bloomingbluez

[bloomingbluez]

Nights Like This

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ pairing: luke hemmings x reader

✧ summary: days with an overactive toddler often lead to eventful and desperate nights. like this one.

✧ warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, creampies, parent sex, lil bit of choking, lil bit of baby trapping (but like, not really?) hints of a breeding kink if you squint. fluffy married sex, sickeningly sweet.

✧ word count: 5.6k

✧ title: nights like this by the kid laroi

✧ author’s note: i got a request for this a whileeeee ago and i started writing it but gave up after like a paragraph and crashed out. long story short i scrapped it and moved on. a few days ago i got a notification that somebody liked the post where i replied to this request and i decided to revisit it. anyways now i wanna have a filthier flower bud in concrete moment for luke, but in the meantime have this cutesy lil smut full of parental and married life bliss.

anyways, send ur requests!! send me some calum ones too in celebration of OCO!! also, first blurb with the new @

oki bye.

Copyright © 2025 undersugarnights. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Luke’s voice carries gently through the baby monitor — a low, sleepy hum as he sings one of his sweet, nonsensical lullabies. The kind that makes no sense to anyone but Eden and somehow works every time. Your little girl is curled around a stuffed bear three times her size, one she refuses to sleep without, her tiny body finally stilled in sleep.

You lie on your bed, propped up on one elbow, head cradled in your palm, a soft smile tugging at your lips. You watch the monitor like it’s your favorite show, heart melting as Luke finishes his made-up song — even though Eden had fallen asleep minutes ago. He stays there a little longer, crouched beside the crib, gently smoothing her curls back from her forehead.

It never fails to hit you, the way he is with her. The patience. The gentleness. The quiet strength when she’s crying. The goofiness when she’s giggling. The complete surrender in every moment he gives her. Watching Luke be a dad is like falling in love with him all over again, every single day.

Eden’s two now. Old enough that you sometimes get a full night’s sleep. Still young enough that “sometimes” is generous. She’s clingy in the most adorable, exhausting way — a velcro baby through and through. If she had it her way, she’d sleep pressed right between the two of you every night, one chubby hand on each of your cheeks like a hostage negotiator.

It’s been ages since you’ve felt Luke touch you in any way that wasn’t a fleeting kiss on the cheek, a sleepy forehead press, or a soft hand at your waist as he passed by in the kitchen. Sweet, yes. Loving, always. But you missed the other kind of touching. The kind that made your toes curl and your thighs ache.

On the monitor, Luke leans down and kisses Eden’s head, slow and reverent. His smile — that bright, easy thing you’ve always loved — is crystal clear on the tiny screen as he rises to his feet.

Sighing, you shift in bed, letting your body melt into the mattress as you roll onto your back. Your eyes trace the ceiling lazily, shoulders finally relaxing for the first time since dinner. That nighttime routine was no joke. Eden had been on one tonight — not a meltdown exactly, just her usual chaos cranked to eleven.

She was particular. Meticulously particular. Luke liked to say she got that from you — always with a teasing smirk and a kiss to your temple, like he didn’t find it completely adorable in both of you.

Dinner had been its own disaster-slash-comedy special. Eden refused her pasta outright until Luke made her laugh so hard she accidentally snorted a bite. Then came the bath — where, midway through rinsing, she got the zoomies and took off through the house naked, squealing with delight as she chased a bewildered Petunia. You’d run after them like some exhausted sitcom mom, while Luke collapsed against the hallway wall laughing too hard to help.

Then came the bedtime stalling. The “just one more story” and “just one more kiss” protests — Eden’s greatest hits. You’d lost count after five kisses. Luke had given her six. Of course he had.

Parenthood wasn’t easy. Your back hurt. Your privacy was a myth. Half your laundry was tiny socks you swear didn’t exist an hour ago. But God, it was worth it. Every bone-deep ache and stolen moment was soothed by a little girl with his dimples and his blue eyes and a giggle that made your heart feel too big for your chest.

And then there was him.

Your husband. The love of your life. The man you’d somehow become wildly, inconveniently feral for in the most domestic circumstances imaginable.

Like when he knelt beside the crib with that sleepy, adoring smile. Or when he’d hoisted Eden onto his hip with one arm and stirred mac and cheese with the other. Or when he stood at the sink washing baby bottles with those long, skilled fingers like he was doing the most sacred task in the world.

No man should look that good covered in banana puree and Goldfish crumbs. It should be illegal. And yet, there you were — staring at him like he was a centerfold in Hot Dads Monthly, wondering how the hell you were supposed to go another night without climbing him like a tree and thanking him for doing the dishes with his shirt half off.

Outside the room, you hear the familiar drag of tired footsteps padding down the hall — heavy, slower than usual, exhaustion stitched into every step. Luke’s making his way toward you like he’s been moving through molasses since bedtime.

The door creaks open a moment later.

He steps in, and even through the low lighting, you catch the way his eyes find yours right away. That sleepy, boyish smile blooms across his face, soft and crooked, as he closes the door behind him and leans his full weight against it like it’s holding him up.

“Hey, handsome,” you grin, pushing yourself up onto your elbows.

Luke rubs his eye with a knuckle, stifling a yawn. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs — voice thick and scratchy with sleep, but tender in the way it always got just for you. It was the voice he used when Eden was napping on his chest, when you whispered secrets in the kitchen after midnight, when he told you he loved you without needing to say the words.

He sighs as he pushes off the door, dragging a hand through those mess of blond curls and shuffling toward the bed like he’s been walking for miles.

“Sometimes I wish I had the stamina she does,” he says with a sleepy laugh. “Imagine the shows I could put on.”

You snort, swinging your legs off the side of the bed just long enough to peel the covers back before slipping underneath them again. “Your stamina is plenty impressive, babe,” you say casually, eyes twinkling. “If it was any more intense, we’d have, like, seven more toddlers wreaking havoc in the living room.”

Luke grins, standing at the edge of the bed as he grabs the hem of his hoodie and yanks it over his head in one motion.

Your mouth goes dry.

Because, of course, he’s not wearing a shirt underneath. He rarely does — a personal crime you’re convinced is 100% intentional. Your eyes sweep over the soft slope of his stomach, the faint lines of muscle, the sharp cut of his V, and that maddening trail of golden hair leading straight under his sweatpants like a neon “pull here” sign.

Your thighs clench. Reflex.

“I’d love that, y’know,” Luke says as he tosses the hoodie onto a nearby chair. “Seven little yous. Or mes. Or some chaotic mix of both.” And then he flops into bed beside you with a groan, face half-buried in your pillow, long limbs sprawled like a starfish.

You let out a soft giggle, crawling over to him on your hands and knees — slow and playful, your sleep shirt riding up just enough to make him stare. Luke watches you with that look again. The one that’s almost too much to bear. Like you hung the stars. Like he can’t believe you’re his, even now, even after everything. Reverence, pure and radiant, etched across every sleepy line of his face.

His cheek is smushed into the pillow, hair falling messily across his forehead, lashes fluttering as he follows your movements. You lean down and press a kiss to the tip of his nose — he scrunches it a little — then trail another one to his shoulder, and another to the dip of his back, lips brushing over soft, warm skin still humming with the heat of the day.

“Mm,” he hums, low and pleased, voice vibrating under your lips.

You giggle again and plop down beside him, reaching over to flick off your bedside lamp. The room melts into a soft hush, bathed in the faint blue glow from the hallway nightlight.

Luke shifts closer, immediately, instinctively, like he can’t bear not to touch you. His chest meets your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His nose nuzzles behind your ear, and his breath is warm against your neck — slow and steady and his.

You settle into his embrace, threading your fingers through his and tugging his arm tighter around you. His hand splays across your stomach, palm warm and grounding. You sigh into the safety of it all.

“I love you,” you whisper, turning your head just enough to brush your lips against his. The kiss is feather-light. Sacred.

You feel him smile into it, soft and sleepy. “I love you too,” he murmurs, voice thick and full and certain.

You close your eyes again, letting your body go soft in Luke’s arms. The quiet hum of the fan and the low, steady static of the baby monitor blend into a kind of lullaby — one that dulls the ache in your thighs and slows your racing thoughts, just enough to pretend you’re actually going to fall asleep.

It lasts all of two seconds.

Luke’s fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt — slow, deliberate — the callused pads brushing against the sensitive skin of your waist. Your breath hitches. Your heartbeat stutters.

He keeps going. Tracing your stomach, skimming your ribs, until his hand stills just beneath your breast. A pause. A warning.

Then his thumb moves — just a soft, slow stroke — and your body arches into it before you can stop yourself.

“Luke,” you whisper, sharp and breathless, as he abandons all pretense of subtlety. His hand fully cups your breast, warm and familiar, and then he’s pinching — just enough to pull a quiet whimper from your lips, your hips twitching instinctively against his.

He grins against your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the slope of it. “You know,” he murmurs, voice low and sinful, “this whole trend of big shirts and tiny shorts around the house…”

You shiver as his teeth graze your skin.

“…is really fucking with my self-control

Your back arches slightly, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to catch the moan threatening to escape. Slowly, you press back into Luke, feeling the growing hardness straining against your ass.

“Says you,” you whisper, breath hitching as his hand trails down from your chest, toying with the waistband of your sleep shorts. “Taking off your hoodie like a fucking slut.”

You feel his smile against your neck, smug and shameless. “God, I can’t believe you’re real,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked as his hand slips under your shorts with no hesitation. His fingers tease just above the fabric of your panties, while his hips grind forward, pressing into you with aching need. “My wife. My fucking woman.”

His other hand sneaks back up beneath your shirt, finding your chest again, greedier this time. You gasp — only for it to die into a moan as his fingers rub slow, maddening circles over your clothed clit. It’s just enough friction to make you dizzy.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts softly, amusement laced through the heat in his voice. “Can’t wake Eden up, remember?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as he keeps going, every brush of his fingers a cruel kind of heaven. You bring your hand to your mouth, trying desperately to smother the breathless whimpers that spill out anyway.

But Luke’s grinning behind you now, nose brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re so bad at being quiet, baby.”

And god, you are.

Your thighs are trembling, eyes squeezed shut as Luke keeps working you over, patient and relentless. Every touch feels amplified — sharpened by the risk of being caught, by the thrill of finally being touched like this again.

“Been dreamin’ about having you like this,” Luke breathes, grinding up against you, hard and desperate, like the only thing keeping him from losing it completely is the thin cotton barrier between you. “Dreamin’ about those pretty little moans… how wet you get when you have to be quiet.”

But then—he stops.

You freeze.

For a second, your heart stutters. Maybe he heard something — Eden fussing, a creak of the crib, the soft rustle of sheets. But before you can spiral further, his hand slips down, confident and cruel, sliding your panties aside and dragging one long, slow finger through your slick.

Your eyes roll back. A breathy whimper escapes your throat before you can stop it.

Immediately, Luke clamps a hand over your mouth — warm and rough, wedding band cool against your cheek.

“Oh my god,” he groans into your ear, low and wrecked, as his fingers return to your clit, teasing slow, devastating circles. “You’re soaked. All this for me, baby?”

You nod frantically, muffled moans caught in his palm, the heat of his body burning into your back. He’s pressed up against you, rock hard and trembling with restraint, and the thought of him finally sliding inside sends a full-body shiver down your spine.

Then his fingers dip lower, just barely skimming your entrance — playing, circling, torturing. Not yet. Almost.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you whimper, burying your face into the pillow as you try to grind back against him. Luke hisses into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse, and your breath stutters hard.

He circles your clit again — barely there — then finally dips down, gathering your wetness before slipping two fingers inside. Your mouth opens in a gasp, but you bite your lip to keep the sound in.

“No, baby, that’s all you,” Luke murmurs against your skin, grinning as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of you with slow, deliberate pressure. “When’s the last time you even wore a bra? I swear I’m turning into a full-blown pervert.”

You manage a breathless giggle. “Maybe that was— oh, fuck— the plan all along.”

He hums, low and dangerous. “Shhh, baby,” he laughs softly, licking the shell of your ear while keeping that maddening rhythm. “Let me have my way with you. But I can’t do that if you wake Eden up.”

Your face is nearly buried in the pillow now, thighs trembling with restraint. The wet sounds of Luke working you open are obscene, slick and needy — the kind of sounds that always seem to follow him wherever he touches you.

“Mm, keep doing that,” you groan into the pillow. “And you’ll have another kid to worry about not waking up.”

