It didn’t feel like you at all, more like you were hearing someone else’s song in your ear.

You hadn’t told anyone about it and now you were getting ready to go on with your band, hopeful that you didn’t mess up, trying to combat the song in your head with your own chords.

The crowd had some good energy, seemingly more welcoming than when you had been here the last time. “Hey, thanks for letting us take up some of your time tonight, this song is a new one I’ve been working on. I think I finally got it, I’ll let you guys decide,” the comment was met with some laughs and you smiled, trying to calm your heart from going haywire in your chest, “alright, here we go.”

You started strumming and Luke turned around, his eyes wide as he stared up at you. All he could remember was what Reggie had said on the way over, these were all new bands that didn’t have records, that hadn’t been signed. You said yourself you had just finished the song you were singing, but, Luke knew that song.

“That’s the song,” he said, nudging Alex, “that’s the song!”

“What song?” Alex asked, turning so he could hear him better, “you mean the song you were playing earlier today?”

“yeah; that’s it.”

“How is that possible, Luke, we’ve never seen these guys play before.” Alex reasoned. It didn’t make any sense that Luke would know a song before it even existed in the world, “maybe you’ve just got some chords stuck in your head and it sounds like that.”

“No,” Luke shook his head and looked back up at the stage. It was impossible to really see the crowd, he knew that, he’d been on stage enough times to know that you’re really just looking out at silhouettes. But as he looked up you turned your head and he swore your eyes locked with his. He could feel a pounding in his chest like the nerves he got before a show, sweat beaded on the back of his neck and goosebumps erupted on his skin. It was like his whole body was mirroring yours and you looked like you knew.

He wanted to pull you off stage and ask you how you’d done it. How had he heard that song in his head when it was only just finished, how had the words all seemed so familiar when just that afternoon he couldn’t remember any of them. Luke was stuck in that moment until he felt the house lights come up and he was blinking from the change, turning his head back and forth. He felt like he’d been dreaming, if he pinched himself he almost expected to wake up in the garage again.

“Luke!” Alex grabbed his arm and brought him back down to reality. He was awake after all, “where are you going? The next band is getting ready to play.”

“I have to find that singer…that, I…that’s the song.”

#ems 11k sleepover #Julie and the phantoms imagine #Julie and the phantoms fanfic #Julie and the phantoms fanfiction #Julie and the phantoms fic #jatp fanfiction #jatp fanfic #jatp fic #Luke Patterson fanfiction #Luke Patterson fanfic #Luke Patterson imagine #Luke Patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #Luke Patterson x you #collecting stories imagine

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