#about luk

[smalltownboy-likeme]

Steckbrief:

Nachname: di Laurentis

Vorname: Kian Luk

Spitzname(n): K, Luki, Lukluk

Geburtstag: 22.11.1998

Alter: 25

Eltern: Charles und Katherine di Laurentis

Geschwister: Luna und Levi di Laurentis (beide älter)

Beruf: Comicbuchladenverkäufer

Geburtsort: Crystal Falls, Michigan

Wohnort: Seattle

Wohnverhältnisse: 3-Zimmer-Wohnung mit Balkon in einem Wohnkomplex

Hobbys: lesen, Wasserski fahren, Snowboard fahren, schwimmen, wandern, American Football, trainieren, kochen, vieles mehr

Charakter: gutmütig, naiv, sensibel, freundlich, intelligent, stur, lebhaft, spontan, perfektionistisch, romantisch, abenteuerlustig, draufgängerisch, konsequent

[ladyolivia689]

“I like that cause Nicola, my co-star, was in Barbie. So we have the link. So I can be Ken for her.” 💛

📸 Edit created by @jaeomimimi

Its so good!

[aintashes]

don't mind me i'm just weeping and wailing about how one of da.ryl's biggest motifs as a character is his relationship with finding people ??

no matter how distant he becomes, no matter how much people hurt him or how much pain comes with it, everyone knows. da.ryl di.xon finds people.

[hatigave-a]

POSTCARDS & POLAROIDS       ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ @timelovcd

[mchiti]

[whoreofbabylonofficial]

i have to call the stupid lost and found.....

[incognit0slut]

The Last Laugh

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer is forced to share a room with his rival. This is part two of Lose Control but can be read as a standalone.

warnings: sexual tension, a lot of banter, female oral, edging, rough sex, unplanned creampie (is that a thing?) words: 5,3k a/n: someone requested a part two with a one-bedroom trope and since this is one of my favorite stories, I had to do it

...Thinkin' you're winnin' with all of your grinning but I got the last laugh...

"I'M NOT SLEEPING WITH REID."

The idea was absurd. Ridiculous. Insane. Out of all the people in her team, why was she paired up with him?

According to Garcia, the only choice she had to spend the night in this remote town was with the person she least wanted to engage with. Did Garcia not know how much she had been trying to avoid him? How much she had been attempting to act as if the mere proximity with him wasn't making her lose her mind?

"Why not?" Garcia asked, handing her a key. "He's not that bad of a roommate, well, if you overlook his tendency to share random facts in the middle of the night, then he's really not that bad."

"Do you not hear yourself?" She steadied her gaze to her friend. "You want me to share a room with the person I hate the most?"

Garcia rolled her eyes. "You guys really should stop with this nonsense. You're both grown adults."

"I'll treat him like an adult if he starts to act like one." Her eyes drifted toward the man of the hour, standing at the other end of this old-looking hotel that seemed too close to falling apart, engaged in conversation with Luke. She then glanced back at Garcia. "Why can't he share a room with Luke?"

"Because I'm sharing a room with Luke."

She shot Garcia an incredulous look. "You're rooming with Luke? Since when?"

"Since always. We're buddies, remember?" She cocked an eyebrow and Garcia sighed. "Don't look at me like that, we're just friends. Besides, you and Reid are the only ones left without a roommate. Consider this your opportunity for personal growth or whatever."

"Personal growth? More like a crash course in patience. And what's the deal with Reid anyway? Why does he always have to be the exception?"

Garcia leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. "Well, let's just say Luke and I enjoy our peace. Reid, on the other hand, is like a walking encyclopedia. I figured it's your turn to experience that charm up close."

She scowled, a mix of annoyance and resignation on her face. "Charm? That's a generous way to put it."

Garcia stared back with an air of nonchalance that only seemed to amplify her exasperation. "Look, it's only one night. What's the worst that could happen?"

She shot her friend a withering glance as if the absurdity of the situation needed no further clarification. "The worst is that I might end up committing another crime in this town before the night ends."

Garcia raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident. "You're exaggerating, Reid is harmless. Plus, all the other rooms are fully booked. Consider yourself lucky we even found a place to stay."

"Lucky is not the word I would use right now."

"Just try to survive the night without killing each other," Garcia chuckled, ignoring the glare shot towards her way. "Give him a chance."

Her incredulous stare intensified. "A chance? Garcia, the man tried to argue with me about the most efficient way to organize my desk. And you know what's ironic? His own desk is a complete mess."

Garcia sighed, her playful demeanor softening. "One night, Y/n, that's all I'm asking."

She pursed her lips together. She could go on about how bad it would be to share a room with him, but the thing was, it would raise questions she did not want to answer. There was a limit to how much her disdain could stop her from entertaining the idea, and her avoidance, she realized, was more than just mere hatred.

Annoyed that she couldn't do anything to escape the situation, she shot a disapproving glance at him, who was still engrossed in conversation with Luke. With a resigned shake of her head, she turned back to Garcia.

"Whatever." She sighed, begrudgingly accepting the key Garcia handed her. "But if he starts reciting facts about, I don't know, the history of dental floss or something, I'm blaming you."

Garcia laughed. "Fair enough." She shoved her shoulder playfully. "But who knows, maybe you'll discover he's not as bad as you think."

That was the problem. Spencer Reid, in her eyes, was starting to... change. And she hated that. Why was the man she had never bothered to befriend occupying her mind more than she wanted him to? Was it because she now knew what it felt like to have his body pressed against hers? What it felt like to have him grunt in pleasure right in her ear? Just because they had sex?

Nope. Nuh-huh. She wasn't going to think of him differently tonight—or ever, for that matter.

She gave Garcia one last glare before making her way across the creaky floorboards toward him. Noticing her presence coming close, Spencer looked up and a slight tension filled the air as his gaze locked with hers. She quickly shook her head.

"You're sleeping on the floor," she declared with a point of her finger when she reached him.

A small amused smile played on his lips. "We're sharing a room?"

"Unfortunately," she grumbled. She then focused her attention on Luke. "Do you want to switch roommates?"

Luke chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm stuck with Garcia. Besides," he patted Spencer on the shoulder, "Don't act like you're not eager to spend the night with him."

Her eyes went wide. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Luke simply shrugged with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and walked away, leavingher staring at Spencer with a mix of confusion and suspicion. "What did you tell him?"

Spencer frowned. "Nothing." He sighed when her stare didn't back down. "Nothing, I swear. Luke tends to have his own way of interpreting things."

She narrowed her eyes, not entirely convinced, but decided to let it go for the moment. She turned on her heels, not waiting for him as she walked to their destinated room. She felt his presence close behind her but kept her mouth closed.

Spencer, on the other hand, found the situation amusing. He really shouldn't find any entertainment in her visible annoyance towards him, but he did. He couldn't help but notice that despite being angry, she still looked unbelievably attractive. The scowl on her face, her pursed lips, her chest heaving in anger. He took a step closer.

"This must be hard for you," he commented.

"What is?" she shot back, maintaining her brisk pace.

"Staying the night with me when you've been avoiding me."

Her jaw tightened. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Really? So you haven't gone out of your way to avoid looking in my direction ever since what happened?"

Her steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, refusing to show any vulnerability. "That doesn't mean I've been actively avoiding you. It just means I have better things to do than engage in pointless conversations."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Pointless conversations, or conversations you're trying to avoid?"

She shot him a sharp look but didn't respond. "You know," he began again. "You do seem to be acting differently ever since that day."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Spencer couldn't resist a faint smile at her denial. "You really don't know what I'm referring to?"

She huffed, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The narrow hallway seemed to amplify the unresolved tension between them as they stopped right in front of their room. She could feel his gaze on her, and it only fueled her annoyance.

