#mostly just practicing a bunch of stuff with this

[mothtato]

oops gave the cat au lore

[storytellering]

I love doing artist study pages on your work!!

Oh, I'm flattered you find my art worth learning from!!! Hope you're having fun and keeping at it!!!

[yeonban]

Sowwy for being MIA these days guys, it's really one thing after another for me irl 💕 I SHOULD be a bit freer starting in July though, but until then... erm! ADJSDHASGDSAJ

[birbycakes]

I had a really really good day today with my family. I got losta money from my grandma and my dad, almost the presents I asked for (only thing I didn't get was a perfume I asked for and now I can just buy it myself) and I had fun playing silly games with my family to win scratch cards. Despite the tummy ache that is brewing from eating too much, I can say I felt the Crimmas spirit this year.

It helps I got to bring Lilac with me to my mom's house this year. It's hard to feel sad when my little pubby dog is running around being cute.

[skrunksthatwunk]

still thinking about how one of my first yyh meta posts got reblogged onto an sjw cringe comp blog in the year of our woke 2022. truly tumblr dot com, the last bastion of progressivism, has fallen (<- sarcasm) and also i'm kinda baffled that they didn't choose like. me putting yusuke in a skirt or something

[exopelagic]

auuudggghghhrhrhrbrr

[theemporium]

[6.1k] most of the league welcome a bye week as all-stars hits the season calendar. with both brothers picked and the rest of the boys on the team flying out somewhere warm for the break, luke has a decision to make. and that decision ends up being a staycation in new jersey with you—not that anyone else in his life really understand why. (smut)

series masterlist

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“Whoever is in charge of this schedule sounds like a sadist.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah!” You repeated with a small huff, staring down at your phone screen where—he presumed—you were looking at the Devils’ game schedule. “Surely there’s a better way than playing, like, three back to backs in such a short time span.” 

“It’s hockey,” Luke shrugged, like that somehow explained everything. “It’s just how it is. How it’s always been, to be honest.” 

“This makes no sense,” you grumbled, your eyes narrowed in distaste. “You literally played four games last week! Four! In the space of six days!” 

Luke snorted. “Yeah, Cherry, I’m fully aware. I was at the games. Playing.” 

You shot him a look before letting your brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it.” 

“The schedule?” Luke asked. 

“No, the hockey player sex god stereotype,” you retorted. “How the hell do they find the time to even have sex? How the hell do they have the energy to even have sex?”

Luke tried—and mostly failed—to bite back his grin. “That’s your big question about hockey players?” 

“Yes,” you deadpanned. “I know you are professionals and all but surely this is a bit ridiculous.”

“Hockey is hockey,” Luke answered, shrugging once again. “It’s just always how it’s been.” 

“So, hockey players are sex gods and sadists,” you muttered to yourself, your focus back on your phone screen. “Good to know.” 

Luke only laughed in response. 

“I don’t get why they don’t just move some of the games to the first week in February,” you pointed out. “You have nothing on then.” 

“Because that’s when All-Stars is,” Luke answered. “They send a bunch of guys from different teams to compete in these challenges and stuff.” 

“Like the Hunger Games?” 

“I—” Luke’s nose scrunched up. “Yeah, but less death and violence. People usually stay nice for it.” 

“Have you been reaped?” You questioned, grinning a little. 

Luke rolled his eyes. “No, I have not. They choose the best.” 

You frowned. “You are the best. You’re the best hockey player I know.” 

Luke shot you a look. “I’m the only hockey player you know.” 

“Semantics,” you waved him off. “My point still stands.” 

“No, I get something better,” he stated. “I get a week off.”

You grinned. “Big plans?” 

Luke shrugged. “Honestly, I was just looking forward to a week without Jack banging on my door for morning skate.”

“So you’re going to spend the week hibernating,” you teased, lightly nudging his thigh with your foot. But before you could pull your foot back, Luke had grabbed your ankle and easily maneuvered your feet onto his lap. “God, I’ll need to find someone else to cook for me for a week then.” 

And the thing is that Luke knew you were just teasing. For all his claims of being a great cook (which he was, just in the few meals he actually knew how to cook), he had grown into a comfortable habit with you. He enjoyed spending time at your place. He enjoyed unwinding after bad games or grueling practices. He just enjoyed being around you, both before and after his recent realisation of his feelings. 

But now he was staring at you from across the couch, watching the way you were lounging in one of his old Michigan sweatshirts and just felt that overwhelming urge to say something stupid. 

Instead, he settled on, “you should come over.” 

You paused, raising your brows. “Come over where?” 

“To my place,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Jack will be gone and I’ll have the place to myself. We can just—” He paused, his brain going blank at the sight of your amused expression. “Chill.” 

“Chill?” You repeated, grinning.

“Chill,” he nodded, squeezing your ankle. “Just…I feel like…I’m always imposing in your space, you know? You can impose in my space too.” 

“You are a weird guy, Hughes,” you commented, though Luke liked to think you sounded fond when you spoke. 

“Is that a no?” He asked before he could help himself.

You beamed in response. “It’s not a no.” 

He felt something quite like hope spark in his chest. “So, it’s a yes?” 

“Depends,” your eyes glinted. “Are you still Team Stefan? Because if the answer is yes, I will have to decline.” 

Luke groaned. “I said that after we watched, like, three episodes! Stop holding that over my head!” 

…

“This sucks!” 

“Yes, it sucks so much being acknowledged for your skills,” Dawson deadpanned, watching the way Jack wandered around the locker room after practice, whining and complaining about everyone else making their Bye Week plans.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jack huffed, narrowing his eyes at the boy before shifting his attention to Nico, eyes wide and hopeful. “Take me with you? I want to go somewhere warm. I want to go somewhere where the chances of freezing my balls off are lower than zero.” 

“Dude,” Nate scrunched his nose, laughing. “We play ice hockey for a living, you can handle a bit of cold.” 

“Suck it up, superstar,” Curtis called out with a huge grin. “Gotta pay up for having the Hughes name on the back of your jersey.” 

“Moose lucked out,” Jack sighed. “I have Quinn and the bajillion Canucks players that are also going. I swear he rigged the thing.”

“Bajillion?” Nico repeated with a disgustingly fond expression.

“Bajillion,” Jack nodded. “There’s too many of them. No one needs that many Canucks in one place. It’s an infestation.”

“I’m surprised you even know what that word means,” Nate snorted. 

Jack glared. 

“You not going up to Toronto to support your brothers?” Dawson asked, turning his head to look over at Luke. However, the boy barely reacted. He repeated the question again, and one more time before finally throwing a ball of rolled up tape at the side of Luke’s head.

Luke tore his eyes away from his phone, snapping his head up to find half the locker room already staring at him. “What? What did I miss?” 

“Jack complaining about All Stars,” Curtis answered.

“Oh,” Luke blinked. “So nothing new then?” 

“You're not going to Toronto?” Nico asked this time, before Curtis could say whatever witty response he had ready to go.

“Uh, no,” Luke shook his head. 

“Scared you’ll steal their thunder?” Nate joked, patting Luke’s shoulder as he walked past to get to his stall. 

Jack snorted. “He thinks he’s too cool for Toronto. Probably following John to wherever the hell he is going.” 

John’s ears perked, turning whilst he was still removing some of his gear. “What? Luke said he didn’t want to come with us.” 

Jack paused, frowning a little before turning to Luke. “You’re not going away for the week?” 

Luke could feel his cheeks burning up. “No?” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“At least he also won’t be somewhere warm,” Nico stepped in, a hand on Jack’s shoulder providing more than enough distraction from Jack asking questions as he turned to look at Nico with the embarrassingly obvious heart eyes he has always had for the captain.

It gave Luke the short reprieve he wanted, avoiding the other curious looks he was getting as he glanced down at his phone screen for a moment, grinning at the messages before he locked it and put it back in his bag so he could finish getting changed.

cherry🍒: i hope you know that i am using this opportunity to steal as many of your hoodies as i can before the week is over 

cherry🍒: consider this your one and only warning

…

It was surprisingly easy to prevent Jack from asking any more questions. 

A little too easy, if Luke was being honest. 

But Luke was also not an idiot so he didn’t question Jack’s silence after he mentioned a friend would be staying with Luke for the week. Jack had just stared blankly for a few moments before laughing, shaking his head and walking out the room, muttering something about needing to stop by Nico’s after he finished packing. Luke took it as the blessing it was and didn’t bring it up again.

Truthfully, it didn’t hit Luke how insane it felt to have you with him the whole week until he was running around the apartment, cleaning up whatever he could before his phone began ringing from the other room.

“Dude, you have shit timing.” 

Ethan laughed on the other side of the phone. “You’ve been ignoring me! I feel abandoned. What happened to the Luke who said he missed me?” 

“I never said that,” Luke retorted.

“Rude,” Ethan huffed. “Why do you sound so out of breath? Were you training or something?” 

“Nah, just tidying the place up,” Luke replied absentmindedly, staring at the hoodie he picked up on the floor with a frown. If he was being honest, he didn’t know if it was his or Jack’s, and usually he didn’t care. But the image of you wearing it thinking it belonged to him when in reality it was Jack’s passed his mind and he quickly shoved it into the washing basket. That would be a problem he dealt with later.

“Ugh, don’t even,” Ethan whined on the other side of the phone. “I’m so jealous, dude. I would kill to be on a beach somewhere right now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke muttered as he continued to pick up a few empty bottles of gatorade on the coffee table before pausing. “Wait, what? What the fuck are you on about? Who’s going to the beach?” 