At that, Luke’s thumb begins to circle your clit again — slow and focused — and your entire body jerks in response. You fist the sheets so hard your knuckles go white, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loud.

“Just like that, baby,” Luke whispers, voice thick with praise. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Then his hand stills.

He slowly withdraws his fingers from your body, and you let out a desperate little whimper, lifting your head to glance back at him, confused and breathless.

“Calm down,” he murmurs, grinning as he tugs at the waistband of your shorts and underwear. “Just wanna get these out of the way. You can be patient for me, yeah, love?”

You lift your hips instinctively, just enough to help him slide the fabric down and off. He tosses them aside, leaving you in nothing but one of his old band tees — worn, oversized, and hitched high around your waist.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand wrapping around your thigh to coax your legs open again. “Look at you. Such a pretty mess.”

You shift slightly, pressing your ass back against the hard outline of his cock through the soft cotton of his pajama pants. His breath catches — barely audible — and then his fingers are inside you again, slow and deliberate.

You glance down, watching as his fingers slide in and out, slick and glistening. Your breath hitches. It’s obscene. It’s everything.

Your hand reaches back, finding his hair, curling your fingers into the thick mess of it and tugging gently at the roots.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper, voice raw and soft as you turn your head just enough to brush your lips against his.

He doesn’t kiss you — not fully — just breathes against your mouth, forehead resting against yours, his entire body wrapped around you like a secret. The spooning position makes everything feel more intimate. More tender. More desperate.

Like if he could crawl inside you and stay there, he would.

“Missed you more,” Luke murmurs, lips trailing down the curve of your shoulder in slow, open-mouthed kisses. “Fuck, I’ve been so horny lately I got hard just watching you walk up the stairs.”

You let out a breathless laugh, grinding your hips back into him. He whines — an actual, desperate sound — and buries his face in the crook of your neck like it’s the only way to survive you.

“Good to know I still have it,” you whisper, smug.

“Shut up,” he mumbles against your skin, and his fingers pick up speed, leaving you gasping. “You gotta keep quiet, my love. Don’t forget.”

His long fingers work you open effortlessly, the occasional swipe of his thumb over your clit sending jolts up your spine. You shiver when he moans against your neck, the sound vibrating through you, skin breaking out in goosebumps.

He’s slow. Intentional. Like he’s savoring this. Like there isn’t a ticking time bomb of a toddler down the hall.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” Luke breathes, his lips brushing your jaw. “Thinking about how my cock’s gonna feel, hmm?”

Your eyes flutter shut. You nod frantically, biting down on your bottom lip to keep the noise trapped in your throat.

Luke shifts behind you just enough to press his cock more firmly against your ass — hot, hard, and barely restrained beneath his pajama pants. The pressure alone makes your mouth water.

“Baby,” you gasp, fingers digging into his bicep. It flexes as he keeps fucking you with his hand, slow and relentless. “Please. Please, I need you.”

“Need me to what?” Luke asks, all false innocence, voice like sin. “Need me to fuck you stupid, baby?”

His fingers slide out of you, dragging your slick up through your folds, circling your clit with maddening precision. He’s teasing again — slow, measured, cruel in the way only Luke can be.

You jolt at the sensation, hips moving on instinct, grinding against his hand with raw, frantic need. The kind that’s been simmering under your skin for days.

“Baby,” you hiss, voice hoarse from the effort of keeping it down. “If you’re not inside me in the next five minutes, I’m divorcing you.”

Luke stills, then lets out a hushed laugh, biting your shoulder to muffle it. “You’re so fucking needy,” he chuckles, wicked and breathless. “Fine. Just because you beg pretty. And because if I tease you any longer, Eden’s definitely waking up.”

His hand slips from between your thighs, and he brings his fingers to your lips, glistening.

“Clean me off first,” he murmurs. “Be a good girl.”

You don’t hesitate. Your lips wrap around his fingers, tongue licking them clean, moaning around the taste of yourself. Luke groans softly behind you — that guttural, broken sound you know means he’s barely holding it together.

“Fuck. That’s so hot.”

His fingers slip from your mouth with an obscene pop that echoes through the quiet room. Behind you, Luke shifts just enough to shove his pajama pants down, freeing himself with a soft grunt.

You feel the heat of him immediately — his cock thick and flushed, grinding slowly against your ass, teasing you both with the drag of it.

His hand slides down your thigh, guiding your leg up and over his hip to open you wider for him. That same hand wraps around his cock, and he groans through gritted teeth as he strokes himself, slow and tight.

Your breathing quickens, chest rising and falling as the anticipation builds — and then you feel him. The head of his cock, hot and slick with precum, rubbing through your folds. You whimper at the contact, and Luke groans in response.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, burying his face in your shoulder and biting down gently to stifle himself.

He teases your entrance, circling it once, twice, before finally starting to press in — slow, unhurried, deliberate.

The stretch is divine — just enough to make you gasp, every nerve lighting up as he pushes deeper. You shift slightly, craning your neck just enough to see his face. His eyes are half-lidded, bottom lip caught between his teeth like he’s trying not to lose it completely.

A soft moan slips from him. “Shit, baby… you’re so fucking tight,” he pants. “Can feel you sucking me in. Such a greedy girl for me.”

Luke sinks into you slowly, inch by inch, every push setting off a new wave of pleasure that shivers down your spine. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you close, grounding you. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin as he groans softly — almost like it’s too much. Almost like you’re too much.

When he finally bottoms out, it feels like coming home.

He stills, fully sheathed inside you, twitching each time your walls flutter around him. You’re soaked, throbbing, completely wrapped around him — and Luke can barely breathe.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice low and wrecked. “I missed being inside you. You’re so fucking wet and tight—I can feel everything.”

“I missed you,” you whisper back, cheek pressed to his. “Missed being stretched out like this. Missed us.”

He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, buried deep, holding you like he’s afraid he’ll disappear if he lets go. The stillness hums between you, thick with want — not rushed, not frantic, but aching. A moment suspended in the kind of intimacy that makes your chest burn and your thighs tremble.

You both just breathe for a second.

Wrapped around each other, finally giving in to the slow, simmering need that had been building for days.

Luke presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, barely more than a brush, before gently tugging your shirt up until it bunches just above your chest. His hand slips beneath, finding your breast again — warm and reverent, his palm cradling you like he needs the contact just to breathe.

Then he starts to move.

Slow, deep strokes that make your whole body shudder. You bite down on your wrist to muffle the moan that threatens to escape, the sound caught in your throat like a secret. Luke isn’t faring much better — soft, breathless whimpers spilling into your skin as he rocks into you, his hips pressing close with every push.

His teeth graze your pulse point, dragging gently. A moment later, his tongue follows, soothing the sting, leaving you trembling.

“You take me so well, love,” he whispers, voice thick and ruined, hips picking up their rhythm. The pleasure builds with each thrust, slow but devastating, until your eyes roll back and you’re forced to bite into the pillow just to stay quiet.

He groans into your neck, almost desperate. “So fucking good for me.”

Luke rolls his hips, settling into a pace that’s just slow enough to draw it out — to keep you aching — but steady enough that you can feel the tremble in his hands from how tightly he’s holding himself back.

“You have no idea what it does to me,” he whispers, voice low and cracked, each word punctuated by a deep, deliberate thrust. “Seeing you with that ring. Wearing my name. Raising our kid.”

“Full—full of you,” you whimper, gasping as he hits that perfect spot. His rhythm never falters, but you feel the way his grip tightens at your waist, like he might lose it at any second. “God, I missed being fucked like this.”

Luke lets go of your breast, shifting just enough to fuck into you harder, the bed starting to creak beneath the motion — soft, rhythmic, dangerous. You both freeze instantly, breath caught in your throat, bodies locked together as you listen with baited breath.

Silence.

No tiny footsteps. No sleepy cries. Just the quiet hum of the baby monitor on the nightstand.

“Luke,” you hiss, desperate, wiggling your hips back against him. “Please—fuck, please don’t stop. You can’t keep doing this to me.”

That does something to him.

Luke brings his fingers to your lips, pushing two into your mouth without warning. Your lips part automatically, sucking them in with a moan. Your back arches as he pulls them out just as quickly, trailing down your stomach before slipping between your legs.

He finds your clit easily, rubbing slow, steady circles in time with the deep roll of his hips.

“Just like that, baby,” he coos, voice gone sweet and filthy. “Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You nod frantically, lip caught between your teeth as your thighs twitch, the pleasure winding tighter with every passing second. His fingers stay lazy on your clit, teasing you through it, never giving too much — just enough to drive you insane.

“I love you so much,” Luke murmurs against your neck. “You look so fucking pretty stuffed full of my cock.”

Your hand reaches back blindly, tangling in Luke’s hair and yanking at the roots. He groans into your neck, hips stuttering before he picks up the pace again — faster now, more desperate — and so do his fingers.

That familiar coil in your belly starts to tighten, fast and sharp. You can feel him everywhere, every inch of him buried deep, every snap of his hips jolting through your spine. Your stomach flutters, your thighs twitch, your whole body buzzing like live wire.

“Bet no one would believe what a pretty little slut you are for me, hmm?” Luke growls, voice rough and wrecked, the edge bleeding in. “That you’re the most gorgeous fucking cockwhore — mine. Bet if I told you I was close, you’d beg me to stay in, wouldn’t you?”

“Please, baby,” you sob, the words falling out broken. “Wanna be dripping with you for days. Want you to come inside me, please, please—”

Luke’s hand flies up to cover your mouth, silencing your cries as his teeth sink into your neck, biting down just hard enough to sting. You gasp beneath his palm — the pain sharp, the kiss that follows it soft and soothing, a cruel little contradiction that makes you whimper into his skin.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he pants, fingers circling your clit with perfect pressure, filthy and reverent all at once. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock like the perfect little thing you are?”

You nod frantically beneath his hand, body trembling, seconds from unraveling. Stars begin to bloom at the edges of your vision, your thighs quivering as you squirm back against him, chasing every last bit of friction.

“Yeah, just like that, baby,” Luke grunts, voice thick and desperate. “Come for me — I’ve got you.”

With one final, devastating thrust, your body breaks. You bite down on your wrist, muffling the cry as the dam bursts open. Your back arches into him, muscles locking tight, legs shaking with the sheer intensity of your orgasm. The world narrows to heat, motion, and Luke — still buried inside you, still moving, still whispering in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he moans, breath ragged. “That feel good, baby? So good for me.”

Your body sags against him, boneless and buzzing, completely undone — and Luke doesn’t waste a second.

Without warning, he pulls out, and before you can even catch your breath, he’s flipping you onto your stomach. A sharp gasp escapes you as your cheek hits the pillow, and then his hand presses firmly between your shoulder blades, holding you down just enough to make your breath hitch again.

A wave of heat pulses through you at the shift — that sudden, dizzying change from softness to raw possession. Your heart skips as the realization sinks in. You’re not done. He’s not done.

And God, that only makes you wetter. You bite down on your lip in anticipation.

“You gonna let me use you now?” Luke pants, hovering over you, his hand fisted in the sheets beside your head for balance. His voice is wrecked, low and hungry. You nod — small, breathless, already trembling — and that’s all he needs.

You feel the thick head of his cock drag through your soaked entrance before he sinks in with one hard, brutal thrust.

You arch beneath him, a gasp ripping from your throat before you can stop it. Luke slaps his hand over your mouth again, groaning into your ear.

“Be quiet,” he tuts, voice tight with restraint. “Don’t need a fussy baby interrupting while I’m busy fucking my wife into the mattress.”

His hand drops from your mouth and curls around your throat again, warm and grounding — claiming. Then his hips pull back and slam into you, fast and unforgiving.

Each thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, sending shockwaves through your body as he finds that perfect spot over and over. You bury your face into the pillow, biting down hard to stifle the sounds clawing up your throat.

Luke is panting, gasping, barely keeping it together. “I’m not gonna last,” he grits out, voice breaking. “This pussy’s too fucking perfect. Perfect — and mine.”

His words dissolve into growls, each one filthier than the last. His hand tightens around your throat just enough to make you dizzy — never enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who you belong to. His thrusts get rougher, messier, his control slipping with every desperate snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, his forehead falling to your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. Please — let me fill you up, baby. Please.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you flex your leg back just enough to push him deeper, lock him in place.

Luke lets out a broken moan — almost a sob — as he comes, spilling into you with a sharp, shaking groan. A string of curses and your name fall from his lips like a prayer, wrecked and reverent. He exhales hard, thrusting once, twice more before collapsing onto his back beside you, totally spent.