She tried to ignore him by unlocking the door, but as she pushed it open, she felt his presence looming behind her. His proximity was so close that she held her breath as he gripped the edge of the door in front of her. His breath brushed her neck and her eyes involuntarily fluttered close when his other hand slowly rested on her waist.

"Should I help you jog your memory back?"

Her eyes shot open. She shoved him aside and stepped into the room. "No funny business, Reid. Keep your dick in your pants tonight."

His laughter lingered in the air as he followed her inside, closing the door behind him. "The question is," he taunted. "Can you keep it in my pants?"

She scoffed. Who was he and what did he do to the Spencer she once knew? The guy she remembered lacked any humor and always kept his distance from her. It was hard to believe a simple encounter—could you call sex as simple?—had turned him so crude, or maybe, she considered, this was his true self all along.

She decided to ignore his words as her eyes scanned the cramped room, containing only an old dresser, a nightstand, and a queen-sized bed, which she pointed at assertively. "That bed is mine."

His brow furrowed. "Why do I have to sleep on the floor?"

"You want me to sleep on the floor?" Her hand gracefully moved to her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Where is your chivalry, Dr. Reid?"

"We could share the bed."

She simply stared back at him, her eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and incredulity. Spencer, unable to resist stirring the pot, shot back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, it won't be so bad. Did you know that the concept of sharing a bed has been a cultural practice for centuries? It symbolizes unity and—"

"Reid," she interrupted, shooting him a pointed look. "If you're trying to annoy me, you're doing an excellent job."

He grinned, clearly enjoying her irritation. "I'm just stating a fact. Sharing a room, sharing a bed—it's all deeply rooted in human history."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I highly doubt our situation is deeply rooted in anything other than poor hotel arrangements."

Spencer chuckled, undeterred, his laughter resonating in the dimly lit room as he took a step closer to her. The worn-out floor creaked beneath his feet, echoing the subtle tension that lingered in the confined space of the room. "You never know. We might be making history right now."

She shot him a skeptical look, her gaze unwavering. "I doubt historians will be interested in this disaster."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this skeptical, or is it just reserved for me?"

"It's just reserved for annoying people," she retorted, not missing a beat. She took a deliberate step closer to him, the air thick with a blend of tension and... something else. Her heart quickened as his gaze swiftly swept over her lips before dragging back to her eyes.

"Really?" He closed the distance between them, and she held her ground, tilting her head back to meet his gaze due to his towering height. A subtle trace of his scent hung in the air, his presence enveloping her. She felt a sudden shift in the air, her senses heightened, and her eyes traced the contours of his face—the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth reflected in his hazel eyes. She also could sense the initial surge of longing coursing through her body.

Shit.

"Believe it or not," he added, his voice a low murmur that resonated in the confined space. "I find your company quite fascinating."

"Fascinating?" She responded, but it came out more breathless than she had intended. She took a deep breath, trying to act as if his close proximity wasn't affecting her. Her pulse, however, betrayed her composure. And it was evident in her voice. "T- That's a stretch."

"Really?" His lips curved into a subtle smile, catching the shift in her demeanor. "I think there's a small part of you that's enjoying this."

"Enjoy what? Your random facts and annoying habits?"

Spencer leaned forward. A tension crackled between them, and it swam in his eyes and played on his lips. It pulled at her chest, making her heartbeat flutter in her throat, and to her surprise, he extended his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch left a searing sensation on her skin.

"Admit it, you're starting to see a different side of me."

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge his point. "One night doesn't change anything."

"You're right." His hand made its way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. "It can change everything."

Before she could register what he was doing, he closed the distance between them, holding her still as his lips crashed on hers. A thousand things flooded her mind all at once—each of them revolving around him. The way she melted into him felt oddly natural. The way his hands began to roam her body, the way her mouth opened for his tongue, the way her kisses became hungrier, also felt natural.

Which was bad. Really, really bad. This wasn't supposed to happen. One time, she could call it a mistake. But allowing him to have his way with her for the second time... there was no one to blame but herself. She should push him away and set the boundaries she was supposed to set the moment he invaded her personal space. But it was hard to think rationally when he tasted so good.

It was hard to stand her ground when his teeth softly nibbled her bottom lip. It was hard to think straight when she was already pulling hard at the locks at the base of his neck as his tongue explored her mouth, blindly walking her back until her back was pressing onto the wall.

"Look at you," he laughed against her lips. "You're not pushing me away."

"Shut up," she hissed, trying her best to keep her tone icy. But then again, it was hard to stay angry when he was touching her like this. His greedy hand traveled up her thighs, massaging the plush flesh. His fingers finally found the hem of her pants, and he swallowed her moan when they dipped underneath the material, slipping right underneath her panties.

Her breath hitched when two of his long fingers slide between her folds, spreading her slick before finding its rightful place on her clit. Spencer didn't hesitate when he started rubbing at her nub, smooth and deliberate, it made her toes curl and her body jumped in a moment of surprised bliss.

Her sound of pleasure was music to his ears, urging him to satisfy her even more. He was quick when those same fingers dipped inside her core, her inner walls tensing at the sudden yet pleasurable stretch. There was a distinct sound along her needy whines, wet and slapping as his palm makes contact with her clit every time he was knuckle-deep inside her. Her head fell back to the wall, mouth agape, face flushed—a sight Spencer secretly wanted to commit into his memory.

Without even noticing it, her hips started grinding to chase his fingers, desperate to reach that familiar pleasure twisting in her core. Her movement didn't go unnoticed by him, an amused, deep chuckle reverberating from his chest while he pulled his fingers out of her, rubbing her clit aggressively, knowing it would make her reach her high faster.

"You're going to cum, aren't you? This quick?" She glared at him through half-lidded eyes, not giving him an answer. His smile widened at her resistance. "Do you think I should let you?"

Her heart quickened its pace, knowing well enough what he was about to do. He was going to tease her, or as she liked to think, he was going to torture her by not giving her what she wanted. Her theory was proved right when he leaned down, his face inches away from hers, a sly smile on his lips.

"Beg me."

She quickly shook her head. A hand snaked up her back until it found the base of her skull. His fingers brushed through her strands before gripping hard, sending a jolt of pain down her spine as he yanked her head back.

"Beg me."

"Fuck you—ah!" A sudden pressure of his fingers sent pleasure shooting through her, pushing a moan from her that filled the room like a ringing bell—a bell that signaled the fact that despite how much she knew she shouldn't, she was already surrendering to his touch.

"No?" He taunted, his breath brushing against her ear. "Then I'm not letting you cum."

And just like that, the pleasure rippling through her body was ripped away.

He swiftly pulled his hand from under her pants with a smirk she wanted to wipe off before turning his back to her, leaving her all flustered. She took a moment to collect herself, her mind racing to grasp the situation. She loathed him. She really did. She despised the way he was so full of himself.

With a determined exhale, she shook off the flustered feeling that lingered. He may have momentarily unsettled her, but she was not one to let her guard down easily. She was not going to let him get under her skin. If he could make her sexually frustrated, then so could she.

If he was going to play dirty, she was going to get filthy.

Her shirt was the first thing that came off. Then she unbuttoned her pants, pulling them down over her legs. Dear god, she was going to regret this, wasn't she? But she couldn't stop. Not when the rustle of her clothes echoed in the quiet space and Spencer turned around, jaw slacked, a startled expression crossed his face as he watched her.

"W-What are you doing?"

There. That was what she wanted. That priceless, wide-eyed, disbelief face. She had to keep going.

"Taking matters into my own hands."

Her hand reached around to unclasp her bra before she intentionally took her time sliding the straps down her arms, enjoying the way his jaw clenched as you did. Eyes still focused on him, she tossed it to the side. Her hands lowered afterward, and an audible gasp escaped his lips as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of her underwear, sliding them down her legs.

"You're always so smug," she murmured, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Thinking you have control of me."

Right hand reaching up, her fingertips just lightly swept the length of his stubbled chin, just below his lips. The corner of his mouth only drew up further at her touch. She smiled at his reaction, and her fingers dropped down to grip his chin firmly.