Ethan sounded just as confused on the other side. “You?” 

“No, I’m not?” Luke replied, frowning. “I just told you, I’m at my place.” 

“Yeah, because you are tidying up before you fly out somewhere. For Bye Week.”

“Who told you that?”

“I thought it was obvious? Why the fuck would you not be flying out somewhere?” 

And honestly, Luke didn’t have much of a comeback for that one. Because to everyone else, it did seem weird. He knew that. He gathered as much from the rest of the boys’ reactions in the locker room the other day. He gathered it from Jack’s reaction and Quinn’s message (‘wtf rusty’) when he broke the news in the brothers group chat. 

He knew. 

But somehow trying to justify it to one of his best friends over the phone made him realise how fucking dodgy it sounded when none of them really knew about you.

“So, let me get this straight.” 

Luke let out a deep sigh.

“You declined on going up to Toronto with your brothers because you didn’t want to impose, or whatever dumb shit you said, and let them enjoy All-Stars.” 

“Yes.” 

“And then you had the offer to go to Cabo and the Bahamas with teammates, which you also declined.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And then you decided to stay in New Jersey instead of even visiting us up in Michigan with your week off?” 

“Yup.”

“Dude,” Ethan squawked, offended and confused and downright discombobulated. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a concussion? Is this like a mid-season breakdown? Do I need to call for help?” 

Luke rolled his eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“I think I am being perfectly reasonable here.” 

Luke disagreed—majorly—but he valued his life so he stayed silent.

“You’re gonna get so bored staying in Jersey all week,” Ethan pointed out. “What are you even gonna do?” 

Luke opened his mouth to reply just as the buzzer sounded through the apartment. If anyone asked, he would deny the way his face instantly broke out into a smile. 

“Sleep my ass off. It’s hard being in the NHL,” Luke said in the snobbiest voice he could, letting Ethan cackle on the other side and try to get another word in before he spoke up again. “Look, I gotta run, I’ll call you later. Promise.” 

“He plays in the big leagues and thinks he’s so much better than us.” 

“I am better than you,” Luke grinned. “I remember winning beer pong.” 

“That doesn’t fucking count! Mark was the one who—” 

“Bye, Ethan!” 

Luke couldn’t hang up and rush to open the door fast enough. 

…

Deep down, he knew it was stupid for him to feel nervous about you staying over at his place for the week. 

He had stayed over at yours more times than he could count on one hand. You had become an integral part of his life in New Jersey. You were one of his closest friends. He knew you. He knew you knew him. There should have been nothing that made the week weird. 

But he couldn’t help but feel like it meant more. This was him inviting you to stay over for a few days, to stay at his place whilst his brother was out of town, to spend the week with him when he should be resting and drinking some overpriced cocktail on a beach somewhere warm. 

You were his friend but spending his whole stay-cation with him in his apartment like the two of you were playing house was something far from platonic. 

It was a bit of a mindfuck, but not as much as realising just how fucking easy it all was.

It was different from the various nights he spent at your apartment. It was different seeing you in his space, fitting into his life so easily. It was different seeing you relaxed and laid back, looking like you belonged. 

It was different from the night at his birthday party, where you were one of many faces. It was just you and him, standing in his kitchen or sitting on his couch or lying in his bed. It felt so different but so fucking good. 

Only a few days had passed and yet Luke forgot a time where you weren’t here, where you weren’t by his side throughout the whole day. 

It was dangerous but the warning signs were easy to ignore when his attention was fully focused on you.

“Are you calling me lanky?” 

“It was a compliment!” You insisted, but there was a smile on your face—not that he could see, considering your face was currently pressed against his chest as the two of you laid on the couch to watch the fastest skater skill event. “You would do well in this challenge. It would take you, like, five less strides than the rest of them.”

Luke snorted. “Geez, thanks.” 

“You’ll see,” you murmured, nuzzling your head further into his chest. “You’ll do it one day and win and know that I’m right.”

“And then you’ll tell me ‘I told you so’?” Luke guessed, his eyes now on you rather than the tv screen. 

“Obviously,” you replied, lifting your head so your chin was resting on the spot your cheek was squished against moments ago. “I’m always right, Hughes. The sooner you accept that fact, the easier your life will be.” 

Luke raised his brows in amusement. “So when you very confidently said that you loved that movie where Andrew Garfield played Batman—” 

“Shut up,” you groaned, lightly pinching his side but he quickly caught your hand. “We were watching Twilight! I was thinking about Robert Pattinson! I got confused!” 

“Uh huh,” Luke beamed. “Just always so right—”

“You’re being a dick,” you huffed, even if you were smiling. “Here I was trying to give you a compliment—”

“By calling me lanky.”

“—and this is the thanks I get,” you shook your head. 

Luke’s expression softened, his hand reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear as he smiled down at you. “Thank you, Cherry. I appreciate the confidence.” 

“Confidence is sexy,” you retorted, your palms warm and comforting against his sides. “Soon you won’t need me to remind you.” 

“But I like when you say it,” Luke retorted.

“Professional athletes and their praise kinks,” you sighed, grinning a little when he reached down to pinch your side this time. 

“I’m the only professional athlete you know,” Luke pointed out, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach at the mere idea that maybe he wasn’t. That maybe you knew more, that maybe you had experience with more, that maybe they were far more experienced than him and—

“And you have a praise kink,” you said, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. “Therefore, my theory has not been disproved. I’m right.”

Luke’s cheeks burned hot. “I do not have a praise kink.”

You snorted, grinning as you lifted a hand to playfully squeeze his cheeks. “Aw, baby, you do and it’s hot. Don’t get all shy about it.”

“Whatever,” Luke murmured, turning his focus back to the tv instead of the growing smirk on your face. 

But the thought lingered in his mind even as the two of you continued to cuddle on the couch, watching whatever movie you had chosen after the All-Stars events ended. It picked at his brain, chipping away at the self-restraint he had to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night until the two of you were getting ready for bed. 

He was lingering by the doorway, watching you get your side of the bed (because apparently that was also something that came easily to the two of you) ready before you climbed into bed. And before he could stop himself, he was already blurting out the words that were on the tip of his tongue for most of the night.

“Do you really think the praise kink thing is hot?” 

His cheeks were already blushy and pink and hot when you turned your head to look at him.

“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” You asked, something lighthearted and teasing in your voice that was oddly reassuring. You didn’t think he was a freak for asking. Not that he ever assumed you would judge him, you both were far from that point. 

“Does it change your answer?” He asked, not sounding half as confident as he wanted to. 

Your smile softened a little as you walked around the bed and towards him. You tilted your head back once you were in front of him, watching him with a look he couldn’t quite work out. 

Luke swallowed a little.

“It doesn’t change my answer,” you answered honestly. 

Luke could feel something in his chest tighten. “And what’s your answer?” 

“I think it’s hot,” you told him, saying it so casually as though the two of you were discussing the weather. “I think everyone has a praise kink to some extent but…”

Luke could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “But?” 

“But it’s different with you,” you said, your fingers lightly skimming against his stomach before curling around the hem of his shirt. “You’re so…responsive. It’s hot.” 

His body twitched, like his skin was too tight for his body. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling a little before using the grasp on his shirt to tug him closer and close the distance between you both. Not that there was much.

Luke was almost embarrassed by the noise he made the second your lips were on his, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you used the leverage against him. He ducked his head down, trying to chase your lips as you continued to tease him and tempt him. He barely realised his feet were moving until the back of your knees hit the bed and you pulled back to look at him. 

“So pretty,” you murmured, close enough to hear the way his breath hitched before you moved down onto the bed, with your grasp on his shirt enough to drag him down with you. 

It was far from sexy, if Luke was being honest. An awkward maneuver of too many limbs and shuffling up the bed that should have ruined the moment, but it didn’t. Because it was you and you were laughing and smiling and snorting when Luke almost decked it on top of you after he got his foot stuck. You made it feel so normal. Like it was all just a part of the charm. 

Maybe it was. Maybe feeling safe enough to be human and imperfect was a part of the charm. 

Because despite the uncoordinated and clumsy scrambling onto the bed, you were still looking at him like you wanted to see how pink his cheeks could turn.

Luke barely put up a fight when you pulled him back down, happily following your movements as he settled between your legs and let you wind your arms around his neck so his nose was brushing against yours before you leaned in to kiss him again. 

Unlike a lot of the other makeout sessions the two of you had, there was no rush. There was no lingering adrenaline from a game he wanted to work off or some bad plays he wanted to forget. There were no teasing messages or risky phone calls that were building up to this moment. There was absolutely nothing but just the two of you lying in his bed, making out because you wanted to. 

Because you wanted to kiss him and he wanted to kiss you. Because you enjoyed the weight of him on top of you and he enjoyed the way your fingers entangled themselves in his curls. Because for reasons that were beyond his understanding, you wanted this as much as he did.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his tongue lightly skimming over the area of his bottom lip you nipped with your teeth.

You smiled up at him. “See? So responsive. It’s cute.” 

He swallowed. “Cute?”

“Cute, hot, sexy, whatever word you want to use, pretty boy,” you murmured, one hand sliding down to cup his face as your thumb skimmed over the apple of his cheek. “All I know is that I like the noises you make.” 

Luke responded by leaning back down, kissing you because he could, because he wanted to, because he liked the way your laugh vibrated against his lips before you kissed back.

But whatever control Luke thought he had on himself when he was with you quickly dwindled as you pulled him closer, letting his body fall on top of you and let your thighs squeeze his sides until he was rocking his hips against yours, until he was practically panting between kisses.

