#lukecore

[sweetheart-cherie]

Small prompts for a break from The Awful: I am also trapped in an office and having thoughts about a guy maneuvering in an office he hasn’t Been in since gaining weight. Whoop can’t walk between those desks that’s narrow, was the chair also this tight? That vibe. Just smth to chew on yknow. Less a prompt more a thought

Send me little prompts or headcanons to save me from legal-writing horrors!

Oh my gosh I have some coworker OCs that I think about from time to time! They’re a copywriter and art director because there’s nothing like the sexual tension within a creative tandem.

They’re friends-to-lovers but the vibe is that they’ve always been slightly more than friends. Absolutely electric chemistry. She’s the cute office feeder and he’s lowkey jealous when she brings in desserts for everyone :( why can’t she just feed him? :( isn’t he canonically her favorite? :( 

So your delicious little snack—let’s take him back down memory lane to the post-COVID return to office. Let’s say he put on, minimum, thirty pounds. Minimum. They’re in for a 2-in, 3-home split, which is honestly fine by him because oh no! He missed his copywriter. Did he say that out loud?

She brings in welcome back treats for everyone, probably stress-baked a bunch of scones because she (1) was very not hype about going back to the office and (2) missed her AD :( 

But when she sees him on that first day back?

Imagine she gets there early. She wants to make her scones look nice beside the coffee maker. She even starts a pot for everybody. His first stop in the morning is the coffee pot, as usual, and oh my gosh why does it take her a hot second to realize that it’s him? Because while she’d seen him in plenty of video calls over the last few months, she’d been thinking his MacBook camera added ten, twenty pounds—not that he actually got lockdown fat. But now he’s here. In front of her. Smiling because wow that’s her work husband and why would he not be smiling at her, duh.

But—belly.

And he has to squeeze around the sofa crammed into the break-room-slash-kitchen to get his cup of coffee. And he has these sweet little swells of grabbable fat threatening his waistband on each of his hips.

Who had those thoughts? Certainly not our copywriter. 

Oh, shit, he’s talking to her.

He just grabbed three scones in one meatier-than-ever hand.

And she hopes—knows—he’ll swing by for more.

So, she’s going home to make something else for tomorrow. Maybe a second batch just for him. Because she missed him.

[azuremist]

Which could mean nothing

[gothluke]

bleach touch up i see !

[gothluke]

and your humble ceo returns to take claim of red bottoms luke. thanks.

[gothluke]

baby 👼🏼

[gothluke]

i’m the biggest pretty backstage luke fan

[sweetheart-cherie]

15-Luke and Allie, my company does gingerbread competitions between different departments this month

Cute! (Anon I am so soft for these two omg)

I’m doing Christmas prompts<3

“Oh, fuck,” Allie hissed. The gingerbread house collapsed again, and—she held the wreckage in one hand and tapped her phone with the other—the gingerbread house competition was in half an hour.

Also, the rest of their team was suspiciously MIA. Amanda got pulled into a meeting—fine, whatever, her boss stressed her out anyway. Danielle went out to “go buy napkins for the potluck,” okay. Kyle… Well, Kyle was the programmatic guy, and she didn’t want him anywhere near her creative energy on a good day, anyway.

That left her alone in the office with—

“Let me help.”

—Luke.

On whom, for the record, she did not have a crush, thank you very much. The gravitational pull she felt from him was just creative compatibility. It was just how likeminded they were. It was just years of proximity.

Luke wound up next to her, entering her space like he’d done about a million times. While she sat, hunched over her desk to get the stability of leaning on her elbows, he crouched, eye-height with her destroyed gingerbread house. 

“Base’s fine,” he said. He reached for the cookies—the kind from a box; even though Allie knew Ines in HR baked all of their department’s cookies herself, which was totally cheating, there was no way she trusted her own baking in an actual competition—and the icing, then added, “Don’t move.”

Uh.

With how he had her crowded between her desk and his body, that sure wasn’t going to be happening. Still crouched, still less than an inch from her—she could reach out and run a hand through his hair, she thought, if she didn’t care about getting fired—he started drawing small icing squares on a gingerbread rectangle. 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making the Empire State Building.”

Oh. Right. Of course. Silly her.

Her mind wandered. She was amazed, not of her own accord but because the thought was so persistent, by how steady, how gentle his hands were. He had thick fingers, not that she was paying attention, and wide palms, such that he held the cookie-wall in an L made by his thumb and forefinger while the other made rows of perfect, identical squares. Following the arm that held the icing bag, Allie noticed the flex of muscle, skin, and veins below his sleeve—which he’d rolled up to avoid getting icing on it, not to give her an eyeful.

She wasn’t looking.

That would be weird.

“Thanks for taking over,” she blurted.

He snorted, but it wasn’t condescending in the slightest—although the smile that stayed on his lips was. “You looked like you needed it.”

[gothluke]

uh???