"But I can satisfy myself just fine."

And then she pulled away, the smirk now missing from his lips as she backed out of his reach. She then settled on the bed, and with her eyes never leaving him, she spread her legs wide open. She watched as a breathless sigh escaped his lips and smiled triumphantly, especially when the bulge growing in his dark pants was impossible to ignore.

With her gaze lingering on his steadily growing erection, she trailed her hand down her stomach, the tips of her fingers paused just over her clit. "What's wrong, Reid?" She hummed out, watching his chest heave. "You seem to be speechless."

Because he was, how could he not be when the pad of her middle finger slowly started to lightly circle over her clit. He watched as she teased herself, fingers gliding between her folds, gathering her arousal before slipping a finger inside. She gasped, the wet sound was audible even to her own ears as she gradually pumped her finger in and out.

He took a step closer, and her fingers moved faster as his eyes raked over her body—her luscious breasts fully exposed, legs spread apart, fingers between her thighs. A faint moan fell out of her, her eyes partially closing all the while her fingers never ceased their movement, vigorously thrusting into her cunt.

She then proceeded to put on a show for him, throwing her head back and rolling her hips. He was standing close to her now, eyes focused on her body, his tongue sliding along his lower lip. Her cunt immediately clenched at the sight of him, a bulge straining at the fabric of his pants. The sight sent a surge of warmth through her body, spreading from between her thighs to her cheeks as her fingers quickened in pace and her legs spread farther for him to see.

He was trying to hold himself, it was obvious in the way he held his composure. But then she watched with satisfaction as he stalked towards her, and just because she wanted to fluster him, she couldn't help herself from letting out a needy whine as she slipped her fingers out before rubbing her clit desperately, her eyes boring into his.

"Spencer," she moaned.

That was precisely when he lost it. He didn't even hesitate. He marched straight to her, and her finger stopped in its movement as she watched him settle between her legs, sinking to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and roughly yanked her over the edge of the mattress, and she fell on her back with a squeal.

"You're a goddamn tease, you know that?" He sneered, his warm breath brushing over her heat. "Fine, I'll let you win this time."

A gasp escaped her lips when he wasted no time leaning in, burying his head between her thighs. He wasted no time as she grabbed onto the sheets, feeling his tongue draw circles around her clit before flicking up and down at a rapid pace. Her thighs tighten around his head. and her whole body trembled beneath him, encouraging him to move his tongue faster.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding them apart as he took his time. Ever so slowly he licked up her slit, gathering her juices on his tongue until he reached her clit, groaning every second of the way until she was shivering beneath his touch. She was breathless, mind buzzing and the room spinning as he thrust his tongue into her warmth, face becoming so deep between her thighs that heat rushed through her body.

When her thighs trembled and threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag deeper inside her. With a roll of his tongue, he was lapping at her walls, swallowing every drop until the second he heard her begin to whine.

It was embarrassing, letting him hear how worked up she was. But she couldn't help it, not when she was losing control of her mind and body. Her hips were starting to buck to meet his tongue. Her jaw slacked. Low moans spilled from her lips as he continued to ravish her, and her fingers dug into the sheets beneath her to hold onto her sanity as waves of pure overwhelming pleasure took hold of her.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, voice two octaves higher before growing silent. She was so, so close to the edge, his tongue relentlessly sucking her clit, licking, swirling over her entrance until her mind fell blank from the bliss. The heat began swelling from between her thighs, tension tightening and all she did was screw her eyes shut.

But seconds before the pleasure was nearly too much to bear, he suddenly pulled away.

"Reid!" She hissed, looking down between her legs. "You're fucking annoying."

He looked up at her with a teasing glint in his eyes, then his mouth parted a second before his tongue swiped over his lip to taste the remnants of her arousal. "What?"

Unbelievable. After pulling that stunt, he had the audacity to feign innocence. She huffed and opened her mouth to retort something but when he started to undress himself, she couldn't think of anything. Her mind was too busy taking in his slightly toned arms, his broad chest, his slim waist, and that patch of soft hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing underneath his pants.

And that was gone too, and now he was standing without any shred of clothing, and it then dawned on her that they were both very much naked. Their first time in that dusty storage room happened too fast that they didn't bother taking off their clothes, but now she had the time to sink in the way he looked wearing nothing but a smirk.

"I didn't bring a condom," he said as he climbed onto the bed. Like that was going to stop them, it didn't stop them before and it most definitely won't stop them now.

"It's fine," she mumbled just as he settled between her legs again, but when his eyes lit up at her words, she smacked his shoulder. "But you're still not finishing inside me."

He merely hummed a reply. Then seconds later he was lining up the tip of his cock with her entrance. His eyes meet hers as he teased her, and she noticed the smirk appear once again on his lips. She pushed her hips toward him, gripping his arm irritatedly, and released a breathy 'hurry up' before she could change her mind.

He wasted no more time pushing himself into her without warning, earning a gasp while he stretched her completely. He pressed his body into her, allowing her lips to collide with his and moan into the kiss when she felt him pull away just enough to slam back into her with one harsh thrust. His hands suddenly reached for her wrists, and he gripped them above her head, pushing them onto the mattress.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, and she quickly shut her own as he pumped himself into her cunt over and over again. His motions were aggressive, sloppy, and wild. The moment a particularly deep and brutal thrust hit her at the right spot was the moment she finally gave in to weakness as she let out a loud moan, her mind going blank to everything but the pleasure he was giving her.

Then he pulled back again, and his thick cock slid out of her partway, glistening with her juices, splitting her pussy apart around it before snapping forward, his hips going at a brutal pace, making her whole body bounce from the contact.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned out just as she gasped from the intense pressure of him inside her, head falling above her, jaw slacked, sweat dripping down his temple. Her eyes fluttered open before exhaling a heavy breath, feeling him tightening his grip on her wrists. "We need to do this more often."

Though she didn't say it, she agreed with him. And it pained her to even consider making this a habit. But it was tempting. It was so tempting that the thought of having him inside her anytime and anywhere had her clenching around his cock, earning a low grunt deep within his chest.

Then something snapped inside her. She had started off holding back, keeping herself in check against the rising wave of sensations. But then, in a moment that felt like a long-awaited release, she decided finally to let go when he continued to hit that perfect spot inside her, and she almost felt ashamed at the noises she was making. She wasn't as vocal when she was alone, nor with other men, yet the man she claimed to hate earned every whimper, every desperate moan.

Hearing her cries urged Spencer even more. He leaned over to her and pushed himself deeper, earning a gasp from her as her legs fell apart even further, letting him sink himself as deep as he could. He pushed her hands above her head and hovered above her, letting his temple fall against hers as his hips rutted violently.

The pressure rose and the tension coiled in the pit of her stomach. Sweats beaded over her skin just the same as him, crying out for him, moans mixing with filthy noises of him thrusting into her wet cunt. His powerful thrusts then quickened, causing her to grow weak her body began to quiver in his grasp.

She cried out, wanting to warn him she was growing close to the edge, her mind growing numb, everything around her fading into black. But didn't give her the chance to speak before he pressed his mouth on hers in a heated kiss, all sloppy and wet and desperate, latching on her lips with so much fervor.

She felt him everywhere. On her lips, biting on her soft flesh. On her breasts, his chest rubbing against her hard nipples. And between her legs, his cock stretching her deliciously, a pleasant feeling that had her whining against his mouth.

But before she could whimper anything else, the pleasure erupted inside of her, red hot heat unraveling to every limb. Her release was a fiery blast—white-hot and overwhelming, turning her into the image of destruction. Her hair stuck to her skin, her back arching off the bed, feeling overwhelmed as his cock hit her deeper. She succumbed to the bliss, eyes shut tight, and her furrowed brow as she surrendered through her orgasm. 