You’re both breathless, the room quiet except for the sound of your hearts pounding. You turn your head just enough to look at him — and, of course, he’s already looking at you. That lazy, fucked-out grin is spread across his face, curls messy, lips kiss-swollen.

“I love you so fucking much,” he murmurs, still panting.

You roll your eyes, resting your cheek on your palm. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease, reaching over to brush a damp curl from his forehead. “You talk a lot for someone who has a mess to clean up.”

Luke’s eyebrows lift, amused, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nudges your thigh and gently rolls you onto your back. He hovers above you for a moment, then starts kissing his way down — slow, deliberate, worshipful. Every inch of exposed skin is met with his lips, his stubble, the heat of his breath.

When he reaches your thighs, he spreads them apart with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“You always look so fucking pretty when I’m dripping out of you,” he says, almost dreamily. His finger drags through the mess between your legs — a light, filthy stroke that makes you shiver — before he leans in and licks into you without another word.

His tongue is warm, slow, unhurried as he laps up every drop he left inside you. You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut, sinking into the bed as his mouth works — greedy but soft, careful with your overstimulated body.

He places one last kiss to your clit and your legs twitch instinctively. Luke chuckles, smug, and crawls back up your body, kissing along the way until his mouth finds yours.

The taste is unmistakable — both of you, hot and sweet and earthy on his tongue.

You sigh into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, hands roaming across his broad back. You never want him to move.

“I really fucking love you,” you murmur when he finally pulls away, settling beside you again.

Luke grins, flushed and glowing. “Yeah?”

Instead of answering, you crawl onto your knees, shooting him a sly grin. His cock rests against his stomach, still half-hard, glistening. You lean down and drag your tongue in one slow, deliberate stripe from base to tip.

Luke lets out a filthy little moan, head falling back onto the pillow as you take the head into your mouth. Your tongue swirls along the underside — that sweet spot just beneath the crown — and his legs twitch in response. You can taste yourself on him, and the mix makes your head spin.

“Christ,” he exhales, voice already wrecked. “You’re fucking insatiable—”

He’s cut off by the rustle of sheets and the unmistakable sound of a sniffle, soft and pitiful.

You both freeze.

A glance toward the monitor confirms it: Eden’s sitting up in bed, clutching her stuffed bear to her chest, face crumpled into the world’s saddest pout.

Luke groans. Not the sexy kind. The parental kind.

“Rain check?” you whisper, flashing him a sheepish smile as you reach for your discarded underwear and shorts.

He’s already sitting up, dragging his pants back on with the sort of defeated slouch that only comes from being cockblocked by the literal love of your lives.

“If we can squeeze it in before Eden turns eighteen,” he mutters, deadpan. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

if u made it here ur awesome!! thank u to anon for this amazing request. i love dad luke.

[bloomingbluez]

As We Cross The Empty Skies

MDNI

pairing: luke hemmings x reader

summary: set in the Fourth Wing universe (spoiler-free): in your second year at basgiath war college, the pressure is higher than ever. with increased responsibilities and your boyfriend now stationed at a distant outpost post-graduation, missing him becomes a constant ache—until he suddenly appears in your room out of thin air. literally.

warnings: handjobs, blowjobs, fingering, p in v sex, cream pies (in classic kale fashion, i know)

word count: 6.2k

title: rosemary by deftones (again in classic kale fashion)

a/n: okay so not super long ago (aha i actually have no idea how long ago, im not good at keeping track of time im sorry) i posted a poll asking if any of you would be interested in a fourth wing one-shot with one of the 5sos guys and a surprising amount of people said yes. i tried to make it so that anyone could read this, regardless of whether or not you’ve actually read the empyrean series by rebecca yarros. there are some references to the story, but nothing important, and definitely no spoilers. so yeah, this is me humbly asking you to give this a shot even if you haven’t read fourth wing ok thank you.

AS ALWAYS TY TO MY THREE POOKIES WHO READ TBIS AND GAVE FEEBACK (yk who you are) ILY ALL MUAH MUAH. also, there is SO much lore attached to this little universe i created that i could theoretically write a whole fic. but i won’t. or will i?

Copyright © 2025 kaleidoscopecth. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The ache in your limbs was the kind you’d grown far too familiar with in your two years at Basgiath. Each step felt like a negotiation your body wasn’t particularly eager to honor. Putting one foot in front of the other was more effort than it should’ve been.

You lifted a trembling hand to rub at your eyes, barely registering the stone walls of the corridor as you trudged toward your room. Your flight jacket hung half-unbuttoned, throat raw from barking at first-years who got too cocky after bonding—false confidence practically bleeding off them in waves.

All you could think about was collapsing into your bed and staying there until Sylvaraith—your sharp-tongued, obsessively punctual, green dagger tail—roused you with some unimpressed remark, her voice slicing through your dreams like the edge of a blade.

Not for the first time, you questioned whether the promotion to squad leader had been worth it. Being a first-year was brutal, yes—but being responsible for a handful of them? That was a different kind of hell. Half your squad hadn’t even made it to Threshing.

They’d died before they had the chance to bond. Before they ever became riders.

You shoved the thought aside, brushing off the weight of it like ash from your jacket, and pushed open the door to your room. You willed your aching feet to carry you the last few steps to your bed—it was the least they could do after the day you’d had.

But something was off.

The moment you stepped inside, you felt it. The air was too warm, too still—like it had already been breathed in. The kind of heat that lingered after someone had been there too long.

Or maybe… was still there.

Your eyes swept the room—bed neatly made, armoire in its usual place, desk cluttered with pens and paper scrawled in your handwriting. Notes from every class, every lecture, every strategy session. Nothing out of place. Even your bow and quiver were right where they should be, leaning against the wall beside your bed, poised for quick access.

You nearly convinced yourself it was all in your head—just the paranoia that came with watching not only your own back, but those of the reckless first-years under your command.

Then the breeze shifted.

A soft spring draft rustled the curtains, brushing loose strands of hair into your face. You reached to push them back—only to freeze as a different hand did it for you. A touch that wasn’t yours. Gentle. Real.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

Adrenaline surged as you slammed your weight forward, pinning the figure to the wall with a grunt. In the same breath, your free hand slid the dagger from its sheath along your forearm, pressing cold steel to suddenly visible skin.

A startled yelp burst from a pair of rose-tinted lips, followed by a muffled oof as his back hit the stone wall.

Blue eyes blinked open, wide with disbelief. Wisps of blond curls tumbled into them as he stared at you like you were the one who’d broken into his room.

Luke.

Now it was your turn to yelp. The dagger slipped from your grasp, clattering to the stone floor as you stumbled back, adrenaline giving way to stunned realization.

Luke stood before you—tall, beautiful, chest still rising with quick breaths. His hands were raised in mock surrender, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips as you scrambled to make sense of the impossible.

Luke, who was stationed in Samara.

Luke, who graduated last year.

Luke, who you’d been missing so desperately it hurt—who you hadn’t seen in months outside of ink on parchment—was here. Here.

“What in Amari’s name made you think it was a good fucking idea to use your invisibility signet—” your eyes flared as you took in an exasperated breath. “To surprise me? I could’ve slit your throat!”

Luke tilted his head, grin widening into something far too smug. “That’s it?” he said, voice laced with maddening amusement. “No ‘Luke Hemmings, love of my life, my dear boyfriend, how kind of you to come surprise me’?”

Your pacing faltered.

Your gaze locked onto his—those too-blue eyes, the boyish smile he never fully outgrew. He was here. Really here.

And for a moment, all you could do was stare.

It took only a few breaths before the last thread of annoyance unraveled and slipped away. You crossed the room in a few quick strides. “Gods,” you exhaled, arms looping around his neck as you pulled him down into a fierce embrace, hoping it would somehow communicate just how much relief was crashing through your chest.

Luke didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breath warm against your skin as he inhaled deeply—like he was trying to memorize you. Maybe he was.

You leaned back just enough to take him in, your hands rising to cup his face.

He was still him. Blond stubble dusted his jaw—clearly hadn’t had time to shave—his bright blue eyes were just as cutting and soft as you remembered, and that familiar scar still carved its path from the corner of his mouth.

As far as dragon-bonding scars went, Varethion had been merciful. Others weren’t so lucky.

But it wasn’t the scar that made your stomach twist.

It was the bruises. Purpled shadows along his cheekbone, a faint cut on his lip, fading marks near his jaw. Nothing swollen, nothing broken—but still, he looked like he’d been in a fight.

Your thumb brushed his split bottom lip without thinking. He shivered, and you filed that away for later.

“What happened to you?”

Luke grinned, the corner of his mouth tugging up like this was just another story. “Had to defend my leave,” he said with a shrug, as if it were obvious. “Had a little time, wanted to see my girl, and I’ll be damned if some dick was gonna take that from me just to get blackout drunk.”

You blinked, pulling back just enough to take in the smug line of his shoulders. “You fought someone over leave?”

Luke rolled his eyes and gently tilted your chin up until your gaze locked with his. “I won, actually,” he said with a smirk, the dimple in his cheek making your knees go a little weak.

“Besides, it’s nothing serious. Happens all the time in Samara. You want time off? You fight for it. Already have it? You defend it. It’s how we keep things… interesting.”

You leveled him with an unimpressed stare. “So you’re telling me,” you began slowly, letting the sheer absurdity of it settle on your tongue, “that in the most brutal, cutthroat outpost we have… you lot spend your time beating the shit out of each other for time off?”

Luke nodded, far too pleased with himself. “Exactly.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head dropping forward onto Luke’s chest as you reached for your connection with Sylvaraith. “Why didn’t you tell me Varethion was flying back?”

The sharp huff you got in response was answer enough—but Sylvaraith never missed a chance to be a menace. “Maybe I just wanted to see what would happen if the invisible one caught you off guard. He is just a measly boy, after all. I suppose I was doing what you would call pest control.”

“Leave him alone,” you scolded, though your amusement was evident. You slammed your mental shields into place before she could say something truly scarring—especially when you were, potentially, minutes away from being bent over your desk. Or your bed. Or the floor.

You weren’t picky.

Luke was still grinning like an idiot, unzipping his flight jacket to reveal a single, slightly wilted rose tucked inside. The look in his eyes was full of heat, yes—but there was something tender behind it, something a little shy.

You took the flower from him, twirling the brittle stem between your fingers.

“You’re so presumptuous,” you said, voice softer than you meant it to be.

Luke’s eyes flashed with something softer before he shrugged, reaching up to gently take your braid between his fingers. “You look tired.”

The teasing had vanished from his voice, replaced with quiet concern as he studied you, waiting.

A soft huff escaped your lips. You rubbed at your eye with your knuckle, suddenly all too aware of the exhaustion you’d been carrying. “War Games are coming up,” you murmured. “Turns out being squad leader is more than just barking orders for fun.”

Luke hummed in understanding, releasing your braid as his hand dropped. He took a slow step forward, then another—walking you back until the edge of your desk hit the backs of your thighs, and you sank down without protest.

“That’ll do it,” he said, tone gentling. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you. You’re a badass, Y/N.”

You let out a small, tired laugh, shaking your head just as he moved to settle between your legs. “Highly doubt you mean that,” you muttered. “Ashton was a notoriously good squad leader. You just got lucky.”

Luke grinned and leaned in, poking your nose with one finger. “And Ashton’s your friend. Like calls to like, remember?”

Rolling your eyes, you took one of Luke’s hands in yours. They were the same familiar hands that had mapped every inch of your skin, patched up more bruises and scrapes than you could count. Big, calloused, beautiful.

“It’s not even just that,” you whispered, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “This year’s been a mess. Did you hear the General’s daughter is a first year now? Thank the gods that’s not my problem—it’s Aetos’.”

Luke let out a short laugh. “Does he still have that stick up his ass?”

You groaned. “Welded in there. He’s been trailing her around like some overgrown, brooding puppy. Whatever. Not my wing, not my problem.”

“Fair enough,” Luke grinned, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours. “Sounds like I’ve missed a lot.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze with a smirk. “I could say the same thing.” Tilting your chin up slightly, you turned the attention on him. “Tell me, Lieutenant Hemmings—how’s life at Samara treating you?”

“You really get off on that new title, don’t you, Cadet Y/L/N?” Luke teased, cocking his head as his hands slid to your waist, fingers curling just enough to make your breath hitch. “But yeah… it’s fun. As fun as it can get out there, anyway. Ashton’s there—his company helps.”