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing one, two, three pecks against his lips before your lips traced along his cheek and down his jaw. “That’s it, baby. I can feel how much you like this. S’cute how worked up you get just making out.”

“You’re hot,” he gasped out, like it was self-explanatory. Like it justified why he could feel his dick twitching in his sweatpants, probably already making a mess that he would pretend didn’t embarrass him as much as it did.

Your smile was softer, your hand on his face feeling more intimate as you guided his eyes to meet yours. “I think,” you started, your thumb lightly tracing down his cheek and skimming his bottom lip. “You’re hot too. And that you can come like this. Make a mess f’me.” 

And fuck, he could.

It wouldn’t be the first time he did, helplessly grinding against you whilst you kissed him and praised him and made his head fucking spin before he was coming harder than he really should be able to from a simple act. He could lean down, press his lips against yours and slide his tongue against yours and feel the way you cling onto him as he comes. He could do it. 

But there was a buzzing voice in the back of his head, getting louder and louder until—

“I bought condoms.” 

He could see the initial surprise on your face as you processed the words he just blurted out, the eyes locked on his kiss-swollen lips shifting to look up and watch the way he squirmed under the realisation of his words. He watched the way you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes narrowing slightly like you were observing him, keeping on edge until he spoke.

“You bought condoms,” you repeated, trying and failing to keep the smile off your face. “Big plans for this week?” 

“I—” Luke’s face burned. “That wasn’t… didn’t mean…I was just—” 

“Luke,” you said in a softer voice, your smile faltering a little into something more sincere. “M’only teasing.” 

“Okay,” he whispered, a knot twisting in his stomach with every passing second. He swore he was moments away from just exploding out of pure embarrassment or something just as humiliating. 

“Breathe for me,” you murmured, smiling a little when he let out a shaky breath. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Just because you bought them, doesn’t mean we have to do anything with them just yet.”

Luke swallowed, his whole body thrumming as he replied. “I…I want to.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. “Only if you want to, too. Because consent is sexy, you know.”

You laughed a little, both hands now cupping his face so your eyes could meet his. “I do, if you want this. If you’re ready.” 

“It is,” he whispered, nodding again. “I trust you, Cherry. I want this. With you.” 

“Okay,” you whispered before kissing him again, slow and sure and content. 

It made him feel a little less like his skin was shrinking all over his body.

And you kept kissing him until his body didn’t feel so tense, until he didn’t feel like a wooden plank on top of you, until he was relaxed and making those little noises between kisses that let you know he wasn’t as nervous as before. 

You kept kissing him as you lightly nudged him back, letting him lean back on his knees until he was straddling your body, giving him enough movement to lean over and scramble through his nightstand until he found the unopened box of condoms.

He tried to tear the plastic covering over the box off, tried to peel it away but his hands were shaking more than he liked and his heart was pounding in his chest and—

“Hey, relax,” you murmured softly, sitting up and taking the box from his hands with little fight from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. “Nerves, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you promised. “You know we can stop at any time, just say the word.” 

He swallowed harshly. “No, I do—”

“I know,” you smiled. “But I also want you to know that.” 

“Only if you do too,” Luke responded, looking completely serious as he said it. “If you want to stop at any moment too, you have to say something too. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this with me because it’s my…first time or whatever.”

“I promise,” you smiled before nudging him back, until he was settled with his back against the headboard and you were on his lap. “Don’t worry about the condoms right now, okay? Just focus on me.” 

And Luke did.

Because, in complete honesty, it was very easy to ignore the box of condoms and the bubbling nerves and the growing realisation of what was about to happen. The voice in the back of his head saying ‘oh fuck, this is it’ was barely a whisper when his focus was on you. 

It was easy to get lost in the familiarity of you. He was used to this. He was used to you sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs and kissing him senseless. He was used to you dragging your shirt over your head and throwing it to the side. He was used to you tugging his sweatpants down and letting your own follow and guiding his hand between your legs whilst you whispered filthy things against his lips. 

He was used to the way you always targeted the spot just behind his ear, blowing cool air until he physically shivered. He was used to the way your eyes fluttered shut when his thumb lightly skimmed across your nipple. He was used to choking out a breathless moan whenever your thumb slid along the slit on the head of his cock. He was used to the way you tugged on his hair when you were close, letting the dull pain throb wonderfully at the base of his skull whilst you pressed your face against his shoulder. 

You were right, all those weeks ago back at the start of the season, when you said he needed to build up to this moment. You were right about the different experiences and experiments the two of you had tried and tested over the last few months. You were right when you said it was just like practicing hockey. 

It felt a bit fucking poetic and pathetic to compare his sex life to hockey right now, but he got it. 

The same nerves that bubbled up before his first NHL game were no different. Because even though he had played hockey his whole life, it still felt nerve-wracking to play in the NHL. And even though he had spent the last few months doing so much with you, it was still kind of daunting to know it was all leading up to this.

But just like his first NHL game, it just felt right. 

You felt right. 

This whole moment felt right. 

Luke knew he was not like his friends or teammates. He had spent years growing up with locker room talk, hearing about random hookups in the backseat of a car or halfhearted blowjobs in a bar bathroom. He heard about one night stands and casual flings and situationships that tended to go sour. He had heard it all and it was unsettling to imagine that was the future waiting for him. 

But it wasn’t. 

And it felt a bit comforting to know that he never had to look back on this experience and regret the person he was with or where he was or whatever stupid risk it could cause his career. All he had to think about was him and you and the way you were looking just as affected and turned on as he was right now.

“You still sure?” You whispered, soft and comforting and so fucking caring, it made his throat feel a little tight. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling a little as he leaned in to kiss you again to emphasise his point. “I trust you. I want this with you.” 

You smiled, still looking so fucking genuine before you leaned over to grab the box of condoms, removing the plastic peel with an ease he was only slightly jealous of. He watched you grab a small foil packet, glancing at him every few seconds like you were waiting for him to jump back on his decision.

“I trust you,” he repeated, confident and sure. 

His hands laid on your legs as you tore open the foil packet. His hands squeezed the fat of your thighs as you rolled the condom on him, stroking him a few times until he was bucking into your touch. His hands were on your waist, supportive and guiding as you slowly sunk down onto his cock. 

“Shit,” Luke breathed out, his breath shaky and gasping. “Shit.”

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping the back of his neck. “I—fuck—I’ve got you.”

The squeeze of your walls around his cock made him want to close his eyes. It made him want to lean back against the headboard, keep his eyes closed and fucking bask in the feeling of you being so warm and tight and intense around him. But the desire to watch the way his cock disappeared into you was stronger, to watch the way your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted as you settled fully on his lap. 

It was fucking memesiring watching the way you slowly lifted your hips and sunk down again. It made him feel like his head was spinning as he watched you continued to move, to sink up and down on his cock, to fuck yourself on his cock and moan his name and look into his eyes and—

“Can I—” He cut himself off, a pathetic and whiny noise leaving his lips when you squeezed around him. “Can I please—”

“Whatever you want,” you murmured, breathless and panting as you leaned in to kiss him like you needed it.

He let himself enjoy the kiss, to enjoy the feeling of being inside you and the weight of you on his lap and your lips on his before he moved. Before he reminded his brain that he can move, that he didn’t have to feel so boneless and helpless, as he shifted until the two of you had rolled over and you were beneath him and—

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, loud and shameless as he hooked an arm under your knee, lifting your leg out of the way enough for him to thrust back in as your head feel back against the pillow. “Shit, yes, like that.” 

For a second, it was hard to remember he was even in his own body as he watched you. It was fucking mesmerising as he watched you moan and whine beneath him, as he felt your nails digging into his skin and scratching down his back as you demanded him for more, as you muttered his name between pleas and begs and whimpers. 

Luke kind of wished this moment would last forever. 

Unfortunately for him, he was utterly weak when it came to you. Because you were pretty and sweet and you felt fucking unreal around him, and you were looking at him like he fucking meant something and—

It was so much. Too much. Just fucking enough. 

“I can’t—” He gasped out, his whole body feeling like it was buzzing alive as the knot in his stomach twisted tighter and his thrusts became sloppier. “I’m not gonna last long—”

“Come for me,” you breathed out, your hands cupping his cheeks as you wound your legs around his waist. “C’mon, Luke, wanna feel you come in me.” 

And well, he stood no fucking chance lasting after you said that to him.

He could have sworn his ears were ringing when he came. It was intense and overwhelming and disorienting and, fuck, it felt so good. He could feel his muscles tensing, his body rigid and shaking as his orgasm washed over him. He could feel the wave of pleasure rushing through him, leaving every fucking nerve in his body buzzing as he let himself enjoy the way you were squeezing him around him.

He felt like he was on cloud nine when you ran your hands through his curls, your lips against his ear whispering god knows what. But your voice was low and humming and comforting and he could feel his eyes slipping close to enjoy the sound of it. 

He could feel you running your hands over his body, feel the way every inch of skin was pressed against you, feel the way your legs were tightening around him like you didn’t want him to move just yet either. 

After the rush of adrenaline and pleasure, his body felt syrupy. His movements felt slow and unhurried, his thoughts felt like they were floating away. His brain felt fuzzy and pleased and content to just lay on the bed with you, bask in the feeling a little longer before the grossness and desire to clean up took over. 

Luke was more than happy to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, to close his eyes and let out a happy sigh and let himself relax after the really intense last few minutes the two of you had just experienced.

And if Luke was more awake, he would have noticed the way you tensed up the second he spoke. The way your eyes widened, the way your body instantly locked up, the way you went a little pale. 