He held her tighter, pumping himself into her as she finally let go, calling out his name in a breathless whimper. She came so hard her legs were shaking uncontrollably, but he didn't stop. He pounded into her harder, reveling in the way she fell apart for him.

"I-I'm close," he grunted. "Where... where do you want me to—"

"Inside."

He looked down at her, trying to hold himself to not combust right there and then. "Are you—" he groaned when she clenched around him. "Are you sure?"

She was already too deep in her climax that any worries faded away. It was like time slowed down, and all that mattered was the intense sensations taking over her body. It was wrong, but it was what she wanted. She wanted to be full of him.

"Yes. Please, just—please," she whispered. "Cum inside me."

It was enough for him to let go, chasing his own pleasure inside of her, hitting deep within her walls as her own arousal dripped out around him. The slick and messy noises mixed with his groans filled the room, heat continuing to rush to her face as her entire body became overly sensitive.

With one final, sharp inhale, the bliss took hold of him. His hips slowed as he began to release inside of her, filling her up with a few huffs and grunts, creating a bigger mess between her thighs. He thrust one last time as the last few drops spilled from him, continuing to press his body against hers as closely as possible.

Then everything went silent except the sound of their ragged breathing. He pulled out of her with a heavy sigh, just as spent as her, breathless beyond belief. He collapsed on the bed, his chest rising up and down as he tried to gain some sense of control, his mind trying to grasp on the euphoria that happened moments ago.

"Well that was—"

She quickly nodded beside him. "Yeah."

Spencer turned his head towards her, and she could already feel him gloating that before he had the chance to say anything, she covered his mouth with her hand. "Do not say anything."

His reply was muffled underneath her palm, and she didn't understand what he was trying to say. She didn't even bother wanting to listen to him anymore. So she got off the bed, wincing when she felt the mess dripping down her thighs as she walked over to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower," she called out. "I feel... sticky."

She then heard some rustling and she turned to see him hopping off the bed, following behind her. She narrowed her eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I feel sticky too."

"Spencer."

His lips twitched into an amused smile. "You called me Spencer."

She groaned and turned around. "We're not showering together, Reid."

"Why not?" He pressed, following her behind. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

She looked at him, assessing the way he was practically begging with his eyes. She was pondering whether it was a good idea to spend more time with him in an enclosed space. Probably not, but considering all the filthy, nasty things they had done, sharing a shower seemed harmless. 

"Alright, fine," she caved in, letting out a sigh. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

He nodded eagerly, but she should've thought better when the spray of water finally hit their bodies and he closed in around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he held her waist. Then he pressed her against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, and it was safe to say that he could not, as a matter of fact, keep his hands to himself.

Not that she was complaining.

.

a/n: I know this was supposed to be enemies to fuckable enemies but they're really starting to grow on me, they kinda cute

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[powerupboo]

*takes a break from rbing my latest hyperfixation* i feel like im not gonna live very long. specifically i feel like i spent so much of my life hoping i could die or have smth life-threatening happen to me physically that it'll come true but only after i actually start being happy (if i do) because how ironic right? anyway. how is everyone doing today

[kentsjohnson91]

𝐈'𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔ˡʰ⁴³

in which y/n and luke hate each other’s guts. sometimes, they kiss.

warnings; ohio state - michigan rivalry, luke’s a dick, kissing, situationship

It was no secret that you and Luke Hughes hated each other. 

It started in college. Luke had everything going for him at Michigan. From the moment he arrived, he was the face of the Wolverines - a Hughes brother, destined for greatness. He was the golden boy of college hockey, a standout player known for consistently putting up impressive stats. It was perfect, until it wasn’t.

A year later, as Luke was about to enter his sophomore season, you arrived at Ohio State. The attention placed on him ended as quickly as it started.You were a dynamic force whose talent and tenacity on the ice made you a formidable rival to Michigan’s golden boy. While Luke was a talented defenseman, you were a just as talented offensive player known for your agility and sharp instincts. This earned you a reputation as a top contender in the world of ice hockey.

Luke could deal with that. However, one crucial play defined the entirety of your guys’ rivalry from there on out. Ohio State vs. Michigan, tied 2-2 in overtime. Joe Dunlap had passed you the puck from your defensive zone, and you had noticed that Luke had left a crucial area of the ice uncovered, just enough for you to slip by him. As he fought his hardest to catch up with you, you made one simple deke, sending the puck past Erik Portillo and sealing the victory for your Buckeyes.

From then on, he had hated your guts. And he had made it known, sending unwarranted glares your way and always checking you extra hard in games. Naturally, your hatred for him grew as well. The rivalry between you and Luke was palpable, and it reverberated through every game you guys played. Fans, coaches, and teammates alike could feel the electricity in the air when Ohio State and Michigan faced off (and it was more than just the bitter rivalry between schools), a charged atmosphere that heightened with every fiery clash between the two of you. Your intense exchanges on the ice were more than just competitive – they were personal, with every check and goal underscored by the underlying animosity between you two. Off the ice, the tension was equally evident. You would be sure to let your teammates know your distaste for him, and he would do the same.

There was no fixing it, until Luke was called up by New Jersey. There would be no more playing against you for the next few seasons.

Or so he thought.

To everyone’s surprise, you had forewent your remaining eligibility at Ohio State. The Rangers had drafted you in the first round, and wanted you in the show immediately.

The day after, the first headline came out: Golden Boy vs. Golden Girl.

In fact, the first meeting since the two of you had last faced each other on the ice started just a few hours ago. The game was reaching its climax, with both the Devils and the Rangers locked in to win in front of the crowd at Madison Square Garden. 

Luke was in his element, skating with the fluidity and precision that everyone always attributed to him. You were equally as determined, matching his intensity shift for shift. The tension between the two of you had reached a boiling point, and it seemed as if every move made was a direct counter to one another.

As the puck dropped near the Devils’ zone, you sped down the ice, looking to make a play that could turn the game in New York’s favor. You were focused, your eyes locked on the puck as you maneuvered around defenders like you had played in the NHL for years. 

Luke, however, had a different idea. As you approached, he timed his move perfectly, sliding into your path with a calculated, unprovoked hit that sent you crashing hard into the boards. You lay there, struggling to get up, your face contorted in pain. Luke skated away with a smirk, his eyes flickering with a mix of satisfaction and something darker, “Sorry, L/N.”

Luke Hughes hated you. You hated Luke Hughes.

Which is why it was so weird that you now sat in the corner of the hotel lobby, your hood pulled low over your bruised eye, the anonymity of the crowd soothing your frayed nerves. The game had been brutal—physically and mentally. Every time Luke was on the ice, it felt like a battle you couldn’t win. Not because he was better—you’d never admit that—but because he always found a way to get under your skin.

Your heart pounded. You shouldn’t go. You guys shouldn’t keep doing this. No one knew—no one could know. But after every game, no matter how much you swore it would be the last time, you always found yourself answering his texts.

Luke didn’t look up when you slipped into his room, the door clicking softly behind you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands like he was trying to figure out what to say before he said it.

You leaned against the door, your heartbeat still racing and your body still sore from the game. The silence stretched between you guys, heavy and charged, like it always did. Here, in the quiet, there were no crowds, no coaches yelling from the bench, no rivalry pushing you to be perfect. Just the two of you, trapped in a mess neither of you could quite untangle.

“You played dirty tonight,” you said softly, your words breaking the silence. There was no anger in your tone—just exhaustion.

Luke looked up at you then, his eyes tired but sharp, a faint smirk on his lips. “So did you.”

You let out a soft breath, moving from the door to stand in front of him, her arms crossing over your chest. “This needs to stop.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he sat back on his hands, studying you like he always did, as if searching for the truth behind your words. “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t wrong. Every time you told yourself it was the last game, the last kiss, the last night you’d sneak into his hotel room, you found yourself right back here, standing on the edge of something neither of you could control.