You raised a brow, amused. “What’s he up to these days?”

Luke’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, his eyes darkening in a way you almost missed. His lips pressed into a thin line before he answered. “He’s being Ashton,” he said softly. “Setting things on fire accidentally, cracking jokes when he can. It’s… heavy, though.”

You hummed in quiet understanding, your hand sliding from his to reach up and tangle in his curls. Your fingers scratched lightly at his scalp, and his eyes fluttered shut with a pleased hum that hit you like a shot of warmth straight to your core.

“Good to know our former wingleader’s resorted to becoming a pyromaniac,” you murmured, smiling to yourself.

Luke cracked one eye open, his mouth twitching into a crooked grin. “No,” he said slowly. “Just a dumbass.”

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” you asked gently, your eyes scanning the tension in his shoulders, the way the bruises beneath his eyes had deepened.

“I missed you,” Luke said quietly, his grip on your hips tightening like he was afraid you’d vanish. “Gods, I thought about you every single day—and night.”

A beat passed, and then he added, deadpan, “Do you have any idea how awkward it is to wake up humping your bed with Ashton looking at you like you’re some kind of depraved animal?”

You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief at Luke’s complete lack of shame. “Did he say anything?”

“I wish,” Luke grumbled. “He just looked at me with this mix of pity and disgust, like he was mourning the man I used to be. And don’t even get me started on sharing the bathing chambers with two other riders. It’s a sexually frustrating nightmare, I swear.”

You let out a giggle—an honest, unfiltered one that barely ever made an appearance unless Luke was involved. The version of you that existed with him wasn’t the same person who barked orders and trained cadets until their legs gave out.

“If it helps,” you said with a grin, “I’ve missed you, too. No bed humping, unfortunately, but the sentiment was there.”

Luke stilled, his arms tightening just a little around you as his gaze lifted to yours. His eyes softened, hopeful. “You missed me?”

You rolled your eyes and poked the dimple that appeared on his cheek. “Of course I missed you. Every day. Every night. There’s a first year—blond, blue-eyed—swear to the gods I turned around and ran when I first saw him. Thought I was seeing ghosts.”

“Wow,” Luke said, deadpan. “All it takes is some pretty boy with the same coloring and suddenly you’re having an existential crisis.”

You snorted, giving his shoulder a light punch. “Oh shut up. He was nowhere near emotionally tortured enough to be you.”

Luke grinned, unabashed. “Glad to hear my emotional shortcomings still do it for you.”

“A man as hot as you has to have some kind of flaw,” you said, sticking your tongue out at him playfully—though the warmth behind your words gave you away. “All that brooding gave you a jawline.”

Luke let out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, okay,” he said, leaning in until he was caging you in with both hands on either side of your desk. “And all that sass gave you an ass—”

“Watch it, Hemmings,” you warned, narrowing your eyes at him. “Takes a lot of legwork to ride a dragon. The sass is just a bonus.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed how much he loved it. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Admit it,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell. “You missed more than my emotional damage and jawline.”

You hummed thoughtfully, biting your lip as anticipation curled low in your belly. “Maybe I missed some other things,” you whispered sweetly, voice laced with mischief. “Though the jawline is definitely in the top three.”

Luke’s hands skimmed up your thighs, the heat of his skin bleeding through your leathers. “What’s on the podium, then?”

His lips ghosted down your jawline, and your head tilted back in surrender. “Mmm… definitely your hands,” you breathed, shivering at the scrape of his teeth along your skin.

“What else?” he asked, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze burned, the iridescent sky blue of his irises almost fully eclipsed by the inky blackness of his pupils.

You could’ve teased. You could’ve played coy.

But you were done playing.

You surged forward, closing the gap and catching his mouth with yours in a kiss that shattered the weeks, the miles, the ache of wanting him and not having him. Luke groaned—deep and desperate—as his lips parted against yours, his hands clutching at your thighs like he couldn’t get enough, like he might drown in you.

He kissed you like he needed you to breathe.

His hands traveled with intent, bold and reverent, tracing every familiar curve as they slid up to your waist. His tongue slipped past your lips, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver spiraling down your spine.

“I missed this,” he panted against your mouth, voice wrecked. “I missed you.”

Your fingers ran along the hard ridges of his shoulders, the fabric of his flight jacket frustratingly in the way. Too much between you. Way too much.

“Then do something about it,” you growled, nipping at his lower lip before sucking it into your mouth.

Luke whimpered—a beautiful, needy sound that sent a bolt of heat straight through you. Glad to know that hasn’t changed.

“Already on it,” he rasped, tugging off his flight jacket. You helped shove it past his shoulders, the leather falling to the floor in a careless heap.

Your own jacket followed, then his hands were under your shirt, tugging it up and over your head with the same frantic energy that fueled your kiss.

His mouth trailed to your neck, tongue tracing a long stripe up the column of your throat as you arched against him with a blissful sigh. You began to grind your hips slowly against his, feeling the pressure of his cock straining beneath his leathers. Still too many layers.

He groaned into your neck, fingers gripping your hips as you moved together, the friction sparking white-hot between you.

Your hands tangled in his curls, pulling in rhythm with every roll of your hips—

And then suddenly, he was gone.

Not gone gone. You could still feel him—his hands, his weight, his breath against your throat—but he had vanished from view. It had happened before, rare but never unwelcome. Still, it always startled you.

“Lu,” you breathed, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“Hmm?” came his distracted response, his teeth still scraping lightly along your neck

You let out an amused exhale—only for it to catch in your throat and turn into a sharp gasp as Luke’s mouth latched onto your pulse point.

“Baby,” you managed, breath hitching, “you’re invisible.”

The sensation of his lips vanished instantly, and just as quickly, he flickered back into view. His face was flushed, equal parts want and embarrassment, lips swollen from the intensity of your kiss.

“Sorry,” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s just been a while and—gods, that thing you do with your hips—”

You grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “You’re so cute, you know that?” you murmured, punctuating it with another slow, deliberate roll of your hips that made him groan. “But fuck, I need to feel you. I need you naked. Now.”

Whatever trace of embarrassment he’d been holding on to vanished completely. Luke blinked once—and then the hunger hit. He tugged his shirt over his head in one swift motion, tossing it to the floor without care.

“Your wish is my command,” he said, voice already rough.

Your gaze raked over him hungrily, drinking in every new detail. He’d filled out even more at Samara—his torso was all sharp lines and ridges, muscle rippling under golden skin. The deep V leading into his pants was criminal. But it was the dragon relic that made your breath catch.

Varethion curled over his shoulder, the scaled scorpion tail arcing across his chest and wrapping protectively over his heart.

“Like what you see?” Luke asked, cocky again, carefully slipping the constricting band around your breasts and ribs.

Your smirk faded into something darker, needier, as his fingers trailed down your sternum, pausing to trace the outline of your relic—Sylvaraith midflight. Her wings spread beneath your breasts, tail coiling down to your navel in sleek, beautiful motion.

“Fuck,” Luke breathed. “I remember losing my mind the first time I saw this—after Threshing.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your skin flushed under his touch. “You were the first person to see it,” you reminded him. “I didn’t even see it until you peeled off my uniform back in your room. I was too busy losing my shit over finally getting to fuck you.”

Luke grinned, hands sliding up to cup your breasts. His thumbs circled your nipples, slow and deliberate, teasing until a soft, broken moan escaped your lips and your eyes fluttered shut.

“I was celebrating the fact that a dragon chose you,” he whispered, voice low and reverent against your skin. “That your name was not only worth remembering because you survived the worst—but because it was worth moaning.”

His fingers pinched lightly, drawing another gasp from you as your back arched into his touch.

“And the fact that your relic looks like something straight out of my fucking wet dreams?” He smirked, eyes flicking down to the mark across your chest. “Just a bonus.”

You smirked, fingers working deftly to undo the button of his leather pants. As your mouth found his again, your hand slipped beneath the waistband, tugging them down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick, hard, and already leaking.

Luke hissed as the cool air hit him, the sound sharp and needy. You instinctively wrapped your hand around him, and a moan tore from his throat as your wrist gave a slow flick, your thumb swiping over the head with practiced ease.

“Fuck, love,” he panted, eyes wide and locked on yours as he watched your hand move. The weight of him was familiar, grounding, and you could already feel the memory of the stretch flutter low in your core.

Slowly, your hand began to move, savoring the soft moan that slipped from Luke’s parted lips. His eyes fluttered shut, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. You felt his mouth trail open-mouthed kisses along the base of your throat, warm and desperate, while his free hand braced against the desk beside you.

The wet heat of his lips sent sparks of electricity down your spine, each kiss lower and hungrier. He nipped at your neck, just enough to make you shiver, and you tilted your head back, offering more.

His breathing turned ragged as you twisted your wrist expertly, your thumb swiping over the slick head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he gasped, voice breaking. “If you keep this up, it’ll be over before I even think about being inside you.”

You bit your lip, eyes dark with mischief. “Maybe I just like teasing you.” Your voice was just as wrecked as his—low, breathless, aching. Then, with a burst of boldness, you let him go.

Luke barely had time to let out a confused noise before you were pushing him back into the chair he’d kicked away from the table.

He blinked up at you, dazed and wrecked, as you shakily slid off the desk. “Y/N, why the hell did you stop?” His voice was rough, laced with frustration, the needy whine in it sending heat pooling low in your belly.

But you didn’t answer. There was no need. You dropped to your knees between his spread legs, eyes gleaming with challenge.

And his breath caught in his throat.

“Because I missed the way you taste,” you murmured, your hands gliding slowly up his thighs, eyes locked on his like a challenge.

Luke’s chest heaved, his breathing ragged as his fingers curled tight around the armrests. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the base of his cock, watching with satisfaction as he twitched under your touch.

You kissed your way up his length, deliberately messy, almost sinful. Your tongue flicked out to trace the vein pulsing along the underside, and Luke’s head fell back with a strangled moan that shot straight through you.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he panted, voice cracking.

But the second your lips wrapped around him, taking him into your mouth, his complaint died in a groan that echoed off the walls—low, broken, and utterly wrecked.

He tasted like home. He felt like home. Your tongue circled the tip before you sank deeper, taking in as much of him as you could, while your hand worked what your mouth couldn’t reach.

“Fuck,” he growled, a shaky hand threading into your hair—not pulling, just holding, angling your face so he could watch. Watch the way your cheeks hollowed, the way you moved like you’d been made for this—for him.

And gods, he looked at you like you were divine.

His eyes were half-lidded and wild, soft, broken moans tumbling from his lips like a symphony of sin. You quickened your pace, savoring the way he hit the back of your throat with every movement, the taste of him flooding your senses.

“You look so beautiful on your knees,” he choked out, voice trembling but full of reverent awe. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Woke up hard as a fucking rock just dreaming of that mouth.”

You moaned at the image—the thought of Luke, half-asleep and desperate, rutting into the mattress with your name on his lips, chasing a dream that felt like you.

But before you could react, Luke pulled you off of him with a wet pop, your lips parted in confusion as you blinked up at him. Spit clung to your mouth, glistening on your chin, the ghost of him still heavy on your tongue.

“What—?”

The question died on your lips as he hauled you into his lap, positioning you over him with a need that stole your breath. He was still achingly hard, tip flushed and slick with spit and arousal, pressing insistently between your thighs.

“Need to fuck you,” he murmured, his mouth finding your collarbone, teeth scraping as his hands moved between your bodies.

His fingers slipped between your folds, collecting your wetness before dragging it back up. He groaned—a deep, broken sound that vibrated through your chest—and you found yourself grinding down against his hand, helpless to stop.

“You’re so ready for me, love,” he whispered, his tone dark with promise. A smirk tugged at his lips as two fingers slid inside you with practiced ease, curling just enough to make you gasp.

His fingers worked you open with the kind of expertise that only belonged to him. Your eyes were screwed shut as you began to grind against his hand, desperate for more. His thumb circled your clit with slow precision, while your hands gripped the desk behind you for support.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed, mouth parted in something that looked like awe. He pumped his fingers in and out of you at a torturously slow pace, his thumb adding just the right friction—each movement sending stars bursting behind your eyelids.

You couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. The only sound spilling from your lips was his name, soft and broken. “Luke—” you gasped. “Please, I need you.”

His fingers curled again, hitting that spot that made your legs tremble.