If Luke was more awake, he would have been able to think twice before he spoke. 

But Luke wasn’t awake. He fell asleep after muttering the one thought that had been on his mind since New Years. 

He closed his eyes and slept like a fucking baby and woke up to an empty bed and an empty apartment and not a single sign of proof of the night before except the marks on his skin and the used condom lying on his bedroom floor. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he had slurred into the crook of your neck, his voice barely louder than a rumble as the sleepiness really hit. 

If Luke was more awake, he would have stopped himself from completely fucking everything up. 

.

[wonderjanga]

Little Billy the Assistant

Zatanna was looking for the Champion. She’d wanted to ask for his help procuring an ingredient for a potion. All she expected was a short trip and maybe adventure. What she didn’t expect was running into a magically gifted orphan homeless looking kid.

Zatanna: *takes a detour a cramped street with a bunch of stalls selling stuff*

Billy: *ahead of her, heads to a gate leading to an alley, looks around for a bit before literally melting the lock off*

Zatanna: *sees this and stares*

Billy: *casts one more glance back before nearly feeling his soul leave his body at the sight of her looking at him*

He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Zatanna thought he was scared because he got caught by someone using magic in public. Billy was actually scared because she saw his civilian form do magic. Because what if she connected it back to Cap or something?!

Anyways, they made an uncomfortable amount of eye contact from across the street before Billy bolted into the alley. She tried to follow, but the crowd of the cramped street kept getting in her way, and by the time she got to the alley he was gone. Having lost him, she decided to ask Cap about the little boy about a week later when they were both at the Watchtower after he’d helped her find the ingredient she’d wanted. As for why it took a week for her to find him and ask for help? Billy had been avoiding her. Anyways…

Zatanna: “Cap, have you seen this little kid running around?”

Marvel: *immediately knew she was probably talking about him* “You’re going to have to be more specific than that Zatanna.”

Zatanna: “Okay… this little blue eyed black haired short little thing, maybe nine or 10-”

Marvel: *a little offended because he’s 12*

Zatanna: “-I saw him do magic the other day so he’s magical too. You know anything about him?”

Marvel: “Maybe? Why do you care about him?”

Zatanna: “Because recently I’ve had this idea of maybe having a little stage assistant.”

Marvel: “I thought you said you never wanted to share the spotlight or something?”

Zatanna: “That is true, but he was adorable! And I’m pretty sure he was also homeless.”

Marvel: *doesn’t know how to feel about being called adorable* “So…?”

Zatanna: “So he’d become my assistant and learn how to do his magic better since I doubt he has a teacher if I’m right about him being homeless. There’s also the added bonus of earning money which will benefit whether or not he actually is homeless.”

Marvel: *was prepared to say yes as soon as he heard money* “I’ll talk to him about it.”

Zatanna: “Oh? So you do know him.”

Marvel: “Maybe.”

Zatanna: “Maybe?”

Marvel: “Maybe. By the way, I’m pretty sure that kid you’re talking about has a job as a radio show host so he might not accept your offer if it conflicts with his schedule.”

Zatanna: “Radio show host? That’s a little retro, no? Buuuuuut… if he’s a show host, that at least means he has some pizzazz, so he could probably be good on stage too! As for the schedule thing, I mostly do night shows so he should be good.”

Billy mulled over this decision for many(two) days before deciding he’d accept her offer. As Cap, he told her to meet Billy at a popular street.

Billy: *waiting near a fountain and contemplating every decision he made up until his*

Zatanna: “Ah, it’s you! I assume Cap told you about my offer?”

Billy: “Yes? Could we uh… talk more about what the job would be like?”

Zatanna: “Of course! But first, let’s get some food in you.”

Billy: “What? Why?”

Zatanna: “Bud, you’re practically skin and bones.”

Billy: “Oh.” *sounds upset*

Zatanna: “Hey, hey, hey! No need to get upset! Try to think of the positives! I’m getting you food!”

They went to a little diner and ate while discussing all the things. What his job as an assistant would be, his pay, and so on.

Zatanna: “You sure know how to talk business, little guy.”

Billy: “Thank you…?” *sounds confused*

Zatanna: “I meant that in a good way.”

Billy: “Oh. Thanks then.” *smiles*

Zatanna: *just barely resists the urge to pinch his cheeks*

Zatanna stand by the fact that this kid was, in fact, incredibly adorable. Such a cutie honestly. And he’s such a sweetheart, too. After this meeting, they met up a couple more times, so Billy could rehearse being her assistant before he actually went on stage. Then the day came that he finally had to do his job…

Billy and Zatanna: *standing behind a curtain on stage*

Billy: “Uhm… Ms. Zatanna?”

Zatanna: “Yes?”

Billy: “What happens if I’m not good at being an assistant?”

Zatanna: *pauses to think* “Well, you’d stop, but I’d still continue trying to help you with your magic.”

Billy: “You mean that?” *just happy she wouldn’t immediately kick him to the curb*

Zatanna: “Of course.” *again has to resist pinching his cheeks*

The curtains soon opened after that conversation. The show must go on!

I’ll leave it up to you guys on whether he did good or not.

[mejaemin]

hiiiiii<333 congrats on 700 followers! yaayyy

can i request prompt 2 with dino?😭 i feel like it suits him so much, thank uuuu<3

dino + helping the other dry/comb their hair

warnings: nothing !!! a bunch of fluff an: acts of service chan is my fav… so much so that i accidentally made this 200 words longer than i was supposed to

chan walks into the bedroom with a towel sitting on top of his head, pajamas loose on his body. “are you sleepy? do you want me to help you?” he asks, sitting next to you on the bed. you look up at him and nod, eyes already closed.

“okay,” he says, smiling, getting up to grab a dry towel and your hairbrush.

when he sits back down, you’re exactly as he left you, and he helps you to sit between his legs with a chuckle. “relax, baby..” he begins parting your hair, taking your brush to the ends. “channie will take care of you.” he’s mostly speaking to himself, and he knows that with the way your head keeps tipping, but moments like this are therapeutic for the both of you.

“i hope you had a lot of fun today.. i know i did.” he pats each section of hair dry with the towel after brushing, tying it off to the side to finish the rest. “we did a lot, so it makes sense that you’re so tired.. it’s okay though, you can sleep, i’ll finish getting you ready for bed.. are you actually sleeping? if you are, you’re really good at keeping your head up while asleep- oh, maybe i should quiet down…”

as he gets through your hair, he continues talking, rambling on about today’s events, eventually switching topics to everything he has planned for the rest of the week. you’re awake, but barely, clinging onto consciousness to feel the brush on your scalp, his hands weaving through your hair, and his voice floating through your ears. if he asked you what he was talking about in the morning, you’d have no idea, but it doesn’t matter. you’re just here to be comforted and cared for by him, and he’s here to do the taking care of— he’s yapping for himself, not to get a response.

“all done.” his voice is so soft, hands gently pulling all your hair back and tying it up for you to sleep in. it took lots and lots of practice to get it good enough to not fall out through the night, but seeing you feel so bothered to do it yourself gave him the determination to learn. now he can do your hair flawlessly, seeing your sleepy face every night and immediately jumping to do it. you’ve even started letting him style it during the daytime, his skills getting good enough to try actual hairstyles.

he puts all your stuff away. your head is laying on the edge of the bed, still on the floor. he tries his best not to wake you up, pulling you into his arms and setting you down on the side of the bed. he tucks you in, slips under the covers himself, and pulls you into him with a kiss to your forehead. you’re so cute, so peaceful, and moments like these make chan hope you’ll always be there for him to take care of.

[struwberrii]

kenma headcanons ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

like the title says,, here are my cute kenma headcanons from my head that i just made up just now, hope you guys like ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ (mostly relationship stuff)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

hes super blunt and honest, a bunch of his classmates dont like him because he always tells it how it is

probably takes in stray cats sometimes and hides them from his family

lives in the same 3 hoodies

literally doesnt do anything if he doesnt feel like it, probably is behind on homework and stuff because of this

one of those people who say they don’t like the taste of water

HATES physical touch, but if you like it he lets you hug him or whatever you want

teaches you how to play his favorite games and also plays your games (if ur also a smelly gamer/j)

SLEEPER BUILD everyone always acts like hes so weak and scrawny like no he isn't the strongest but like he still played volleyball and practiced daily i KNOW he would beat me in a fight physically OR verbally and im literally taller than him (╥﹏╥)

i also feel like hed probably try and stay in shape after high school even though he doesnt have the best diet but i feel like hed still stay active yk?

probably writes you cute notes because he doesn't really know the words to say or hes scared of sounding stupid

loves doing small hands on things, like puzzles or lego building or rubix cubes

lays his head on your lap literally like a cat

loves when you brush/play with his hair

doesn't have the energy to argue over anything so he literally just lets you do whatever you want

if you suck at games he always carries you because hes just happy youre playing with him ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

gatekeeps you from his followers (they know he has a partner)

wears your cute hair clips to keep his hair out of his face while he games/streams

lives in fluffy socks

isnt very good at showing affection so he just showers you in little gifts and presents, even if its not super fancy or expensive gifts

i feel like he would give the warmest hugs

bluntly/genuinely compliments you

shares his food/snacks with you

probably has terrible vision and keeps his electronics way to close to his face

has the worst posture, you have to remind him to straighten his back, like it literally sounds like popping bubble wrap when he sits up straight

soda/energy drink addict

gets so aggressive on voice chat when hes gaming like hes airing out the whole server... EVERYONE is catching strays tonight

acts like he hates pet names but secretly loves it :3

[lycankeyy]

Idk if I ever Will work on this with how hard I'm fixating on other things rn but. Realized the idea of "virtual pet game social site that's pets develop sentience after being completely abandoned for years" makes significantly more thematic sense if the v-pet game is based on dinosaurs

Oh my god I just thought of an idea that might save one of my old projects I got creative block on before I even started. Oh my god we're so back

[wordsofwhimsy]

【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part Eight

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice of life, Mark’s all “duoyy” about your tits lmaoo

Word Count: 2,328

Chapter Synopsis: It’s game day and your roommate convinces you to wear something WAY out of your norm. It’s got Mark all fucked up.

a/n: ugh i really like this chapter – also i wasn’t lyingggg when i said this shit would be slowburn. reader’s ol’ dense ass hasn’t even clocked the way mark be looking at her yet.