“I do.” your voice was soft but shaky, betraying your resolve.

Luke stood, closing the small gap between your bodies in one step. His presence was overwhelming, the heat of him, the scent of his body wash. Everything about him felt like a challenge—on the ice, in the press, even here, in this room.

“You don’t hate me as much as you think you do, Y/N.” His voice was low, a whisper that made you shiver.

You hated how close he was, hated that he could read you so easily. “And you don’t care as little as you pretend to,” you shot back, your eyes locking with his.

That smirk faltered, just for a moment, before his jaw tightened. “Maybe not,” he admitted quietly.

There it was. The vulnerability he only ever showed when you were alone, when you weren’t in front of your teams or your fans, when you didn’t have to pretend. You hated that it made your chest ache, hated that you cared.

“I don’t know how to stop this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, like you were afraid saying it out loud would make it all too real.

Luke reached up, his fingers brushing a loose strand of your hair from your face, his touch soft in a way that made your heart twist. “Neither do I.”

And there it was. The truth that neither of you wanted to admit. That this—whatever it was—had become something neither of you could walk away from, no matter how much you told yourselves you should.

You felt yourself lean into him, just slightly, your body betraying your mind. “No one can know,” you murmured, your eyes closing as his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

“No one will,” he whispered back, and then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t the rushed, heated kiss you’d shared so many times before. It was slow, deliberate, full of all the things you couldn’t say out loud. His hand stayed at the back of your neck, his thumb brushing your skin as if he was trying to memorize the feeling. You kissed him back just as softly, your hands gripping his shirt, not to pull him closer, but to keep yourself steady.

When the two of you finally broke apart, your foreheads pressed together, neither of you said anything. The quiet between you felt different now, heavier.

“You know this is going to blow up in our faces, right?” you said, your breath still uneven.

Luke closed his eyes, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. I know.”

You sighed, stepping back, needing space but already feeling the pull to close it again. “We’re still enemies, Luke.”

“I know,” he said, his voice steady. But the way he looked at you, the way his gaze softened just for you, made it hard to believe it was that simple anymore.

You reached for the door, your heart still racing, knowing you’d come back. You always did.

And maybe, deep down, you both knew that was the real problem.

[yameoto]

TOP TEN BENEFITS. JORDAN, CATE, ANDRE.

synopsis ; you and godolkin's finest go out for some fun, just like any other night. little do you know, is that they have a little more in store for you than just partying.

oh. also, you're luke's girlfriend—not like that's going to stop them.

✗ warnings ; dark!jordan, dark!cate, dark!andre, cnc, dubcon, intox, foursome, cheating, strap-fucking. wc ; 1.9k

DISTANTLY, you can hear voices. you're not sure, really; your head's all dizzy and groggy, and your mouth is so dry you wonder if you’ve been chewing on cement. god.. you really can’t remember anything. how strong were those drinks?

"we sure about this, guys?" comes a voice, echoing on the outskirts of your mind. it's familiar. masculine.. or feminine? you really can't tell—not in this state, at least.

"of course we're sure." someone else interjects, gruffer, this time, clearly masculine. it sounds a lot like.. andre..?

"i mean, look at her," whispers another, voices so low—like they're trying not to wake you. this one's higher, more feminine and— oh that's definitely cate. "how could we not?"

how could they not what? nothing makes sense—not in your foggy, hungover brain at least; one that you're becoming increasingly suspicious is addled by something stronger than shots. but that can't be right—you hadn't blown lines with the others, had you? no, you definitely hadn't. so why does your head hurt so fucking much?

"guys..?" you mumble, trying to sit up on what you distantly realise is a bed, the edges of your vision still blurry. as it adjusts, you're met with the sight of jordan, andre and cate all standing over you, eyes strangely lidded, gleaming. "shit— she's up," jordan hisses, grip on your thigh tightening, and its then that you realise your skirt is gone—the entire stretch of your legs exposed to the three of them.

"fuck," cate sighs, lips drawing into a pout as you feel her hand, bare hand, hover over your other thigh, head jerking up to face the others with a frown on her lips. "should i do it again?"

"no," jordan and andre hiss in unison, exchanging a meaningful look as their fingers twitch, restless. "c'mon, you know you want her awake for this."

"awake for what?" you grumble, head throbbing far too much for you to wrap your head around the conversation. "i'm too hungover for this." you swing your legs off the edge of the bed, reaching for your discarded skirt before two pairs of her hands shoot out to stop you. your vision swims, and with a disconcerting lurch you realise you're so fucked-up you can't even tell whose is who's.

"you won't need that." jordan mutters, breath hot against your cheek as they curl their hand around your wrist, dragging it firmly into their lap. what the fuck?

"sorry about the skirt," cate hums affirmatively, eyes drifting to the poor, ripped thing on the floor and you swear you see the beginnings of a smirk curl her lips "someone got a little excited."

"hey—" andre puts his hands up, not looking too sorry at all. in fact, he looks like he's barely restraining a grin. "don't act like you two weren't drooling—"

"touché." jordan interjects, eyes rolling yet looking entirely too pleased with themselves as they play with your hand in their lap, inching it up their own thigh. “you look better without it, doll.”

"warm her up, jordan." cate's eyes flash, gaze boring into the sight of you, splayed against the pillows, and you resist the urge to whimper.

"don't tell me what to do," jordan grumbles, but there's a grin stretching at their lips and you almost wonder if cate used her powers with the speed in which they comply. their loose grip on your wrist becomes inordinately tight as they deftly undo their belt, dragging their pants and boxers down in one, swift move.

oh, fuck.

"hold on— i—" you splutter, stupidly, glancing between the three of them and jordan's throbbing, leaking cock. it gently bobs into your hand; head pink, glistening with pre-cum and you just want to—wait, what?

you're dating luke. you're dating luke. a spike of panic sends you twisting, surprisingly lucid for a moment as you attempt tugging your wrists away—to no avail, of course. top ten ranking aside; you don't stand a chance against three supes, especially not the three of them.

"hey— shh." jordan catches you, eyes flashing for a moment as they slowly, ever so slowly, guide your hand back to their cock—grunting when your fingers limply wrap around their tip. "fuck, that's it.." they groan, head tilting back. jesus fucking christ.

you don't even realise it when andre drags your panties down your thighs—and your flush only deepens at how fucking wet you are. that has to be the high, right? there's no way—why else would your cunt be dripping into the goddamn sheets, like that? for three of your friends? boyfriend absent from the room, no less. a feeble, embarrassed whine falls from your lips, as three hungry pairs of eyes have no shame in hiding how much they want to fucking devour you.

"look at you, so fucking wet." ande’s voice comes a deep rumble, belt unbuckling with a click as he inches closer. his hands slide over your thighs as he moves over, all the way, and you make another strained noise as his cock hits your belly.

"i think it's cute." cate hums, eyes glimmering as she leans across the bedspread, hands wrapping around the base of andre's eager, bobbing cock and directing it towards your splayed legs. andre’s basically fucking trembling with restless need, cate’s own breaths shallowing, picking up the pace. "luke ever get you this wet?"

your teeth tuck into your bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut because god, luke.. what the hell are you doing here? it feels like betrayal. it is betrayal—they need to stop—this is wrong—

you whine, making a choking noise as jordan’s grasp on your wrist steels enough to snap bone. you want to say; luke—? yes—he fucking has—i think—but you find you barely have the strength to moan, let alone protest.

“nah, i don’t think so.” jordan smirks, smug, as if they know exactly what’s going through your head as their hand guides yours; forcibly pumping your hand along their length. their frustrated growls of pleasure are enough to make you blush—let alone the feeling of andre’s hands roughly shoving your legs apart, spreading your folds open with two of his fingers. you whine, quivering, glazed pupils meeting his.