“What do you need, baby?” he asked, voice smug and too fucking pretty for the way he was ruining you.

“You,” the word tore from you on a moan, raw and desperate, your body already slick with sweat.

Slowly, Luke withdrew his fingers, and you whimpered at the loss.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours as he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. “Beg for me.”

“I need your cock,” you panted, watching as he wrapped a hand around himself and stroked lazily. Your breath caught when he leaned in, teasing your folds with the tip—slick, hard, and perfect.

You gasped, the sensation of Luke sliding the tip of his cock through your folds—coating himself in you after so long—was dizzying. You rocked your hips against him, desperate to end the torturous teasing he made you endure.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, his breath ragged. “Is it because of my fingers, baby? Or because you were gagging on my cock so beautifully?”

You bit your lip, nodding through the haze. “And because—”

The words caught in your throat as he circled your clit with his tip, slow and deliberate. So close, but still so fucking far.

Luke leaned in, eyes dark as he lined himself up with your entrance. “Because what, love?”

“Because I fucking missed you.”

The second the words left your mouth, he thrust into you.

Your head fell back as a sharp gasp tore from your lips, the sudden stretch of him filling you completely making your whole body tighten with pleasure. Inch by thick, aching inch, he sank into you, until there was nothing else—just him and the way your body remembered him perfectly.

Luke let out a low, strangled groan, burying himself to the hilt as your walls clenched around him.

“Gods, you’re so tight… so perfect,” he murmured, the words barely more than a breath—lost in the sound of skin against skin, the shared moans slipping between you like confessions.

His hands came to rest on your thighs, which bracketed his on the chair. Slowly, they slid upward, fingers wrapping around your waist with a reverence that made your heart stutter. He didn’t move—just stayed buried inside you, savoring the closeness, the way your body fit around him like it had never forgotten.

“Luke,” you whispered, voice laced with need. The plea didn’t go unheard.

He exhaled softly, then lifted you slightly, giving you permission to move. You began to grind your hips slowly, adjusting to the stretch, finding your rhythm. It wasn’t long before your pace quickened, and he met you thrust for thrust, guiding you as you started to bounce in his lap.

Each movement grew more powerful, more desperate, and your hands clutched at his shoulders to keep from falling apart.

“Gods,” he groaned, voice rough and full of awe. “I forgot how good you feel. No dream could ever fucking compare.”

You dropped your forehead to his, each roll of your hips pulling sharp, broken breaths from his lips. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises—you hoped they would. You wanted the reminder.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Lu,” you gasped.

“Y/N,” he growled, voice rough and wrecked, “look at me.”

Something in his tone made you obey instantly. You forced your gaze up to meet his—and what you saw nearly undid you. That beautiful blue, stormy and wide with longing, with love, made your chest ache in the best way.

You moved faster, chasing the edge, watching the way his eyes fluttered at the sensation.

“I missed this,” he whispered, like it was sacred. “Missed being inside you.”

His hips began to thrust up to meet yours, the pace growing urgent—desperate. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest to his, and he responded by snapping his hips into you harder, deeper, like he couldn’t get close enough.

You bit his earlobe, earning a sharp hiss that shot straight to your core. The friction of his pelvis grinding against your clit had your head spinning, and when your nails raked down his back, your teeth sinking into the curve of his neck, a muffled moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Luke’s hands gripped your waist and pulled you flush against him, holding you there. His skin was slick with sweat, the hard ridges of his chest pressed tight against yours, anchoring you in the chaos of it all.

You didn’t even need to move anymore—he was doing everything. Fucking into you like his life, like his bloodline, depended on it. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed through the room—wet, filthy, loud—and you might’ve cared if Luke hadn’t soundproofed it just before he graduated.

Your body began to coil, pleasure licking at your skin and sinking into your bones. Each of his powerful thrusts made you tremble, made your vision blur, made your magic stir—quiet at first, then roaring.

A different kind of sensation bloomed beneath your ribs. Power surged through your veins, warming you from the inside out as his hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling it with reverence.

Your moans grew louder. Raw. Broken.

“Luke—” you gasped, panting into his neck, “I’m so close.”

The room was filled with the sound of your bodies—wet and sharp and rhythmic—drowning out every thought that wasn’t him.

“Come for me, baby,” he breathed, voice tight with his own unraveling. “Let me see how much you missed me.”

He thrusted up into you, hard, perfectly angled—and you shattered.

Your scream echoed through the room as pleasure detonated inside you, your magic exploding outward in wild pulses, crackling through the air, sweeping through the space with a force that would’ve scared you—if it wasn’t so euphoric.

Luke held you through it, grounding you even as your power stormed loose.

And he didn’t stop.

Vines had begun to curl up the legs of the chair you and Luke were tangled on, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not with him still inside you. Not with the scent of blooming flowers thick in the air, or the warm, pleasant burn of magic still pulsing through your veins.

Nothing could pull you from this moment.

Luke kept one arm locked tight around your waist, driving up into you with frantic, desperate thrusts as he chased his release. His other hand tangled in your hair—not to pull, just to hold. His mouth was everywhere, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone, the tops of your breasts—like he couldn’t decide which part of you he loved most.

“I’m close,” he groaned against your skin. “Where do you want me, baby?”

The answer was obvious to you. How could he even ask?

“Inside,” you gasped. “I want to feel you. All of it.”

Luke captured your lips with his, kissing you like he meant it—like he felt it—tongue slipping into your mouth as he thrust once more, deep and sure. You moaned into the kiss as his hips stilled and a guttural groan tore from his throat, spilling into you, warm and full.

His body trembled beneath you, lips going still as he rode out his high, but you didn’t stop. You cupped his face, kissed him deeper, slower, like you needed to seal the moment between your teeth.

Even limp and shaking, his arms stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close, like he never wanted to let go.

Eventually, the kiss softened—turning slow and tender, more mouths brushing than claiming. His hands rubbed lazy circles up and down your back, his breathing gradually returning to normal as yours fell in sync.

You pulled away slowly, your forehead resting against his as your fingers slid gently through his damp hair. Luke let out a quiet, pleased hum, leaning into your touch like he’d been waiting for it forever.

When his eyes fluttered open, they were bright—still a little dazed, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. He smiled, small and soft, but heartbreakingly beautiful.

His grip around your waist loosened, and one hand came up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, brushing gently where the braid had begun to unravel.

“Hi,” you whispered, soaking in the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing your cheek like it was sacred.

“Hi,” he whispered back.

For a moment, all you could do was look at each other. And then Luke’s gaze drifted past your shoulder, his lips curling into a lazy, satisfied smirk.

“Y/N,” he said, slow and amused. “Look.”

You turned, following his line of sight.

The room was covered in vines and flowers—wild, vibrant, chaotic—but your eyes landed on the desk. The flower. The one Luke had shown you—dried, brittle, long dead.

Now it was blooming.

Its petals were open and full, the soft edges tinged with pink like sunrise melting into dusk. Alive. Entirely different from the wilted thing it had been just hours ago.

Your eyes narrowed. “Told you, you were being presumptuous”

Luke tried to feign innocence, but the grin tugging at his lips gave him away.

You huffed a laugh, lightly swatting his shoulder. “What if I didn’t want to have sex?”

He grinned, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Then I’d have a dead flower and a depressingly long cold shower.”

“You are actually so pathetic. Did you know that?”

Luke’s grin only widened. “Pathetically yours, you mean?”

You snorted, shifting slightly—causing him to slip from inside you. Both of you hissed at the loss, but you eventually settled into his lap, draped across him, skin to skin, as if gravity had no say in where you belonged.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you muttered, feigning indifference.

He arched a brow, leveling you with a deeply unimpressed look. “Like me?” he asked, leaning in, eyes narrowing playfully. “After all that—after I helped you turn your room into a literal botanical orgasm—the best you can do is ‘like’?”

You pursed your lips in mock consideration, then grinned. “I tolerate you. Sometimes.”

Luke sagged dramatically in the chair. “Gods, woman,” he exhaled. “You’re impossible to please.”

You leaned in, both hands braced on his shoulders, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you murmured, “No. I’m really not.”

His breath caught, sharp and ragged, and your smirk deepened.

“All it takes,” you whispered, “is a pair of long fingers… and a deliciously skilled tongue.”

Luke didn’t hesitate.

In one sudden movement, he stood, sweeping you into his arms with a startled yelp as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. He crossed the room in a few long strides, eyes dark with renewed purpose.

He laid you back on the bed like you were made of glass and fire, then hovered over you with wicked determination gleaming in his eyes.

“Lucky for you,” he rasped, lips brushing your inner thigh, “I happen to be starving.”

And without another word, he spread your thighs and devoured you like a man who meant it.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

yes, the blond student with the blue eyes is supposed liam mairi. that’s mostly inspired by the fact that i read his description as an attractive blond with blue eyes and immediately thought of luke. i’m ruined.

ANYWAY I HOWP YOU ENJOYED THIS!!!! this was definitely my lil guilty pleasure fic

[bloomingbluez]

it came to my attention that my requests weren’t turned on, but i fixed it now! so feel free to submit anything 🩷

[bloomingbluez]

want that too | calum hood

MDNI

"Calum is not the kind of guy Dee would expect to be interested in, and Dee definitely isn’t the kind of girl Calum would usually bring home from the club.

When their crushes hit it off, Dee and Calum find out that sometimes the least expected is also the most exciting."

—————

pairing: calum hood x fem!oc (+ briefly mentioned luke hemmings x fem!oc)

word count: 5.7k

tw: smut, drunk sex, toxic friendships

a/n:

after attempting multiple y/n blurbs, i came to a conclusion that it’s not my cup of tea, so please meet dee! i hope you enjoy this little piece, that introduces the characters, because if inspiration allows, i plan to write more for dee and calum, and by association also gigi and luke.

i don’t want to commit, but there’s a plan! so please enjoy the beginning of their story, and feel free to send me any requests, maybe in form of what would you like to see in their story, or just generally kind of plots you’d like to see.

© 2025 bloomingbluez

“Jealous?”

A male voice pulls Dee out of her thoughts. She’s sitting on the right end of a curved bar at one of the LA clubs, the gin and tonic in front of her long finished and forgotten. Resting her elbows on the counter, she props her chin on her elbows to steady her hazy eyes.

Her point of observation has been a pair of blonde, supermodel looking people, talking at the other end of the bar. The girl has to be pushing six feet and she’s only able to look the guy in the eyes thanks to the glittery, pink heels. Her flowy pastel dress barely reaches the mid-thigh, and his hand, resting on her hip, has been doing a good job in slightly pulling it up every so often. Her blonde hair easily reaches her lower back, curled in a curated blow out that had to take ages.

Dee would know — she was the lead engineer of the hairstyle, helping her operate the blow dryer only two hours earlier while they pregamed in some fancy hotel room.

She doesn’t really know the guy, except that he was the first and only person to catch her attention since they entered the club. Dee has a type, and it is the type of beauty completely opposite to hers. His blonde angel curls falling softly against the forehead, straight nose and a white, satin looking shirt that hugs his torso without being too tight. While they ordered the first round of drinks, she could already imagine getting towered over that man in a bathroom stall, or maybe even coming home with him. Sadly, Dee was already tipsy and made the stupid mistake of expressing her fantasies out loud.

It was as much as Gigi, her gorgeous friend who actually is a supermodel, needed to take an interest in the guy. Dee knows her chances; compared to her childhood friend, she is average at best, but without competition out of her league, she has been able to pull people who would never bat an eye in her direction. Now, when she has to go against Gigi…

What was supposed to be a fun reunion of high school best friends quickly turned into another of Gigi’s conquests, leaving Dee to slowly sip her drinks under the compassionate stare of one of the bartenders.

“Sorry?” she asks, looking up at the guy who decided to invade her slumber party. He’s tall, and a complete opposite of what she initially fixated on. Where the angel boy has soft blonde curls falling against a ghostly pale face, her new friend appears to have a darker skin tone and a head full of thick, black curls that are a mess. It suits him, in a way, the plump lips and chocolate brown eyes that stare at her with the same intensity that she blessed Gigi with only seconds ago.

“I asked if you’re jealous,” he clarifies, and sits on the vacant stool next to Dee.

She only shrugs.

“Are you?”

“A bit. Look at her, she’s gorgeous,” he says, flagging the bartender. “Another one?” When Dee nodes, he orders them another round of drinks and asks to add it to his tab. She won’t argue with a guy buying her drinks, free alcohol is always welcomed.