Part Seven

Mark had stayed with you late into the night. He didn’t say much. Just lingered in the same room while you flipped through textbooks and typed furiously at your laptop, muttering the occasional curse under your breath when you couldn’t get a paragraph to sound right. You looked exhausted—like you hadn’t slept in a week—but you were clearly trying to push through it.

He didn’t get it.

Not the school stuff, not the effort, not the way you ground yourself down to the bone like it would all fall apart if you didn’t. He couldn’t imagine wasting that much energy on a bunch of overworked professors and a system that, in his opinion, was mostly built to break people down and leave them in debt.

Still, he didn’t say anything. Just sat on your bed and watched the curve of your shoulders as you worked, how your brow furrowed when you mentally hit a wall, how your tongue poked out when you finally found a rhythm again. Pesto had eventually relocated to your desk, curled in a loose half-circle beside your laptop.

It wasn’t until your head slowly dipped, your movements stalling entirely, that Mark realized you'd passed out.

You’d fallen asleep right there—half-upright, cheek smushed against the keyboard, one arm dangling limply over the side of your chair.

Mark stared at you, then let out a long sigh. “Seriously?” he muttered under his breath.

Pesto gave a concerned little chirp and padded closer to you, licking at your cheek with small, sandpaper-rough strokes. You didn’t stir. Just let out a tiny snore and went boneless in your chair.

Mark rolled his eyes. “God. You’re gonna give yourself a hunchback by thirty.”

Still, he got up. And with careful, practiced ease, he hooked his arms under your legs and shoulders and lifted you like you weighed nothing at all. Pesto gave a little squeak and leapt back onto the bed, eyes wide and blinking as Mark crossed the room and gently laid you down.

You curled automatically into the blankets as soon as you hit the mattress, a soft sound escaping your throat—peaceful and worn out in equal measure.

Mark stood over you for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line. You looked so small like this. So tired. And even though it wasn’t anything new—wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you doze off many times in high school gym class before—something about it now made his chest feel tight.

Like maybe he didn’t like seeing you this way.

Like maybe he hated that you kept pushing yourself so hard when no one else seemed to notice.

He tugged the blanket higher, smoothing it over your shoulder. Pesto blinked up at him from the corner of the bed. Mark glared. “What.”

More blinking. Very owl-like.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “Stop it now, I’ll squash you I swear to god...”

Pesto, unfazed, licked his paw and gave him the slowest, most condescending blink he’d ever received from a barely sentient creature.

Mark huffed and turned toward the window, ready to slip out the way he came in—but froze when the doorknob rattled.

Crap.

The door cracked open and Emily stepped inside, still in her lab gear, earbuds dangling from her neck. She paused when she saw the room—your unconscious form tucked in bed, textbooks scattered about, Mark halfway through a panicked turn. Pesto had made themselves scarce, slipping beneath the covers.

Mark’s eyes flicked to the window, then back at Emily. Nope. Not worth it.

“…Hey,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just been caught trying to sneak out like a vampire.

Emily blinked. “Uh. Hi?”

He cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket. “She passed out at her desk. I put her in bed.”

Emily arched a brow. “Thanks?”

Mark made a vague grunt in acknowledgment, then walked past her and out the door with a rigidity that would put dames to shame.

Emily watched him go.

“…Okay then.”

Still, as she kicked off her shoes and crossed the room, her gaze softened when it landed on you. She whispered something about “absolute goblin girl,” then tucked the blanket tighter around you, and flicked off the light.

At least you weren’t alone.

—

The next morning arrived far too quickly.

You rolled out of bed with your hair in twelve directions, your laptop blinking low-battery warnings at you, and Pesto somewhere still tangled in your blanket like a sea creature.

Emily was already wide awake. She perched on her bed like a pristine barbie doll, eyes sparkling, holding two hangers up like she was planning a fashion heist. “Today is the day,” she said gleefully. “Prepare to be hot.”

You blinked at her. “What.”

“The game,” she said, like it was obvious. “Kyle? Nachos? Sunburn? Public awkwardness? Ringing any bells?”

You squinted at her.

She sighed dramatically. “You need something to wear.”

You looked down at yourself—oversized hoodie, pajama pants, socks with little cats on them. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Girl,” she said almost sympathetically. “Be for real.” She stood up and crossed the room in two strides, throwing open your closet.

You groaned and got to your feet, murmuring that you were going to the bathroom. She just waved you off, clearly too invested in her own mission.

You shuffled off toward the dorm bathrooms, clutching your towel and your caddy like armor. The floor was quiet this early—just the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of someone brushing their teeth. You took your time showering, letting the warm water ground you. You weren’t sure if you were nervous or excited. Maybe both.

Kyle had invited you. You were going to your first baseball game. In public. With people. That was weird. Good-weird, but still weird.

By the time you came back, hair damp and twisted up in a towel, everything in your closet had been ransacked.

“Emily,” you said slowly, eyes sweeping the scene. “What. Did you do.”

Emily didn’t even look up—she was shoulder-deep in her own wardrobe now, holding up shirts and muttering under her breath. “You own like five outfits and they’re all from the discount bin of a high school anime club.”

You clutched your towel tighter. “I like my clothes.”

She turned around holding a bright yellow summer dress. “Yeah? Well I like seeing you not dressed like a depressed librarian. C’mon, try this.”

You stared at the dress like it was radioactive. “That’s... short.”

“And cute,” she said, tossing it at you before you could protest. “You’ve got the legs for it. And the boobs. Honestly, I don’t know why you hide under all that fabric like a Victorian ghost.”

Your face flushed. “I’m just... not used to showing stuff off like that.”

“Well, you should be,” she said with zero hesitation. “Now get your hot butt into this dress before I forcibly put you in it.”

You groaned but gave in, slipping behind your closet door to change. The material was soft and breezy, the skirt falling mid-thigh and the neckline dipping just enough to feel mildly illegal. You tugged at the hem, your face burning.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Let me see,” Emily said, crossing the room. You hesitated, then stepped out. Emily froze. Her eyes scanned you from head to toe, and then she let out a long, impressed whistle. “Holy hell.”

You immediately folded your arms over your chest. “Don’t—”

“No, no, no. Shut up. You’re hot.”

“Emily—”

“I’m serious! If I saw you across a bar like that, I’d assume you were about to ruin someone’s life. Kyle’s gonna die.”

You tried to shrink into yourself, but a laugh bubbled up despite your embarrassment. “You’re insane.”

“And you look amazing,” she said firmly. “Now twirl.”

“What? No—”

“Twirrrrrl.”

You gave her a half-hearted spin, and the skirt flared up slightly with the movement. You couldn’t help but laugh, a little breathless and pink-cheeked. Maybe… you did look kind of good.

And maybe it felt really nice to have someone see you and say it out loud.

You were still mid-laugh when someone knocked on the door. You and Emily paused, exchanging a look. “That’s gotta be Kyle,” she said, already moving to open it. But when she pulled the door open—it wasn’t Kyle at all.

It was Mark. He stood there in his usual jacket, hands shoved in his pockets, expression sharp and unreadable. Emily blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Oh. Uh. Hey?”

Mark stepped inside without a word, and then he saw you. His body turned to stone.

His gaze snapped to your legs first—bare, tan, almost shinning under the hem of the dress—and then to the curve of your waist, the subtle line of your collarbones, the dip of skin just above the neckline that knocked a fuse loose in his brain.

And then his eyes dipped lower. For a moment, he just stared—like his brain had rebooted mid-thought.

What the hell.

You had tits. Not just vaguely-there, hidden-under-a-sweatshirt boobs. Real ones. Perfect, soft, gravity-defying, distracting ones. On display. In a dress that clearly had zero concern for his ability to stay normal.

Where the hell had you been hiding those?

Oh. Right. Under three layers of hoodies and a self-deprecating sense of style.

Mark felt something short-circuit behind his eyes. There was a moment of honest-to-god panic, the kind that only came from the realization that you were no longer safe in his brain. Not even a little. Not when you looked like that.

You shifted under his stare, tugging awkwardly at the skirt. “Emily’s letting me borrow it.”

Mark’s jaw flexed. “Why?”

“For the game,” you said, oblivious to the storm cloud forming in real time. “Kyle invited me, remember?”

Silence.

His brain, still fried, took a moment to catch up. Right. The game. With Kyle. You, in that dress. In public. With him.

“No,” Mark said flatly. “You can’t wear that.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You should change.”

Emily blinked, eyebrows shooting up. “Excuse me?”

Mark didn’t take his eyes off you. “It’s too much.”

Emily scoffed. “What are you talking about dude, it’s just a dress.”

“It’s not just a—” He stopped himself, nostrils flaring slightly. “You’ll kill somebody.”