"fuck, luke's gonna kill us—" andre grunts once he finally rams into you, audibly groaning as you slam into the blankets with each thrust, inciting the most strangled little cries from your throat. it’s so much—you can’t help but thrash a little, under his touch. cate lets out a displeased hum, though at his words or his roughness you can't tell.

"what luke won't know won't hurt him." jordan counters from the other side of you, lips twisting into a grin as they bite into your shoulder, still moving your hands in thrusts along their length.

they keep shifting—each time you're distracted by cate or andre the feeling of their cock twitching under your hands changes to fingers sinking into sloppy, wet heat. it's ridiculous how hot it makes you, just jacking them off—but it’s not like you have any room to comment with andre thrusting into you like an animal, snarls coming out of his mouth as each movement sends you reeling with white-hot, carnal pleasure.

"move, you brute." cate interrupts, voice cutting through the blinding, purely instinctual pleasure of andre pumping you full like a rutting dog. her eyes glitter with an annoyance that give way to barely-restrained lust, and in your sex-drugs-cate induced haze (you're still not quite sure which it is, yet), you faintly register the plastic in her hand; long, thick, pink and fuck— is that a strap?

"not yet, cate, i'm almost done—" andre cuts himself with a guttural, bestial moan as his cock rams into you, again. you can feel it twitching inside of you; hear his breaths growing shallower as he grips your hips, so tight they might bruise. "oh, fuck—!" he groans loudly as he comes, thick, hot seed filling you up, hips still thrusting as he crams as much of his load into you as he possibly can. it takes a beat before he reluctantly pulls out, chest heaving.

"fuck, you felt so good," he groans, hands clumsily tugging you forward for a kiss before he's promptly pushed off before your lips can touch. "about fucking time." cate grunts, voice sharp, weight of andre on top of you replaced by two long, toned legs swinging on either side of your body, cate's hands running over that fucking strap at her hips. her lips curl into a smirk as your eyes—still glassy from andre's force—blink blearily up at her. you’re still so dazed, so adorable. she leans down to cup your chin. "you're such a pretty little thing," she murmurs, thumb brushing against your bottom lip, gaze darkening as she begins to prise your mouth open, gleam in her eyes giving away to sheer, unadulterated lust.

"open wide." she whispers, and that's the only pre-empt you get before you're choking on silicone, her hips bucking forward as she shoves herself into your mouth. her hands tighten in your hair, jerking you forward so that the entire length forces itself down your throat. tears spring to your eyes. you feel jordon's hands getting rougher as they use you to fuck themselves, teeth digging into your skin to muffle their own whines while your own, keening “mmfs—!” peter out to soft, quiet whimpers.

"you're so good for us," jordan moans, burying your fingers hilt-deep into their cunt, walls pulsing desperately around you. "so fucking good," cate assents with a breathy, pleasured groan of her own, back snapping as if it were her own cock that you’re gagging around. from behind her, andre’s hands are wrapped around himself, moving furiously as he arches over the bed. “you have no idea how long we’ve wanted this.” he hisses, one hand madly jerking himself off to the sight of cate fucking your face like she owns you, the other tangling in your hair. cate audibly moans, bucking into you further with a sharp inhale. "wish i could come in you for real." she mumbles, fingers running along your jaw as you splutter around plastic. she smiles, tilts her head up to look at jordon as they mutter something unintelligible, her thrusts increasing in pace, fucking your throat so raw, so good. "jordan's got something special to give you." she murmurs, voice honey sweet, hand dancing up your cheek.

you can hardly gargle a response through the strap in your mouth—but you don't have to. not when, with a resounding moan, all questions are answered with jordan promptly shooting their load all over your face, thick, hot strings of cum leaking around the edges of the strap and seeping into your mouth. they both groan, jordan slumping into your side with soft, intermittent pants.

"god.." they mutter into the crook of your neck, cate's thrusts slowing as she starts to loosen her grip on your hair; though not stopping, never stopping. "you're ours." jordan grunts, gripping your thigh with sudden, overwhelming intensity while cate continues jerking the strap down your throat, smile tugging at her lips. “ours." she echoes, voice soft—almost gentle if you didn’t know any better. she leans down, hand stretching out; smearing jordan's cum across your cheek in one, long, clean swipe. "fucking ours."

poor, poor luke.

[loverangels]

stolen goods

pairings: ares!reader x luke castellan

synopsis: luke is a sentimental thief. too bad you also love your belongings. and his.

warnings: not proofread! Don't really like this but I wanted to post something for you guys sooo I hope it's okay! :)

I am not a thief. Is what Luke castellan swears to himself under his breath and in his mind chorusing these words like a religious mantra.

I am not a thief. I am not a thief. I am not a thief.

But how many times could he repeat it before he believed it?

Yes he was Hermes son but only by blood and that didn't mean anything. Right.?

Good intentions. That was the only thing he reassured himself with as his nimble fingers picked another of your possessions.

A coin, a wrapper, a hair tie,- god it could be a dirty napkin and he'd take it.

It's a keepsake. A souvenir. A memoir

Something- anything to remember you by.

And it wasn't like you knew.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

You stomp around your cabin fighting the urge to rip your hair out. You had been searching your room the whole morning in an attempt to find your favourite necklace with no success. It wasnt even as though you'd only searched your room even going to the extent to sneaking into your siblings room. Again no success.

By now your hands were fisted into balls as you travelled around the whole cabin asking your siblings if they'd seen your necklace.

'Clarisse!' you exclaim with your arms crossed face frowning impatient as you waited for your sister to arrive.

Gracefully with time, after a thousand fucking years your sister had arrived her, eyebrows pulled up expectantly.

'yes?' she asked slow and tentatively.

'do you have my things ' you ask rushed and impatient

Clarisse face pulls into an angry glare offended you'd ask such a question.

'No'

You huff 'are you sure?'

'im not a thief but your boyfriend sure is go ask him' clarrise grunts before stomping away.

You fight the flutter in your heart at the thought ,'hes not my boyfriend!' you exclaim after her.

With your hands on your hips, you almost threatened to start crying.

Where was all your things going?

It couldn't possibly be luk-

Could it?

You bite your lip as you mull the thought before brushing the thought away. It couldn't be him-

You'd try anyways. You were desperate.

Leaving the cabin you search around camp for a while before being tipped that Luke was training. Finding him with his sword- training with that awfully beaten up dummy you paused for a moment.

God he was so fucking pretty done.

You watch as his biceps clenched as he swung his sword and the way his shirt lifted up slightly- yes enough to get that delicious view of them gorgeous-

You snap yourself out of whatever kind of daze that was, and call his name out watching how he stops immediately and turns around almost like a dog with his ears perked, a grin slowly spreading on his face.

Stupid beautiful boy.

He drops his sword as you make your way to him, his hands instantly on your hips pulling you flushed up against him as he looks down at you, tucking a strand behind your hair.

'yes sweetheart?' he asks. His voice so so soo sweet.

You mentally curse yourself as you stay at a lost for words before finally regaining your state of mind.

'do you know where my things are?' you ask abruptly watching his face with your makeshift eyes.

He leans his head onto your shoulder trailing his lips until they hover over your ear.

'and why would you think that hm?' he asks smirking to himself.

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow 'because nearly half of my things are missing and now that I think about it they always seem to disappear after we're together'

'smart girl' he hums pulling his face back from your ear as he grins down at you, his thumbs tracing mindless patterns on your hips.

'im waiting for them back castellan' you state firmly, trying to prevent the smile threatening to overcome your face.

His grin drops as he groans throwing his head back 'oh come on! Let a man have at least something of his girl'

'something- yes. not half of my possesions' you tease.

Luke raises an eyebrow 'you're saying that in my shirt.' he deadpans before his eyes flickering down.

'and- hey wait aren't those my sweatpants?' he asks 'i was looking everywhere for those!' he exclaims

You give him a sheepish smile 'maybe you can have some of my things'

He shakes his head pressing a tender kiss to your temple before mumbling 'good, I wasn't planning on giving them back anyways'

'luke!'