“She is.”

Dee is a girl’s girl. She could go off about all the things that made their friendship distant in recent years, but she won’t vent to some random guy, she won’t paint her friend as the devil. Gigi’s not bad, she’s just very specific, and she loves to have what others want, while also making sure they can’t get it — or maybe Dee just always imagined it that way.

“Fuck, ok. I am jealous. I really wanted to make a move on her, but then my friend over there did,” he fires up, and Dee’s eyes widen as she looks up to scan his face for any sign of mockery.

When the bartender brings out their drinks, she clings her glass against his and smiles up.

“Well, I wanted to make a move on your friend but my friend got there first.” She tips the glass against her lips, the bitter taste of tonic water flooding her mouth. “I’m Dee, by the way.”

He laughs, a rich sound that draws out the white trash music the DJ decided to play. It sends a chill down her spine, making Dee bite her lips painted deep red.

In all fairness, she would never expect to be approached by a man. Besides the obvious conviction of her average or repulsive looks, there was a plan for the evening. She just wishes that the night would go as planned and instead of sulking, she would be dancing with her friend to Only Girl. Maybe if life wasn’t a competition for Gigi, they could have fun like the good old days, but the old days were never that good.

Their friendship had been toxic from the start, and the amount of times Dee wanted to end it couldn’t be accounted for. Gigi always envied her achievements, which should be flattering in the long run, except Dee’s worth had always been seen as part of being in Gigi’s circle. In high school, she was the weird goth hanging out with a popular queen B, and later, she was the up and coming designer who made her model friend famous. Except in their circle, with their families and people who knew them from before, it was impossible to comprehend that Dee Simmons could have and give Gigi Bell anything the girl didn’t have already.

The gossip was ridiculous — Gigi was the muse behind her first collection, she agreed to walk the runway when no models turned up, she was the reason Dee managed to break through in the industry. At the end of the day, a designer is only as good as the work they present, and that largely depends on how the models walk. But Gigi wasn’t the next Shalom Harlow to elevate the clothes that Dee put on her back; like most mean and pretty girls, she was just lucky enough to have a friend who grew up in her shadow.

“Like the Princess, hm?”

“Yeah, exactly like the princess. Are you secretly British?” Of course he’s not, she would notice the accent, but Dee is too drunk to notice anything beside his beaming smile. It’s disarming, warm like a sunkiss, and she finds herself pulled towards it in a way she hasn’t experienced before.

“God no. Actually-”

He stands up from the bar stool and does a twirl. Before Dee notices the skirt, or rather the kilt, he’s already halfway done with the turn, but she still managed to shamelessly whistle him up and clap. The people sitting closest to them turn heads, but she doesn’t notice in the slightest.

Anybody can rock a silk shirt, but a skirt…

“Scottish?” she asks, sipping on her drink. Gigi and her new victim are long forgotten, Dee’s attention completely concentrated on her new companion who still hasn’t introduced himself.

“Half.” Sitting back on the stool, their knees bump, and Dee gets another shiver. Even though the club is loud, she uses all her willpower to focus on what he’s saying. “I’m Calum by the way,” he adds.

“Calum,” she repeats. The name rolls off her tongue easily, and Dee already knows it’s not one of those awkward names to moan or whimper. The thought alone makes her blush, because even though she’s quite comfortable in her sexuality, Calum is not the guy she would flag at a club as her potential prey.

She scans his tattoos, the thick hair and full lips, even the kilt that has a very similar pattern to her own skirt. Calum is the complete opposite of the angel boy, which also makes him completely similar to Dee. Her arms are littered with meaningless tattoos, handpoke doodles on her knuckles and freestyle pieces up the shoulder. Short, french bob barely reaches her shoulders. and a thick fringe is almost long enough to cover her dark eyes, even though she still sees everything with predatory precision.

While Gigi is built of soft edges and rounded corners, Dee is a maze of sharp angles and skin that doesn’t really settle well on her bones. She loves her body, it’s a form of art like anything she does, but it’s not something most men would go for, which immediately makes her think why would Calum approach her. He’s not unconventionally hot, tall and broad, he could have any girl at the club. Even if Dee would fuck a guy in the bathroom, she wants to be genuine, or at least mutual. Her whole life is a consolation prize for being Gigi’s friend, and the last thing she needs on top of that is to be a second choice for a guy who didn’t have his chance with her.

“So, you like my friend, hm?” she asks, mixing her drink with a paper straw that softened a few minutes ago.

“I mean, yeah.” Calum’s eyes linger on the spot where Gigi and his friend used to be. Dee didn’t even notice when they disappeared, and she’s hoping that if they leave the club, she won’t bring him to their hotel room. “But if Luke’s interested in her, then we probably wouldn’t click,” he admits, his voice thick with an emotion she can identify all too well. As if he found that out from experience well too many times…

“Yeah, I get what you mean.”

Every time Dee liked someone in the past, Gigi would miraculously find herself in their orbit and end up dating them. She could charm anyone, and Dee understood why people fell into her trap. Gigi wasn’t a stupid doll, she knew how to talk to people, how to manipulate. She could change her persona in seconds, just to fit someone’s idea of her. Sadly, the more Dee’s crush liked her friend, the less she would respect them. It wasn’t something she should blame people about, but fuck if it wasn’t disappointing to see someone fall for a trap that was so evident for her.

“You were interested in Luke?” Calum sends her a side eye, which makes her blush.

Boys don’t make Dee blush.

She elbows him, not with too much force, although she doubts even all her strength would be enough to harm a guy this big, and shakes her head when he theatrically grabs his side.

“Yeah. But I like this Scottish Princess thing you got going on more,” she admits, because if Dee has no filter while sober, she has to lose all the shame after drinking.

Calum laughs, again, and fuck, she likes the sound of it. Usually, Dee is not a person who would notice something like that. Once she finds the guy she likes, their conversation is oriented to a goal in her mind, and she will say anything to get there, only registering if she’s getting closer or further away from the result. With Calum, she doesn’t really know where this will go, where they will allow it to end. It’s all casual and very indulgent, letting her mind drift and her body react.

“Thank you. I’ll be honest, I always wanted to hook up with Princess Diana,” he says, apparently no filter to be found on him either. Dee snorts, making him realise what he just said.

Calum blushes, and fuck her if it’s not the most charming thing she has ever experienced.

“Oh, so we’re hooking up now? What happened to ‘Hello, how are you?’” It’s easy to tell that even though some people might have gotten offended, she’s ready to laugh it off.

She would lie by saying that her plans for the evening were different; Dee just didn’t expect for her and Gigi to separate so fast, but she doesn’t mind this new company. Maybe it’s because they’re already drunk, but there’s no awkwardness between her and Calum. It’s what makes him so attractive in her eyes. Yeah, he might be hot, but he wasn’t the one she picked out of the crowd — the longer they talk, the more she thinks that maybe she made a mistake by flagging Luke as the most desired person in the room.

It’s never fun when your best friend snatches something you really want from under your nose, but for once, the universe seems to be repaying her. And just like Calum said, seeing Gigi be so interested in the angel boy makes him that much less attractive. Maybe he truly is a great person, but Dee won’t be finding that out anytime soon, will she? In two weeks her friend is going to call and say that they went out a couple of times but things flaked off, because he had some very minor but crucial flaw that turned her off too much. Worse case, they will date for two months before she meets someone more interesting. Dee knows Gigi well; she doesn’t do long term relationships, because there’s no need for that when she never has to be lonely. There’s always another person to chase, and now that they see each other once every few months, Dee couldn’t care less.

Maybe it makes her a terrible friend, but Gigi has plenty of friends she values more. All her model friends, the ones who walk for big designers, or the people she met within the industry. Dee would love to hate her, but she knows it’s something her parents conditioned her for. Every human interaction can give you gain, and it’s something she lives by. When Dee was profitable, she was the top friend, but these days she’s just the only one who’s there when no one else shows up for Gigi because of her push-and-pull behaviour.

“How are you, Dee? Do you want to know my family history? Social security number?” he mocks, his stool moving closer to hers with a screech that gets swallowed up by the fuss of the club.

Somehow, they end up making eye contact, brown eyes staring at each other, neither breaking it.

“Time and place of birth? I need to check if our signs are compatible.” She leans towards him, and when their knees block her from getting close, Dee just throws her legs over his. Calum doesn’t miss a beat, placing his hand on her exposed leg, now resting in his lap.

“Might need to call my mum for that.” Calum shakes his head, his finger tracing circles on her knee.

She really doesn’t want to, but Dee leans into the temptation. Biting her lip, she looks down to see how big his hand looks on her, how his skin contrasts against hers. His fingernails are painted black, another thing that makes Calum that more tempting.

“Tell her I said ‘hi’ while you’re at it.” Looking back up, she smiles sweetly, but Calum’s eyes are glued to her cleavage, exposed by the corset top. “My eyes are up here,” she says teasingly. Her two fingers settle below his chin, pushing his head up, until they’re face to face again.

“I wasn’t looking at your eyes, princess” he admits, no shane in his voice, no blush. His hand rides up on her thigh, almost getting to the hem of her skirt.

She sighs, getting goosebumps from the touch. Fuck me, she thinks, because the way he talks to her, the way he looks, everything about Calum makes her want to break the rules. She’s just the right mix of drunk and sober to justify a bad decision as something that might potentially be really fucking good, because the way his name rolls off her tongue makes Dee want to shamelessly moan it, and bathroom stalls are just not a place for that. Going home to a stranger's house is also highly irresponsible, but every so often Dee remembers she’s an adult and has free will and people died for much less than the prospect of possibly great hook up.

“Do you need anything else over here?” The bartender appears out of nowhere, grabbing their empty glasses.

Dee responds before Calum can even open his mouth: “We’re good. Actually, he would like to close his tab.” She sends the girl a polite smile, nodding towards him.

“Sure, just give me five minutes.”

Calum looks at her through narrowed eyes, but even now she can tell that they’re glazed over with desire, and for once, Dee feels pretty under that look.

Usually she couldn’t care less; she just wants to get off, and if a guy likes her enough to get hard, which is not really an accomplishment, she’s fine with being his forgettable one night stand. When she started getting tattoos and pierced her brow and belly button, Dee’s mum told her that looking like that she would never find a man. At first, it was a bummer, but soon enough, Dee realised that she doesn’t want a man, she just wants to be satisfied, and a guy doesn’t have to like her to do that for her.

But the way Calum looks at her, Dee wants to bask in it. It’s been so long since she got shivers down her spine, since the hairs on her arms have stood up from the intensity of just talking to somebody. The way he looks at her, she might even believe that he thinks she’s pretty, hot, attractive.

“Why am I closing my tab?” he asks, even though they both know the answer.

“You’re taking me home, princess.” Dee drags her nail on his arm, across one of the tattoos, and then patiently waits as he signs the check, his hand never leaving her leg.

—————

They tumble into his apartment, their limbs already tangled together. Calum holds her leg the entire drive to his place, and once they reach his apartment door and Dee drops a snarky comment about the fancy building he lives in, he pins her against the nearest wall and joins their lips in a feverish kiss. She makes sure that the neighbours hear her first moan, in case the walls are thick.

It goes very fast from there, a haze of messy kisses and bites and a trial of clothes that doesn’t even lead them to the bedroom. Before Dee can notice, she’s pinned against the wall again, this time face-first when Calum struggles with the ties of her corset top. He swears under his breath, fiddling with the ribbon, and instead of helping him, Dee decides to let him struggle.

“Why would you wear that?” he asks, hopelessly pulling at the strings, hoping one of them will just let go in spite of the knot.

“It’s pretty.” Dee’s tone is innocent, as if she has no idea why he might be so frustrated.

“It’s impractical,” Calum scoffs. “Let me get the scissors-”

“God, no,” she sighs, turning around to face him. Immediately, he leans in to kiss her, but Dee grabs his chin and makes him watch as she simply unhooks the front of her top, getting it off in mere seconds. She can’t tell if his eyes widen because the solution is that simple, or because he sees her fully naked.

Either way, Calum doesn’t waste time. His hands slide down to cup her thighs and Dee doesn’t need a clue to jump. Before she knows it, she’s sitting on the hard counter and Calum is rummaging through the top drawer and pulling out a comically large box of condoms. Dee can’t even say anything, even though her lips curve into a lopsided grin, because right after taking out one foil pack, Calum’s back on her, kissing her neck and collarbone. She holds him by the nape of the neck, guiding it where she wants his lips the most, while he pulls down his boxers and tries to put on the condom.