You looked at him, almost mildly concerned that someone might actually lose their life for reasons unknown. “Kill who?”

Mark opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again, like maybe if he just kept rebooting, the right words would eventually show up in his head.

Emily looked between the two of you, mouth twitching. “Oh my god,” she said. “You’re serious.”

“I’m just saying,” Mark huffed, crossing his arms like that would make him sound less unhinged, “maybe don’t go out in something that looks like… that.”

You stared at him. “Like what?”

He looked pained. “Like—legs. And skin. And tits.”

Your face lit up like a Christmas tree at how blatantly he called out your chest. “I’m sorry—”

“I meant—your boobs,” he amended quickly, like that somehow made it better. “I mean—not yours specifically, just—ugh, you know what I mean.”

Emily was openly laughing now. “No, this is good. Let’s see how far down this rabbit hole he goes.”

“Listen, I mean,” Mark snapped, cheeks faintly pink now. “You’ve got people out there. In the world. With eyes. And blood pressure. And I’m not saying they’ll spontaneously combust but like. You never know.”

You stared at him for a second longer, then slowly raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You seem… weird.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, clearly not fine. “It’s the dress that’s weird. You’ve never worn anything like that before.”

You glanced down at yourself, the swell of self-consciousness suddenly creeping in like a chill under the door.

“I mean… yeah,” you said, more uncertainly this time. “That’s kinda the point, right?”

Mark didn’t respond. Not really. Just gave you this look—tight, unreadable, heavy. The kind that made your stomach twist without knowing why. You tugged the skirt down again, nerves starting to itch just beneath your skin. “Do I look stupid?”

Mark’s head snapped up. “What? No.”

“But you said—”

“I didn’t say you looked stupid,” he said quickly, tone sharp. “I said people are gonna look. And… they don’t need to be doing that.”

That last part came out quieter. Like it had slipped past whatever filter he’d tried to use. You blinked at him, lips parting—but before you could say anything, there was another knock at the door.

Emily moved to answer it, and your heart lurched, caught in this weird limbo between feeling ridiculous and wanting to disappear entirely. You looked back at Mark. “Should I change?”

Something flickered in his expression. Something complicated. His mouth opened—but Kyle was already stepping into view.

“Hey,” Kyle said, smile bright as the sun. “Wow. You look—”

“You don’t have to finish that,” you cut in quickly, brushing past him. Your hands fidgeted with the edge of the dress, pulling at fabric that suddenly felt too thin, too short, too much.

You didn’t wait to hear what Kyle had to say. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

Kyle barely had time to catch up before you were out the door, leaving a silence that felt far heavier than it should have.

Behind you, Mark stood unmoving, jaw tight and fingers curled into fists. Emily gave him a long, knowing look.

“You really could’ve said literally anything else,” she muttered.

Mark exhaled, low and sharp. “She looked uncomfortable.”

“She looked excited. And hot. And for the record? She still looked like herself. Just a version of her that actually lets herself exist in the world for once.”

He didn’t answer.

Emily rolled her eyes. “You’re not mad at the dress. You’re mad it’s not for you.”

Mark didn’t deny it.

———————

Part Nine

———————

Taglist! @maddyb-rapps | @sweet-3-whispers | @moradogreen | @rayaaa4444 | @luvvcharxo | @byteme05 | @rivalriotrenegade | @1abi | @onlybatsyy | @heiankyonoeiyuukun | @dillybuggg

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

VERSION IV.

(a/n: Hey everybody! Really sorry for not updating this week's been VERY hectic, but im back and ready to post new eps again 🙏 thanxx for your support ❤️)

WARNING!-none

wc: 1.1 k words

ALSO: tags-@ttheggrimrreaper ❤️ bear with me, ur episode is coming i swear

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…11, Isagi Yoichi."

The icon of an unknown person appeared on the screens. Looking closely, you tried to recall if you had ever heard of him during your training, before realising you didn’t interact with the male species for months so you definitely can’t remember the boy.

‘Maybe someone mentioned him a few weeks ago?’

Heading to the assigned room and getting there, Anri immediately gave you a bunch of stuff while telling you about some of Ego’s newly adapted annoying habits. Minutes later, she finished her complaining and let you go you to find your new player.

Imagine being the manager of Isagi Yoichi, the heart of Blue Lock.

——————

Isagi Yoichi, with whom you immediately click moments after you first meet him, the conversations going surprisingly smooth. His attentive and kind nature made you much more talkative than usual, feeling lucky that you somehow managed to get a normal boy. The nightmares that tortured you for the past week, anxious about who you were gonna end up with were also nowhere to be found. Between the breaks of practice matches, Yoichi would always come to the benches, eager to continue your little chat from earlier, seemingly taking genuine interest in you. And when he had to go back to the field, you simply watched him in silence while quickly reading through his data sheet.

——————

•Isagi, who you notice that literally every day, during all the matches tends to think and analyze a lot, which surprised you a bit, didn’t expecting to get someone who actually thinks before he acts.

•In the first few days he would mostly keep his thoughts to himself and although he does share some of them regarding soccer with you, he still remains a mystery.

•Isagi, who has been really curious about you from the start, and because of that you two talked a lot. From telling him how you ended up in Blue Lock, to him being silly and secretly imitating some of his teammates for fun. He also shared his own goals and how he hoped to be a good player, so you wouldn’t have to deal with all his shit in the future.

•He's also the one who's been holding whichever team he’s been part of together since the beginning and has slowly but surely earned a reputation within the facility. That wasn’t the problem, but rather the fact that your player was known for his harsh words and slurs towards his opponents and for being a completely different person on the pitch instead of the usual respectful guy, making you worry a little.

•The cherry on top however is that he somehow always manages to piss off the biggest, most skilled, clearly not in the mood to be insulted type of players.

•Dealing with this is probably the hardest part of being his manager. Apart from that, you have a pretty normal, simple routine, compared to the others, because well…you don't have to do much other than the standard work schedule, since Isagi is just easy to deal with. He doesn’t break the rules, eats what he’s given and always gets up on time.

•This is usually how your days go until the unexpected U20 match announcement comes, which makes the boy much, much more motivated making you basically fight to be able to keep up with him. Your tasks suddenly also multiply, having to give more detailed reports to the boss, monitoring Yoichi’s food portions and supliments way too carefully all while trying to help him achieve the perfect built for the upcoming match, hoping he gets selected.

•Your secret stash of snacks that you keep hidden in your room specially for him is also prohibited to touch, knowing damn well if Ego or Anri notices the few more calories on his data list both of you will be punished.

“So no more sneaky sweets?”-he asked one night, to which you just nodded regretfully.

“Nooooooooo…”

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Isagi changes. A lot. You would say he has improved and currently still is at a frighteningly fast pace. From the very first match he plays with his ‘new’ team to way he thinks and acts is different. This probably earned him one of the best players title as of now.

•He recently also began to follow a stricter training plan, and although the few chocolate bars you secretly try to give him are reeeeaally tempting, he always rejects them, saying that when he feels like he deserves one, he will accept it, resulting in you having to eat all of them alone before they expire.

•Changing places, didn’t necessarily mean new teammates. Yet, the people in Blue Lock he was the closest with all chose different countries, only some of them going on the same path as Yoichi.

•Fortunately, he had no problem finding new and old friends to hang out with, so you thought at least you didn’t have to worry about that. Wrong. You should have.

•Because although Isagi may have gotten along with the Japanese players, the Germans were different. First you thought, maybe it was because of his duality while playing, but it seemed like his mere existence was a problem for specifically 2 German people. They were extremely bothered by him, the murderous look in their eye every time, made you try to keep your player away from them as much as possible.

•Isagi changing meant your nightly routine had to be adjusted as well. Instead of an hour, you now sat with him in front of the big monitors for 2, carefully analyzing his movements every second, papers full of notes and comments to discuss later.

•He also gained immense popularity all over the world with his goal against the U20 that day, receiving comments and praises from fans on a daily basis with them saying how humble and good he is. Yet, despite all this, for some reason he’s need to get a compliment or praise only from you, rises drastically.

•“I’m with you all day, you know me best. I’m just simply curious about your opinion!”

•He, with whom you focus quite a bit on learning the basics of the German language, yet somehow the pronunciation, even the rules have no place in the boy’s puzzle anymore. Still, he tries hard because talking to Bastard München fans and mocking Michael Kaiser in his own native language seems so tempting.

•Over time, you guys became much closer to each other, and even though he has thought about asking you out on a date, he still doesn’t do it because he’s afraid that if things don’t go well, you’ll quit and he simply wouldn’t risk it. You’re the best manager and if necessary, he will continue to try and see you as a friend, as long as you’ll be by his side until the end of his journey.

[max1461]

I just found out I got a postdoc in Austria that starts in like 3 months, so I need to learn german to the greatest proficiency I can ASAP. It seems from your wise and powerful Posts that you have strong opinions about what works well in language-learning. Do you have any advice?

Yes. This is what worked for me in learning Japanese; YMMV.

So, I think that language learning is mostly about volume of practice in/exposure to the language, although that practice does have to maintain a minimum level of quality to be useful (e.g. not duolingo, duolingo is useless). Here is what I would say:

Ideally, find a German class and sign up for it. You may end up outpacing the class but it will both give you a backstop and also give you access to people to practice with and a native speaking teacher to ask questions to and model your pronunciation on. If the teacher is not a native speaker, do not take that class!