[vintagegeekculture]

One of the greatest twists in comic book history was in Wong Luk Long's "Weapons of the Gods" (神兵玄奇) a 90s Kung Fu and fantasy comic from Hong Kong where martial arts experts and swordsmen fight over magical weapons, the "Weapons of the Gods."

In that comic, the buff, cocky white haired hero, Tian Wen, had a great rival for who would be the best martial artist in all of 6th Century China, the sword-eyebrowed Ironheart Nan. They were like Goku vs. Vegeta or Ken vs. Ryu. These two swaggering "alpha dogs" had tremendous frisson, as two epic rivals would, hated each other instantly, and were constantly brawling. Their lives were all about thinking about each other and how to defeat the other.

However, there was a twist: our hero's rival was actually a woman dressed as a man. So all of that swagger and rivalry and hostility turned out to actually just have been sexual tension, misinterpreted as aggression and egotism. And the hero and his rival get together as true loves.

I've written about twists before and why they work, but this one worked because 1) all evidence was presented to the audience fairly, but we interpreted it all wrong as just being male competition, which looks very similar. Also, it's worth noting Chinese is a language without gendered pronouns or verbs, so even conversations with people "in on the secret" conducted in full view of the audience on the page kept the cat in the bag about Ironheart Nan's real sex (though obviously these conversations had a different interpretation when you go back and read them later). 2) It wasn't just a twist that Wong put in for the hell of it to shock or surprise the audience, but that the twist had something to say, a point to make about how aggression and love are actually closely related emotions, and one bleeds into the other seamlessly. It was about how the ways men relate to each other, competition and games of one upsmanship that appear to just be hostility on the surface, is merely a cover for lot of complexity and powerful emotions underneath.

What is a twist ending that works? It's like any other ending that works: an ending is what you have to say.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for videogeek; Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids.  (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Kin yoo tekk a luk att te genn-rayt, dee-eer?” Ma asks Pa, and he hums back in tuneless agreement and heads over to help her with the funny, rustic-looking little machine she’s fiddling with in the corner. At least, Kara thinks it’s a machine. The aliens’ technology is mystifyingly primitive and she still doesn’t understand how most of it works. She knows how to activate the lights and stove and locks, rarely as Ma and Pa bother with the locks, and a little of how the “trukk” and “trakker” both operate, but not why any of those things work or what Ma and Pa do to maintain them. She doesn’t even know if they built them themselves or if some Thinker in Smoll-Veel or somewhere else entirely did. They seem like simple enough devices and machines that even a Laborer could’ve built them and Kara’s seen Pa working on the “trukk” and “trakker” before and Ma cleaning the various kitchen devices and stove, but she’s never seen either of them build anything, so . . . 

Well, Pa’s working on a fence, and she’s even been helping him with it. But the only “device” on that so far has been a gate, which really isn’t the same thing. 

“Guh-ott te wrin-chuh, hunn-ee?” Pa asks, and Ma makes a noise back and hands him a small metal tool. He starts tapping the little machine with it as he looks it over. Kara wishes she could help with whatever they’re working on–wishes she could be useful to them–but she just doesn’t understand the aliens’ technology well enough to. 

She watches what Ma and Pa are doing out of the corner of her eye just in case she can learn a little more, and stacks up the cubes for Kal to knock over again as she does. He screeches happily and purrs in excitement, bouncing in place and waving his Krypto by the ear in one chubby little fist that’s already noticeably bigger than it was when they first crash-landed here. Ma and Pa keep fussing over their machine, Pa temporarily opening it up and adjusting a few little things inside it. They don’t seem either frustrated or concerned by the process, so she assumes they’re just doing normal maintenance and not actually having a problem with it. 

Though it’s hard for her to tell that kind of thing, admittedly. The aliens’ emotions are difficult to read, and so much of those emotions are relayed just in their bodies–their faces and gestures and even their postures, it seems like. Barely at all in their voices, even as expressive as they are. It’s . . . confusing, a bit. 

A lot. 

It’s disorienting, actually, but Kara tries not to worry about it as much as she wants to. She just–it’s just something she needs to learn. That’s all. 

Another something she needs to learn. 

There’s just so, so many things she needs to learn.

[sugar-crash]

🏎️Turbo (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader🏁

(Confession Edition!)

(Heyyy!! This will be the Pre-RoadBlasters section, I will make a second one for Post-RoadBlasters aka King Candy.)

- Turbo… Where do we start with him?? Oh yeah, he’s obnoxiously overzealous and thinks he has the arcade’s popularity at the palm of his hand when his game was just sooo popular with gamers.

- Which…. True yeah he does for those 5 years, and in between those five years, I don’t think he had a problem with getting what he wanted or at least that’s what he thought.

- I think if he were to ever get feelings for someone besides his lust for being the center of attention, it would frustrate him to no end… Like what do you mean some other game character has gotten his attention so intimately??

- Every win would be noticeably dampened when you weren’t there at the sidelines, and if you had a game of your own meant every day… It aggravates him to no end!

- He’s quick to blame you rather than himself, it can’t possibly be from him— YOU must be doing something, or at least you must know how he feels.

- If you guys are friends already (which… Jesus Christ good on you for being able to withstand his gloating to a degree he deems you as one of his friends) he tries to distance himself from you… The keyword is tries.

- But he’s hook line and sinker at that point and can’t help but go to you and sit next to you, pouting and not explaining himself to you whatsoever.

- I believe after maybe a year or two of this nonsense you or he finally has enough of this and make an uncoordinated move to do something with this feeling towards each other—

- Yelling and flushed faces are involved in the process, mostly on Turbo’s part, and eventually ends with him frantically fleeing the scene after the beans were spilled.

- Tensions are high before and after the obvious is revealed, we do not know much about the twin racers from Turbo Time but we can ascertain that Turbo almost constantly annoyed them by being… Himself.

- When he gets upset everyone gets upset. He makes sure of that.

- They’re constantly sick of his shit. And they don’t need another reason to add to that almost endless list, so, naturally— They forcibly get him to face you again after secretly yet not so secretly moping to himself.

- Bit by bit progress is made… With the racer fighting every second before eventually admitting defeat.

- Though this self-perceived defeat is met with a reward, you, or well rejection if you get fed up enough.

- I think it takes a while for him to admit his feelings verbally once more, far too stubborn for that but it’d take a real brickhead like Ralph (nothing against him, I love that dummy dearly) to not realize there was something there.

- It takes a whole lot of vulnerability and reassurance for Turbo to do it, and when he does he’s quick to say you guys were a thing afterward when you agree (credits to you).

- When it comes to romance, he has his… Moments. Smug that out of everyone else you chose him— “A real winner at life” as he likes to put it.

- To say he’s possessive would be a half-truth, while yeah he does get that twinge of jealousy whenever he sees someone with you, but he knows that your his— Why meddle with your life when he already has such a hold on it?

- Throughout the movie, we see that he has a kind of silent manipulation aspect, which I like to think formulated itself when he went into hiding after the whole RoadBlasters, however you see it earlier on in his Turbo Time days— Though he’s far more impulsive.

- He’s more reckless, unwilling to see that he has things to lose, like his game, his life, and you. He realizes that when it is far too late.

(Tvyl lultplz aohu myplukz

Dpss ol lcly ohcl h tlhuz av hu luk?)

[lynnbanks]

espresso

(we know that Luke doesn't drink coffee but imagine he is dating a girl who drinks a little bit more than she should. i didn't know how to end it and it is kinda short I just wanted to put something out for yall.i am still healing after reading "before we were strangers" i hope you guys like it. <3 <3)

it was an average day in the life of a hockey player in the off-season; Luke was up with the sun to get ready for a day of training and decided to make his sleeping girlfriend a coffee to start her day with before he left for the morning; placing her coffee on the nightstand and waking her up by planting kisses all over her face "Good morning beautiful I made you coffee." her eyes were still closed, but she was smiling "Thank you lukey it is indeed a good morning. She opened her eyes to see his face and took a sip of her coffee "mmhh perfect I love you." dramatically flopping back onto the bed to put on a show for how good the coffee tastes making Luke giggle.