“Shit, Calum,” she gasps when he enters her in one smooth motion, the way he penetrates her so swiftly is almost painful.

Dee lets go of his hair, allowing him to finally look up at her. His eyes are just as dazed as hers, lips swollen from the kisses and just like she suspected, the hue of her red lipstick across his face. He straightens up, leaning his forehead against hers, grabbing her hips to steady her on the dresser when the first thrust comes.

She’s a mess, her makeup smudged and hair in a complete disarray, sticking out in different directions. She’s pretty sure her claws are leaving marks on his shoulder from how hard she’s gripping him, but Calum doesn’t say a word. His breath comes out as pants as his cock drives into her in precise, strong movement, hips snapping as if measured by the clock. And then there’s his eyes, fixated on her face, that completely disarm the way Dee would usually watch herself. Her whimpers morph into moans, and her lips fall open at a particularly powerful thrust, eyes fixated on him, only on him.

Calum doesn’t slow down; yes, his movements get painfully slow every so often but that’s when she feels him in every cell of her body, making it, if anything, even more intense. He has to do this a lot, hook up, and there’s no shame in it but Dee can’t help but wonder if it’s this frenzied and rushed with every girl, if he wants them all the same.

That’s why going home with a guy is a dangerous territory — he looks at her once and Dee starts imagining too much. It rarely happens, but when it does, it’s always such a let down. From experience, she knows that there’s always an aspect of her that scares that person away, and no matter how much desire can hide in one look, some things can’t be changed.

It’s not only the look in his eyes that makes Dee’s brain go foggy. It’s the praise he whispers in between them every time she reacts to his movements stronger, it’s the tiny wet kisses he lives on her shoulder whenever she bites her lip and tries to act like his words aren’t turning her on even more.

Between you’re so fucking perfect and come for me, princess, Dee actually feels the pleasure build up in her stomach. The hand holding his shoulder grips it even harder, nails digging into his skin even more, and the other one finds his hand on her hip and guides it to her apex, where her throbbing clit is waiting for some attention. She knows it’s all it will take for the climax to wash over her like a wave, and feeling how sloppy Calum’s thrusts have gotten, it doesn’t seem like he will last much longer. Everything happens so fast, the room filled with their moans and the sounds of two sweaty bodies slapping against each other. The dresser Dee sits on creaks quietly every so often, but it would need to actually break for them to notice.

Just like she expects, the orgasm hits Dee with a blinding force, making a moan die in her throat. Her legs shake from the intensity of it, and Calum, who keeps on moving, prolonging her pleasure, doesn’t help. One of her legs wraps around his hip to force him closer, and soon enough, she can feel Calum spill into the condom, his body crushing her against the wall when he spontaneously loses all his strength.

“Wow,” she mutters, giggling. One of her hands comes up to tangle into his curls and stroke them in a calming motion, his hot breath caressing her exposed skin.

“Definitely a wow,” he admits after a couple seconds, slowly standing back up. Even though his body straightens, he stays inside her, his cock still half-hard even after the release. “I chose the right girl at the bar,” he teases, his own hand brushing the unruly strands of Dee’s fringe out of her eyes.

“Glad I could be the consolation prize.” Her smile doesn’t expose that Dee actually means it, and Calum doesn’t know her well enough to catch the conviction in her tone. Still, he opens his mouth as if meaning to say something, but she’s faster. “I’ll clean up and get out of your hair,” she promises.

“Um, sure.” Calum looks thrown off, the words falling off his lips mechanically.

He pulls out, and gives Dee some space while going to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. He doesn’t usually do that, one night stands are not his thing anymore, mostly because he has always been more attracted to the banter rather than how the person looks. He can’t deny that Dee is attractive, in a way, definitely unconventional, and in any other circumstance, he would love to see her again. Except she seems to be much more in her element, and he doesn’t want to come across as too clingy.

When they decided to go out, nobody was fully on board with the idea, but it seemed fitting. In between tours, life would get stagnant, and every so often someone would propose a night out and everyone else would hesitantly get on board. Not that there was something wrong with drinking and having fun with your friends, but Calum liked it when life got borderline boring. He also loved his bandmates and playing music, but a part of him yearned for a quiet life. The months when he would go back to Australia and nobody knew where exactly he was were the most calm, and somewhere along the way, he started chasing that same simplicity in LA.

They walked into the club, the one they frequented most often, and sat in their usual booth. What he told Dee is true; Gigi caught his attention a few minutes later when he watched them down two shots each at the bar. He commented on it, with some intention to approach her later, after the alcohol left a pleasant buzz in his system and the guys got lost in conversation. For the time being, he felt completely content with just tracing her moves, hoping she would notice his burning gaze and that someone’s interest was piqued.

Everything changed when Gigi walked up to their table. Calum was perplexed that the one woman who caught his eye actually decided to speak to them, or rather, as he foolishly anticipated, him. A few times, he caught her looking at their table, getting in his head that she did notice him looking and was, in a way, flirting with the idea. His hopes rose high as she slid into the booth next to him, the pink flowy dress riding up on her thighs, and the sweet smell of her designer perfume pleasantly suffocating. He was getting ready to introduce himself, clearing his throat and trying to formulate the words in a way that would definitely charm her…

But, of course, she had eyes only for Luke. It wasn’t his fault, and Calum would never go around blaming him or calling him selfish, but Luke did tend to be a bit… naive. He assumed everything would be fine, because they’re friends, and maybe it was Calum’s fault, because he never really held him accountable. Why would he? Because girls preferred lead singers to bassists? But Luke always thought that just because the girls approached him, there won’t be any bad blood if he pursued them.

Maybe Calum was just petty, but multiple times, he denied a girl just because he knew that one of his friends had an eye for her. He didn’t expect that same loyalty, but sometimes, it did feel like a punch in the gut to see Luke get all the women he wanted, and especially the women Calum had any interest in.

He walks out of the bathroom, and Dee is just there, still standing next to the dresser in nothing but a pair of panties, her back turned to him. The corset top that caused him so much struggle is tucked under her arm together with the checkered skirt as she stares at her phone. Calum didn’t have the chance before, so he shamelessly observes the tattoo on the back of her body: from the vines of the thighs to intricate ornaments covering her back. Pulling on his briefs, he slowly approaches her and places his hands on her hips, only now remembering how short she truly is. He didn’t notice it until they left together, and quickly forgot when she started making out with him in the cab.

“Or you could stay,” he says in her ear, lips falling down on the crook of her neck and slowly tracing kisses to reach the earlobe, sucking on it. “I have some booze. And a comfortable t-shirt.”

“And a huge box of condoms?” Dee looks at him from above the Uber app, raising her brows, a mocking smile across her lips. Finally, she could comment on it, and Calum sees the pride in the simple tease. He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

It’s not like Dee didn’t catch his eye, or she was someone he would never, under usual circumstances, be interested in. Just, Gigi was the kind of girl who he was used to finding attractive. She looked like the Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella and all those other girls he saw while watching cartoons and Disney movies with Mali Koa. Tall, blonde, slim figure and skin pale the veins almost showed through; a definition of beauty from the media, but also his peers. The confidence she carried herself with made the impression even more letal. Her catwalk stride, head held high and perfectly equal steps, the sway of her hips, it almost created an archetype.

As soon as she started talking to Luke though, Calum knew there was no more hope. Especially since he didn’t even have to charm her; from sliding into their booth, Luke had her undivided attention. She even did the holy trinity — pouted, twirled a strand of her hair, tilted her hair. It’s like she came to serve herself on a platter for him, and if anything, that ruined the image Calum had in his head.

Usually, he would get discouraged when seeing that the girls fell for Luke’s easy charm. He couldn’t deny that his friend had a captivating way of being; after ten years of being on stage and doing interviews, it would be a shame if he didn’t. But seeing a girl fall for it was like watching your parents fall for an Internet scam. Not that Luke was a false advertisement, but he loved to use the one line that Calum wouldn’t tread very lightly— his fame. No surprise he could impress anyone talking about being in a band with millions of listeners; hell, Calum would probably fall for it too, if he didn’t know better. But he also cared for his hook ups, dates, call it what you want, to be there for him, out of simple attraction or even sympathy, and not because it would give them street credit or a story to tell.

“And a huge box of condoms,” he confirmed with a poker face, hand gliding up to cup her breast.

Luke and Gigi didn’t stay in the booth with the rest of them long, her cordial offer to go dance quickly agreed to by his friend. They disappeared, and Calum’s eyes followed them even through the dark and foggy club interior. The way Luke’s hands casually brushed her body, the way she grinded on him, the way they were whispering to each other. His hand clutched the glass a bit too tightly, and even when Ashton pointed out that he should just chill down and forget the girl existed, Calum would keep on glancing their way throughout the conversation. Soon enough, Michael needed to get home to help with the baby, and Ashton got lost while fetching drinks, undoubtedly in a conversation with someone more interesting than sulking Calum Hood.

It’s like he felt she observed them too, Calum’s eyes eventually falling on Dee. She sat at the bar on her very own, head propped on her hands, not even hiding that her attention was completely consumed by the couple. Two empty glasses in front of her, it looked like quite a slumber party, and Calum could only relate as he scanned her body. Across the room, he barely saw anything, and as he finished his own drink and registered that Luke and his new girl were getting off the dancefloor, he rose up with an intention to get a refill.

The decision to talk to her was impulsive; liking her wasn’t planned either, but it’s not like Calum fell in love at first sight. He expected awkwardness, and a lot of silence, but they immediately fell into a small talk that took him by surprise with its smoothness. Not that there was much of it, but from the first few seconds, he couldn’t deny that he felt a pull.

And where there’s a pull, there has to also be a push.

Now, he swallowed hard as Dee visibly considered his offer, a battle clearly happening behind her eyes. He hoped she would agree, even if to just go at it again, maybe savour it a bit more too. The thrill of their impromptu small-talk got him so excited that by the time they were done, he couldn’t remember anything beside the feeling of how good it felt. Calum wanted a chance to explore her body, trace every tattoo with his tongue and possibly get crushed by her thighs. If they ended up talking more afterwards, or during, he also wouldn’t be disappointed.

“Hm, under those circumstances, I could be convinced,” she purrs, leaning back into his arms. Calum gives himself an inner high-five, smiling against her skin. “But at least take me to bed this time around.”

“Oh, my bedroom is a sacred space. Once I let you in, I might not be able to let you out,” Calum mumbles between kisses, his neck hurting from leaning down to kiss her shoulder, but he has no plans to stop anytime soon.

Dee reaches behind, tangling her finger into the hair on his nape, pulling him closer, further down to her skin.

“That’s a future me problem.”

[bloomingbluez]

Something for the Pain

MDNI

pairing: luke hemmings x reader

summary: a splitting headache has you looking for something, anything, to stop the pain. luckily for you, luke is always willing to help.

warnings: oral (f receiving), dirty talk, subby luke, mommy kink, desperate and needy luke

word count: 5.4k

a/n: happy new year pookies! i honestly can’t begin to describe how thankful i am for all of the support my writing has received since i started posting on here. hopefully i can get more blurbs out— and soon, that calum fic. anyway, this was a request, but i took some liberties since i wasn’t super excited to write period sex (don’t think i ever will ngl) but i still hope u enjoy!!

as always, thank u for reading and to my two friends who helped me come up w the plot for this. you know who you are ;)

Copyright © 2024 kaleidoscopecth. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Every breath you took, every blink, sent a fresh wave of pain ricocheting through your skull. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started. Maybe it was during the final descent, the plane’s cabin pressure clawing at your temples. Or maybe it was the hours leading up to it—the sleepless night, the lack of water, or the mounting exhaustion of the journey.

By the time you stepped off the plane with your friends, the faint pulse of a headache had already begun to bloom behind your eyes. But what started as a dull ache soon unraveled into an all-encompassing, throbbing migraine.

Now, you sat slumped in the bed of your hotel room, blinds drawn tight against the snowy glare outside. Your eyes remained shut as you wrestled with the unrelenting pain, trying to block out the world beyond the pounding in your head.

It was Calum’s birthday. This whole trip had been meticulously planned by an overly eager Ashton and Luke, who’d insisted on the novelty of a winter getaway. You and Michael had been swept along in their enthusiasm, though neither of you had much interest in winter sports.