Probably the class will come with a textbook. If not, or if you can't join a class or so on, get a textbook and work through it. Ideally find one with lots of exercises and do all the exercises. Use some sort of flashcard system or rote memorization for vocabulary/conjugation tables/etc. You may have to experiment to find out what works for you; what worked for me was writing out big tables of verbs and conjugating them all in order to memorize the conjugations, for instance. Don't be afraid of memorization. My Japanese classes had weekly quizzes + a few hours of homework each week night, which was mostly translation, vocabulary, and grammar exercises. I studied for the tests and quizzes by rote. It always worked. You don't have to do this as much as I did, obviously, but subject to your needs just maximize your volume of practice vis à vis grammar and vocabulary.

Don't try to make grammar "make sense". The grammar rules are what they are. Too many learners get stuck on grammar rules that don't feel logical to them. Get over this immediately. Whatever the rule is, that's the rule; remember it and use it.

Practice speaking a lot. If you can't find native speakers to speak with, speak with your classmates. Ideally find native speakers to speak with. You can look online for like, language meet-ups and stuff. The thing is that grammar rules don't always make intellectual sense but they make functional sense; once you practice them enough they start to feel natural. Vocabulary can be memorized, conjugation tables and so on can be memorized, but you have to practice the language enough that you're no longer using that conscious, memorization-based part of your brain, shit just has to come out. Practice speaking and listening as much as possible.

This helped me, but it may or may not help you: remember that, ok... grammar is presented as a bunch of rules, which implies like, limitations. "Do X and don't do Y". But this is not what grammar really is, and it is not how you should approach grammar. Grammar "rules" are in fact tools for building sentences. Without grammar, you just have a bunch of disparate vocabulary items. With grammar, you have a way to put them together into something with a more complex meaning. Do not look at grammar points as rules that you must follow, look at them as new tools you have to build even more complex sentences and express even more ideas in the language. This is a crucial mistake many people make.

[alltimecharlo]

what do you think Mack’s reaction would be if Will added a little 71 charm to his chain so that he always had a little bit of Mack with him no matter where they were

such a cute idea anon, awh!!!! fic under the cut🩵

Mack notices it by accident.

They’re walking out of the arena after practice, both of them still damp with sweat and chattering about nothing—mostly Will, actually, running his mouth about a goal he should’ve scored and how he’s going to make up for it in their next game. Mack’s listening in that way he always does, with his head tilted toward Will and his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

Will’s keys jingle as he pulls them out to unlock his car, and Mack spots it. A small silver charm, shaped like a blocky 71, swinging from the end of Will’s keychain.

“Hey,” Mack says, blinking at it. “Is that—?”

Will looks at his keys like he forgot what they were for, then grins. “Oh. Yeah. It’s you.”

Mack raises an eyebrow. “It’s me?”

Will laughs a little sheepishly, kicking a loose bit of gravel. “Got it in Denmark. At Worlds. Found this vendor selling a bunch of custom number stuff and I thought, y’know. I’d get a little 71. So you’d always be with me.”

Mack’s brain shorts out for a second. Because what?

“You—” he starts, then stops. “You got a charm of my number. So I’d be…with you.”

Will shrugs, playing it off like it’s nothing, like Mack’s whole chest hasn’t just filled up with something warm and stupid and overwhelming. “Yeah. I mean, I knew I’d miss you.”

Mack opens his mouth. Closes it. Feels his ears start to burn.

Will leans against the car like he hasn’t just launched a full-scale emotional assault. “You don’t have to be weird about it. I’ve got your number on my gear bag too. Hidden. But it’s there. Like a secret lucky charm.”

Mack stares at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

Will beams, all bright eyes and flushed cheeks, and Mack wants to punch him and kiss him in equal measure. He takes a step forward instead and ducks his head a little, embarrassed but unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re the biggest sap in the league.”

Will lifts his eyebrows. “Bigger than you? Doubt it.”

Mack shakes his head, but he can’t stop grinning. He nudges Will’s shoulder with his own. “I’m getting you a ‘2’ charm. See how you like it.”

Will smirks. “Good. Then we’ll match.”

Mack exhales a quiet laugh. He watches Will toss his keys into the center console and climb into the driver’s seat, that little 71 charm catching the light one last time as it swings.

And yeah, maybe Mack’s whole heart is a little bit wrecked over it. But he thinks—

He likes being carried with Will, too.

♡

[ghostgirl-22]

Art deciding he wants to prove he can do more than just hit a ball with a stick so he decides to go to online medical school and hes practicing on patrick, doing all the routine ones,touching each other all over, soft spoken and intimate, putting sticks on their tongue like a slow burn leading up til he has to do a prostate exam, theyre practicing everything on each other. Art cant find pats prostate and he helps him, its all very awkward and sweet, after patrick says he can show art where to find it as he has more experience with men, so he gets art on his back

"This isnt even the correct position patrick" "do you want help or not? Im just showing you where it is"

Theyre so gentle with each other and patrick gently slides his fingers inside art, curling up into his prostate "you see there, you feel that?"

I thank you anon for this prompt. Sorry it took me so long. I took tons of liberties. Rearranged it in my head a lot. Also didn’t proofread much at all. Also it probably gets too into the weeds on the medical office stuff but we have fun 🤗

CW: 18+ !NSFW!

—-

I’m going with Art’s uncle is a urologist and Patrick and Art are staying with him over a college break and he hires both Art and Patrick as “medical assistants” to help him with stuff in his office. So they’re messing around all summer, cleaning the exam rooms in between patients, scheduling appointments. Art is vaguely interested in studying medicine, Patrick is mostly bored by all of it except when they’re messing around with the office tools and Art’s pretending to do exams on Patrick whenever they get a free minute.

It’s oddly erotic. Patrick’s sitting on the exam table swinging his feet while Art tells him to open his mouth, wide, wider. Art’s standing too close, pushing the tongue depressor onto Patrick’s tongue, light shining in Patrick’s mouth. “Can you open wider?” Art whines anxiously, “I think I see something.”

Patrick opens as wide as he can. Art is so close, lips parted, eyes shiny, looking deep into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick squeezes his hands between his thighs. Getting hard for this is so ridiculously and pathetically down bad.

Art pulls the tongue depressor out. “I think you have strep throat,” He says, grinning.

“That’s the third time this week,” Patrick smirks.

Art puts the tongue depressor in his own mouth and starts chewing on it. He does stuff like that all the time. Putting stuff in his mouth after it’s already been in Patrick’s. It makes Patrick crazy. Art rubs Patrick’s knee idly and then picks up the reflex hammer. “Don’t kick me,” he says.

“Don’t hit me then,” Patrick says.

Art ignores him and swings the hammer at Patrick’s knee anyway just to watch him reflexively twitch. “Okay I guess you’re alive,” Art says.

“Is that your final diagnosis?” Patrick pulls at the tongue depressor and Art opens his mouth to let Patrick take it.

Art looks around for the stethoscope. “Better check your heart, just to be sure.”

Art’s uncle takes Art’s med school aspirations much more seriously than Patrick does. “You boys want to sit in on my next patient?” He asks, interrupting them.

“Yes please!” Art says excitedly.

Patrick doesn’t love watching Art’s uncle give prostate exams to a bunch of vaguely homophobic geriatric men but it does help break up the day. The next patient is relatively young though. He looks like he’s not even 40 years old and he’s actually kind of really hot. Patrick��s curious about why someone so young (and hot) would need to see a doctor like this.

“This is my nephew and his friend, he’s premed at Stanford. Do you mind having them sit in?” Art’s Uncle asks.

“Yeah, sure,” the guy shrugs and smiles at them, like he could care less. Art’s uncle shuts the door of the exam room and starts asking him questions, and the guy is talking about how he’s afraid his prostate is swollen because of how he’s felt. “I was actually having sex with my boyfriend and he started to get worried because of how large it felt.” The guys says.

Art and Patrick exchange glances. Patrick doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way people will just blurt all their personal information in here. Art’s uncle doesn’t miss a beat though. “Is it painful?” He asks.

“No that’s the thing doc it feels really good, I end up having so many orgasms, once three times in a row,” the guy says. “But I’m just scared that it’s not normal?”

“Well that is normal, prostate stimulation can feel good and does often lead to ejaculation.” Art’s uncle says clinically, he’s distractedly typing away on the computer. “How about frequency? Have you had to pee a lot?”

”Not any more than normal, no.”

“Alright, well lets get it checked out for you. Take down your pants,” Art’s uncle says professionally. Patrick presses his lips together and looks up at the ceiling as the guy starts to undo his pants. He really is too attractive. Patrick knows now he could never do this job, the idea of a really hot guy walking in and not being able to flirt is just devastating to him.

He chances a glance at Art and he’s just watching the patient undress, a little bit of color in his cheeks. Patrick wonders if it’s because he’s embarrassed or if it’s because he’s aroused. Or both. Knowing him probably both.

Thankfully Art’s uncle is just talking generally about various conditions that usually don’t affect young men as a distraction so it doesn’t feel awkward in the room. The patient bends over the exam table and Patrick considers bolting from the room but he knows that would make him seem even more awkward. He balances on the balls of his feet hoping there’s no way anyone can tell that he’s got a chubby.

“Yep it feels healthy,” Art’s uncle says as the man sort of moans a bit. Patrick swallows.

“I’m sorry doc,” the patient says quickly.

“It’s no problem, happens all the time,” Art’s uncle says, taking his gloves off and tossing them in the trash. “Yours is just a little large, but seems to be perfectly healthy and functioning normally.”

”So it’s okay to— that it feels so— so good?”