"I have to go, but I will see you later maybe we up meet for lunch if you are up for it." Y/n sits up to say goodbye." That works for me; love you see you later yeah?" Luke leans down to meet her lips " See you later baby I love you" leaving her to get ready for the day he texts her that he will call when he is on the way to the restaurant they go to all the time. When he shows up she is sitting in a booth and a straw in her mouth sipping on an iced coffee when she sees him she smiles and he leans down to kiss her forehead and then her lips before sitting across from her. "Hello handsome" she smiled at him "Hi baby you look beautiful today. I like that dress." looking down at her cream-colored dress with little red roses that he got for her as a gift for a date night last summer.

"thank you, my boyfriend, got it for me." she joked "Did he? he must have known how good you look in dresses." he flirted back with her making her blush at his compliment. Taking her in he noticed her shakey hands as she put her now empty coffee down why does she do this to herself he thought as he grabbed her shaking hands " I thought we talked about cutting back your coffee intake" he said kinda sternly this being the second time this month they are having this conversation. y/n looked at her empty glass before speaking " I know we have I just wanted a pick-me-up I will slow down lukey don't fret."

And as much as he would like to not "fret" she makes it hard when most days she will have two cups of coffee before she has had a meal and walks around dizzy from too much caffeine. " did you even eat breakfast?" her silence tells him all he needs to know "Y/n are you kidding me you have to stop doing that it is not healthy." y/n sighed " I know I will stop I promise"

The next day before Luke leaves He brings her tea instead of coffee "Luke." she says staring up at him but he doesn't back down "Y/n" she deflates against the headboard " Luke I hate tea." he pushes the hair that has fallen in her face behind her ear and hands her the mug " just try it you won't know until you actually give it a chance." she rolls her eyes and took a tiny sip her face contorted in disgust " Luke it so bad." he rolled his eyes at dramatic reaction " baby you can't keep drinking coffee like its water you will run yourself to an early grave; will you give it a chance it might make you feel better instead of making you crash after every cup."

Y/n had cut down to one small cup in the morning and tea when she needed a pick-me-up and both Y/n and Luke had noticed a difference; she slept better at night and surprisingly she had more energy throughout the day and Luk didn't have to worry about her dizzy spells anymore.

[laswells-ashtray]

Okay, here me out on this. Gonna do this anonymously cause social anxiety is scary and I've never left an ask before, first time for everything I suppose. :')

I was randomly just watching the missions for MW3 cause I loved the concepts of some of them, just hated how most of it played out (Like how did Graves survive being blown up? Or how it felt like the story was rushed at points). Then I remembered the mission where Price got trapped in that silo thingy with the poisonous gas stuff that I cannot remember for the life of me what it is called (Think the mission was called Reactor,if you wanted to look it up if I don't explain it that well). Loved that mission cause to me it showed that Price wasn't this almighty powerful captain that doesn't get injured that badly compared to everyone else in 141.

Had a random thought of just the in-between part of when Price passed out to when he woke up on the helo. Was scrolling through the random posts and when I got to the one where Mac had met Price's team and stuff all I could think about was what if Gaz or Soap or anyone who's met Mac just tell Nik or Laswell to call for grandpa. I find it hilarious just the thought of Price's subordinates panicking over the fact that their captain, (and practically father figure sometimes due to how often he mother hens them), had inhaled poisonous gas then passed out and wanted help from someone who's known Price for years. Then cue Mac just showing up on base in Price's office or calling Price really late at night being like "You have 5 seconds to explain what happened and how in the world you got into that situation Mister. I do not care that you're a captain now I still hold seniority over you Price, I will pull that card you little shit." Cause despite the fact that Price was a pain in the ass when he was Mac's sergeant he still cares for the stubborn Brit's wellbeing.

Sorry if I started ranting, I love cod and finding the posts have made me do my happy stims. :) Especially reading the silly ones, always makes me feel better when having a bad day.

Made me get my glasses for this one, in a good way I'm just blind as shit. A little bit. Also never apologise for ranting, this is a safe place for ranting, rambling and threats of bodily harm but only if they're polite about it.

Firstly, I know exactly what mission you're talking about because I can't get past the second juggernaut and had to rage quit because I was giving myself a stress headache.

Secondly. I've missed writing more Mac if only because I have to write so English-ly for everyone else.

When the door opens, John doesn't look up. He assumes it's Nikolai coming to check on him, Ghost popping his head in to call him a twat again or one of the sergeants asking how he's doing. He doesn't expect to see the same, worn soles of some battered old boots that he's been trying to convince Mac to get rid of for over ten years park themselves on his desk.

Nor does he expect to see Mac watching him, arms crossed over his chest, and a look of blatant fury on his face that makes the hair on the back of John's neck stand up.

His chest is still tight and there's a familiar ache in his throat, he's too old to be getting fucking gassed anymore. Whatever cancer he'll be riddled with in ten years is not worth it.

"Well?"

He isn't stupid enough to answer that, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. If Mac didn't look ready to deck him, he'd likely be lecturing John about "uncooked joints on the table".

"Jus no gonnae say a fucking hing tae me? Dae a luk like a store dug?"

He groans and ignores the rattling behind his ribs, running a hand over his face as he prays that maybe, just maybe Mac will go easy on him.

"What have you been told?"

He doesn't bother asking "and by who?" because he doesn't want to be annoyed at any of them, and it was likely Kate.

"Ye inhaled a fuck ton ae somehin ye shouldnae 've and a hud to hear about it fae someday else."

He nods, looking at the older man wearily. "That's about it, didn't think you'd need a play-by-play."

Mac lowers his feet off of the edge of the desk and drags his chair closer to the desk with a grating scraping noise that makes john wince.

"Right, lad. Genuine question, are ye a fuckin tit?"

It appears to be just that, a genuine question if the way Mac is arching a brow at him means anything. The Scot doesn't allow him the opportunity to answer before talking again.

"Ye must be, cuz we both ken launchin heed first intae somethin filt wae somehin that mangles ye is some biblical arsehole-ity, John."

John briefly considers slamming his head on the desk. It'd do no good to explain that it was for the mission, Mac would probably just skelp him over the back of the head for implying that wasn't something the retiree already knew.

"You did worse back in the day."

MacMillan only narrows his eyes at him, clenching his hands into fists on his lap.

"Dae ye take me as a gid fuckin example wae these things, son?"

John shakes his head, staring down at the desk in front of him.

"Swear tae fuck, ye pull a stupid stunt like that again and a'll huv yer fucking knees wae a crowbar. Christ, is yer self-preservation that far oot the fuckin windae?"

That has John looking back up at him through narrowed eyes, everyone kept jumping down his throat about it as if they wouldn't have all done the same for the sake of a mission. It was part of the job.

Mac slams his hand down on the edge of the desk, irritation washing over his face in waves.

"Dinnae fuckin luk at me like that, crabbit wee git. A get tae rip intae ye fir stupid shite like this or did ye forget that? The fuckin heart attacks ye put me through fir years and ye huvnae changed a bit? Ye canne be dain that tae every, ye might act like an ignorant arse but ye've got folk aroon here that actually don't like the thought ae attending yer fuckin funeral, ye daft cunt."

Maybe the older man can see the exhaustion that's settled in John's bones, wearing him away from the inside out. Or maybe this is just how MacMillan felt years ago, it might just be an inherited trait that presents itself alongside the captain title.

"Get tae bed, son. We're talkin aboot this the morra. And tea wae lemon fir yer throat, ye sound like ye've been gargling shrapnel."