Art’s uncle just laughs. “Yes, enjoy it,” he says with a wink. “And just come back to see me if there’s ever any pain.” He adds as he washes his hands.

“Oh I will, thank you,” The guy says, letting out a sigh of relief.

”Come on boys, let’s let him get dressed,” Art’s Uncle ushers them out of the room. He goes straight to a hallway computer to continue typing notes. His actual medical assistant is triaging another patient.

Art’s chewing on his bottom lip. Patrick’s trying to recover from the whole… thing. He’s not ever thought of prostates outside of old guys and dumb jokes. Never even considered the idea that it feels that good. The hot guy leaves the exam room a moment later and offers them a warm smile. He then goes to the front to take care of his bill.

“Lighten up boys, there’s all kinds of lifestyles, we don’t judge in here” Art’s uncle says, patting them on the shoulders. “Clean up the exam room and then you can take lunch.”

”Uh okay,” Art says.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, distractedly. They go back in the room and Art tears off the wrinkled exam paper from the bed and pulls some fresh paper down.

“You know what’s crazy?” Patrick asks him.

“What?” Art says, crinkling up the old paper and putting it in the trash.

“I don’t even think I know where my prostate is,” Patrick says.

“You don’t?” Art asks, pulling his gloves off and dropping those in the trash can too.

“No but I mean… could you imagine? Like what that guy was saying. Three times in a row. I could jerk off a thousand hours and never… you know…”

Art laughs a little. “Yeah, that’s um… that’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees. They’re quiet for a minute.

Art takes a breath and then goes to the sink and washes his hands. “Maybe…” he says and then trails off.

”What?” Patrick asks, he picks up the disinfectant cleaner.

“Maybe I could find it for you?”

Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”l

“What? I mean— you see how fast my uncle does it? It’s probably easy.”

Patrick laughs.

“Come on, seriously, be my patient,” Art says, determinedly. He pulls on a new pair of gloves. Patrick takes a breath, remembering he’s still mildly aroused but he decides to play along anyway. If Art really wants to be a doctor he’s gonna have to get used to bodies being in all kinds of weird states. That guy had definitely moaned, Patrick hadn’t made that up and he’d definitely almost touched himself because of it.

“Okay Dr. Donaldson,” Patrick says smiling as he starts undoing his slacks. He rubs the outline of his dick idly through his boxers.

Arts chewing on his bottom lip, watching Patrick, his eyes linger on the place where Patrick was rubbing and he shifts on his feet, antsy. “You’re not supposed to be…to be hard,” Art says quietly.

“Sorry, I think that last patient was my type,” Patrick says, smirking and rubbing it one more time just to watch Art squirm.

“That’s so… so beyond fucked up,” Art says, softly.

“Well I didn’t do anything, and whatever just revoke my license then,” Patrick shrugs with a grin.

Art shakes his head, a little smile on his lips. “Be serious okay um—- I think my uncle uses some kinda… this,” Art pumps some liquid out of an industrial container of lubricant. “Okay um… bend over,” he says lightly. But it doesn’t feel light at all. It feels… loaded. Like all the years they’ve spent dancing around a quiet longing are now simmering just below the surface.

Patrick eases his boxers down exposing his ass and he rests his elbows on the exam table. He can hear Art breathing in his ear, this hot feather light sound. He feels the cold, wet of the lubricant and Arts fingers behind the gloves and he shivers. Arts pressing into him. Patrick holds his breath, the intrusion isn’t completely unpleasant. Arts using two fingers, snaking them around.

“Can you feel it?” Art asks, breathlessly.

“I mean, I feel your fingers,” Patrick says, lightly. “Do you feel my prostate?”

“Um…” Arts starts pushing deeper. “Do you know what it feels like?”

“Well no,” Patrick says, “you said you could find it. He’s your uncle. This is your legacy after all.”

“I can find it,” Art says. “But this isn’t my legacy. I want to be a cardiologist.”

“Tomayto, tomahto… oh—wait oh—Art,” Patrick breathes. “What was that—“

“Here?” Art asks, excitedly. And Patrick sees stars for how sensitive it feels.

“Oh fuck,” Patrick groans as Art rubs his fingertips along it. Patrick’s dick reacts immediately by filling out.

“I wish I could see it, it feels… different…” Arts voice is pitchy. He won’t stop rubbing it.

“Fuck, fuck… Art. Oh my fuck… take it easy, sweetheart,” Patrick gasps.

Art takes a breath and eases his fingers out.

“Shit,” Patrick whispers. “I didn’t mean you had to stop.”

“Patrick,” Art says quietly.

“What?”

“Please, Patrick, can you find mine?” His gaze is dark, his skin flushed and he looks so needy. And yeah… yeah okay. Patrick would probably give him anything right now.

He licks his lips and nods. He’s so horny he’s not exactly clinical about it, doesn’t even bother with the gloves, just wets his fingers as Art presents himself and presses them deep inside the heat of him. Art is clenching around him immediately. Patrick starts scissoring his fingers back and forth listening to the delicate sound of Art catching his breath.

Patrick searches for what he was feeling when Art was doing it and lands on something smooth. He rubs his fingertips along it gently and slowly Art begins to moan.

“That’s it,” Patrick whispers. “Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it?” He pumps his fingers in and out, sliding them along the smooth muscle.

“Oh my god, ohmygod Patrick,” Art cries. He’s pitched so much higher than usual it makes Patrick’s teeth ache. He takes his free hand and starts stroking himself, all the while playing his fingers along Art’s prostate.

“Mm, my god,” Art sighs a litany, lying across the exam table, moaning and pushing back.

He’s so selfish, Patrick thinks, amused. He saw how good it felt and stopped fucking Patrick two strokes in because he just needed to have it for himself. And Patrick’s stomach hurts because he just loves that about him. That and he’s addicted to the way Art’s voice sounds right now… moaning so much that if the rooms aren’t soundproof… which Patrick is almost certain they aren’t…then they’re entirely fucked.

“Oh… oh Patrick I’m fucking…. Oh no… no. Oh shit,” Art cries and then he’s wetting up the table, ribbons of it spilling everywhere while he’s clenching on Patrick fingers, in deliciously tight spasms. “I did it on—I made a— a mess….” he groans breathlessly. Patrick still has his fingers inside because he’s kinda curious if he can make him come again. Art is just shivering for it.

”Patrick,” he whines.

“Yeah?” Patrick breathes. “Just relax, baby. It’s okay. You’re just making me crazy baby. Wanna fuck you.”

”Fuck,” Art groans.

“God. I really wanna fuck you.” Patrick whispers up against his throat. “I just wanna push my dick in here instead and fuck the shit outta you.”

“Oh fuck,” Art cries out again. More starts spilling out of him and Patrick just thinks, fuck it.

He slides his fingers out and Art is leaning heavy on him, pressed up against him with all his weight… he lets out a startled sound when Patrick presses the head of his dick right up against Art’s entrance.

“Patrick, wait,” Art says, a slight tremor in his voice, Patrick kisses the back of his neck and he settles down almost instantly. Patrick presses just a little more and hears the smallest little intake of breath. There’s barely any give there, his fingers are one thing but his dick is…Patrick has to wait for that. Art is so fucking virgin tight it makes Patrick want to scream. He’s had so many dirty dreams about this.

“God Patrick,” Art says, he sounds scared and turned on at the same time. His voice all airy. “You gonna— you wanna— fuck me s-so bad huh?” He whispers, his voice breaking a bit when Patrick presses in just the tiniest bit more. Patrick lifts his hand and realizes, in a detached way that he’s shivering. He starts jerking himself off. Rough and tight into him, while Art is clenching, virgin tight at the head of his dick. He’s not even inside, not even a little bit and they’re both panting like they’re actually fucking. Patrick finishes embarrassingly fast, spilling all over Art’s bottom as Art whimpers.

“Holy shit,” Patrick breathes.

”Mmhm,” Art sighs, contentedly.

”I think your uncle is gonna kill us.”

“Oh no… fuck,” Art whines, suddenly panicked. “We have to… we shouldn’t have fucking done that.”

Patrick grins, slowly pulling his boxers back up. “It was your idea doc.”

“Yeah but— I said I just wanted you to try and find my prostate not—“ he sighs. “Never mind. Help me clean up.”

They get dressed and clean up the mess they made in the exam room. Art’s still a bit of a mess when they leave. His shirt is all wrinkly and his hair is everywhere. Not to mention the way he’s flushed.

They go to his Uncles office and he’s sitting at his desk eating lunch, he takes in the sight of them, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Hey uh— so um— funny story— we were cleaning up and—” Art stammers.

His uncle raises a hand interrupting him. “I’m not one to judge,” his uncle says, his eyes crinkling with mild amusement. “But next time at least wait for me to close the office first.”

“I’m really, really sorry,” Art says weakly.

“Don’t worry about it. No damage done this time. We had the last patient at least two exam rooms away. Didn’t hear a thing.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Patrick says. “I was so scared everyone could hear him.”

Art glares at him and he shrugs.

“So I’m guessing you found it then?” Art’s Uncle asks.

“Uh, found what sir?” Art asks.

He shrugs. “The prostate. That’s what you were looking for, right?”

And Patrick can’t help it. He just starts laughing.

(I ask that y’all forgive any ethics violations against poor Mr.hottie patient. Whose only crime was being hot in front of Artrick with a sexy medical problem. No I don’t generally think medical problems are sexy. I also don’t condone fucking during office hours. Even if your uncle owns the place and you’re not a “real” employee. Especially then. Also now that I’m aware Patrick’s doing the sweetheart thing I’m doubling down 🙂‍↕️)