“Ashton thinks Calum needs a change,” Luke had reasoned during the endless group chat debates. “He’s always had summer birthdays. Let’s give him a proper winter wonderland for once.”

It wasn’t exactly a bad idea—on paper, at least. But the journey to the hotel had been its own kind of trial. Fans swarmed the boys at the terminal, their excitement only amplified by the festive mood. Luke and Ashton handled the crowd with ease, chatting and signing autographs, while Michael managed a few tired smiles. You, however, could barely keep your grimace at bay as each flash of a camera sent fresh jolts of pain behind your eyes.

You worried that your mood might be misinterpreted. The last thing you needed was people twisting your obvious discomfort into something malicious, another rumor or misstep in the public eye. But for now, none of that mattered. All you wanted was a moment of quiet to try and claw your way back to some ounce of normalcy.

You fell back on your bed, forcing your mind to think of ways to ease the pain. You had already tried some ibuprofen, but your mind failed to come up with more alternatives.

Luke had noticed something was wrong, he always noticed when something was wrong. His eyes would get all worried, glazed over with anxiety as he tried to figure out why you were in such a foul mood. He was always so attentive when it came to you, so sweet.

You met the band when they signed your shoegaze group to their record label. Although the deal didn’t last, the friendship that came out of it certainly did. You played bass—a fact that, for some reason, seemed to strike a chord with Luke from the start.

What followed was an unusual friendship. Luke gravitated toward you in a way that was hard to ignore, and you were more than sure he had a crush on you. Subtlety was never his strong suit, after all.

It started small—just little frowns tugging at his pink lips whenever someone mentioned another guy’s name or the lingering glances he’d send your way. But slowly, it escalated. The frowns turned into sharp quips about their character, jokes veiled as casual observations about how no one seemed good enough for you.

Then came the parade of girls—each one with the same eye color, the same hair, the same biting wit. They never stayed long, thankfully. Still, it felt ridiculous to think Luke Hemmings, of all people, might actually want you—a shy bassist in a band still struggling to take off. And yet, the thought burrowed into your mind like an itch you couldn’t scratch, always there, always nagging.

When it was just the two of you, it was different. Luke seemed mesmerized by you, his eyes tracing the movements of your fingers over your bass strings, hanging onto your words like they were rare treasures. It was flattering. It was terrifying.

He’d tried to follow you to your room earlier offering to keep you company. But the thought of him seeing you so raw, so vulnerable, was unbearable. You forced a fake smile, brushed aside the dull ache in your chest, and politely declined.

It wasn’t ideal, not by any stretch. You craved company—craved him—but the weight of your misery felt too heavy to share.

So, you decided to lie down, all the blinds drawn shut, and hope—pray—for the ibuprofen to finally kick in. Sooner or later, you were certain, the pain would ease. In the meantime, you busied yourself by mentally planning your outfit for the birthday dinner you still hoped to attend.

You weren’t exactly sure how much time had passed since you first collapsed onto the hotel bed, but the knock at the door shattered the fragile quiet. Squeezing your eyes shut, you willed yourself to ignore it, hoping whoever it was would go away.

But the knock came again, louder this time, insistent.

Your eyes snapped open, staring at the darkened ceiling as another knock echoed through the room. “Y/N?” Luke’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and clear, sending a fresh wave of pain ricocheting through your skull. Wincing, you pushed yourself upright in bed.

“What do you want?” you called out, not bothering to mask the irritation in your tone. Luke was a puppy—probably the kindest, most caring person you’d ever met. Even if your annoyance slipped through now, he’d likely shrug it off, understanding the circumstances later.

But instead of his usual easy response, silence followed. A beat passed, long enough for a twinge of guilt to creep in. Regret began clouding your thoughts as you replayed what you’d said, wondering if you’d gone too far.

“Are you okay?” Luke’s voice finally broke the stillness, softer now, almost cautious. You could picture him perfectly: standing just outside the door, biting the corner of his lip where a lip ring once sat, waiting in tentative silence.

With a defeated sigh, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and padded softly to the door. Cracking it open with caution, you winced as the bright hallway light pierced through the darkness of the room, intensifying the ache in your head.

Luke’s eyebrows shot up the moment he saw your expression, concern etched into his features. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes darting across your face, searching for any clues that might explain your obvious discomfort.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head against the doorframe. “I have a headache from hell,” you muttered, rubbing at one eye with your knuckle.

“Damn,” Luke murmured, his voice low with sympathy. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

Pushing off the doorframe, you shuffled back to the bed and collapsed face-first onto the mattress. The sudden movement made the throbbing in your skull even worse. You heard Luke’s footsteps draw closer, then felt the bed dip as he sat down beside you.

Slowly, you turned your head to look at him. His wide blue eyes were full of concern, his blonde curls falling messily against the bedspread. Up close, you could see the faint stubble dusting his jaw and cheeks, and your fingers itched with the impulse to reach out and brush it away.

“Since we got to the airport,” you admitted. “It’s been getting worse all day. By the time we got here, I was barely able to stand.”

Luke let out a quiet huff through his nose, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the mattress. “What about tonight?” he asked gently. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it?”

You let out a bitter laugh, immediately regretting it as another sharp ripple of pain shot through your skull. “Thank God Calum’s birthday isn’t today, because at this point, I don’t even know if I’d make it.”

Luke’s lips twisted into a concerned frown. “Have you tried anything to make it go away?”

“Luke, do you really think I’m choosing to suffer like this?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “I took some ibuprofen earlier, but it didn’t help much. I’ve been wracking my brain for home remedies, but nothing’s working.”

Luke hummed thoughtfully. “I heard drinking water can help,” he suggested, a hint of optimism in his tone. “Or maybe a massage? I think I even read somewhere that eating almonds helps.”

You let out an irritated breath and shifted onto your side, pillowing your head on your arm. For a brief moment, you thought you caught Luke’s eyes flick down to your chest, slightly more on display from your position, but the glance was so quick you couldn’t be certain.

“I’ve been drinking water,” you mumbled dejectedly. “Hate almonds. But a massage sounds… nice. Don’t really feel like hunting down spa services, though.”

Luke was quiet for a moment, staring down at the mattress. He shifted slightly before mumbling something, his voice too low for you to catch.

You raised an eyebrow. “Lu, I can’t hear a word you’re saying.”

He let out a loud huff and repeated himself, this time louder but still hesitant. “I said… I could give you the massage.” His voice wavered slightly, and he avoided meeting your gaze.

His offer caught you off guard. For a few beats, you just stared at him, unsure if he was serious. But with your head pounding relentlessly, you couldn’t see any reason to refuse. “Alright,” you finally said, clearing your throat. “There’s lotion in my carry-on bag. Go grab it.”

Luke’s eyes widened a fraction, but he nodded quickly and scrambled off the bed in a flurry of gangly limbs. He switched on the lamp by the bedside table—thankfully not too bright—and rummaged through your bag with fumbling hands. After a few failed attempts, he finally pulled out the bottle of lotion. “Got it!” he announced, a triumphant grin tugging at his lips.

“Good.” You sat up in the bed and shot him a pointed look. “Now turn around.”

Luke blinked, his grin faltering. “Why?”

You motioned toward the lotion in his hand. “Because I’m taking my shirt off?”

His cheeks flushed a vivid pink, and his mouth fell open slightly in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you caught the sudden flustered state Luke had taken on. “Did you really think a massage would work if I kept my shirt on?”

Luke swallowed hard, shaking his head. “N-no,” he stammered. “I guess not.” His hand shot up to scratch the back of his neck, the flush spreading from his cheeks to his ears.

“Good,” you replied with a small, teasing smile, rolling your eyes. “Unless that’s an issue for you?”

His eyes widened as if you’d accused him of something. “No!” he blurted, then winced at how loud he sounded. “I mean… no, it’s not a problem.”

You bit back a laugh, too entertained by how flustered he was, and motioned for him to turn around. With a sheepish nod, Luke spun on his heel, facing the wall. Once he was out of sight, you pulled the hem of your shirt up and over your head before lying back down on your stomach.

“Alright,” you called softly, glancing over your shoulder. “Come on.”

Luke turned back around hesitantly, his gaze flickering between your face and the bed as he stepped closer. His cheeks were still rosy, but he managed to set the lotion bottle down on the nightstand without fumbling.

“Where should I start?” he asked, his voice quieter now. His eyes lingered for a moment on the strap of your bra before darting away, and you appreciated the fact that he seemed to be making an effort to remain respectful.

You shrugged slightly, resting your head on your arms. “You’re the one who suggested this, remember? Maybe my shoulders? Anywhere that might distract me from the headache.”

Luke nodded, though you could see the tension in his jaw as he picked up the lotion and squirted some into his hands. You closed your eyes, feeling the shift of the bed as he knelt beside you.

When his fingers finally touched your skin, they were tentative, almost featherlight. You suppressed a shiver at the warmth of his hands but couldn’t help the small hum of appreciation that escaped your lips.

“You can press harder,” you murmured, opening one eye to glance back at him.

Luke met your gaze, and the sight of him made your breath hitch. His cheeks were still flushed, his mouth slightly parted, and his baby-blue eyes had taken on a darker, more intense hue. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice nearly a whisper, as his fingers pressed more firmly into the muscles of your back.

You sighed blissfully, letting your eyes drift closed. He worked with surprising skill, easing the tension in your shoulders with slow, deliberate movements. But then his fingers brushed against the strap of your bra, and you heard him suck in a sharp breath.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice shaky. “I— I’m sorry, but—”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his uncertain gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Luke bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes flickering between your back and the mattress. “Your bra,” he mumbled, barely audible. “It’s kinda… in the way.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk at his hesitation. “So take it off,” you said simply, your voice soft yet firm.

Luke let out a small, choked sound, his ears turning crimson. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Luke,” you assured him, turning your head away again to give him permission.

You felt his hands tremble slightly as he reached for the clasp, carefully undoing it with a soft click. There was a strange, charged silence as he worked, as if both of you were hyperaware of the situation.

Awkwardly, you shimmied the straps off and tugged the bra free without exposing yourself, tossing it aside. The cool air against your skin made you shiver slightly, but Luke’s hands returned quickly, steady and warm.

“Better?” you asked quietly, your voice softer than before.

“Yea—yeah,” Luke murmured, pressing harder on your back.

The ache in your head was still there, but it had faded enough to be manageable. Luke's breathing had grown heavier, and his hands lingered a little longer as they moved over your skin. You could feel the press of his knee against your hip, and though you couldn't see him, you could picture the concentrated look on his face—the flush still painting his cheeks, the way his lips parted as he breathed.

A warmth began to build inside you, unexpected and entirely uninvited. It was startling to feel this way with a headache still dulling your senses, but given the circumstances—being half-naked with Luke's hands roaming your back—it wasn't entirely shocking.

That's when you remembered a little fun fact about orgasms relieving pain. A ridiculous idea briefly bloomed in your mind before you immediately shot it down. You focused instead on clinging to your composure, determined to let Luke finish the massage without letting your thoughts spiral any further.

But then he pressed on a particularly tense spot near your shoulder blade, and a soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Luke's hands stilled on your back instantly, his breathing audibly heavier. The air in the room seemed to shift, tension crackling in the silence.

Neither of you spoke, and just as you started to second-guess your reaction, Luke's hands began to move again. His touch was slower now, more deliberate, and the curiosity bubbling inside you became harder to ignore.

Deciding to test the waters, “Luke,” you let out a soft sigh with his name. “That feels good.”

His hands froze again, and you heard him exhale shakily. “Yeah?” he asked, his tone raw and breathless.

His fingers resumed their movements, but this time they dipped lower, brushing just above the waistband of your sweatpants.

“Mhm,” you hummed, letting your eyes flutter shut, fully aware of the effect you were having on him.

His hands hovered over the small of your back, and his touch grew more needy by the second. He seemed almost desperate, pressing down on the spots that had made you let out soft contented sighs as if he were searching for more.

Every time you gave in, let out little moans accompanied by his name, you could feel him begin to work harder— desperately doing anything to hear you sigh his name. It was undeniable now, the heat that pooled in your lower stomach as he continued.

“Lu,” you said softly. “I was thinking.”

Luke’s hands didn’t falter, nimble fingers working out the knots in your muscles. “About what?” his voice was strained with what you hoped was desire, tinged by the heavy breathing.

“Orgasms are known to be a pain reliever,” you turned back to face him, not missing the way his eyes widened. He was still blushing, and when your eyes took in the rest of him, you didn’t fail to notice the way he strained against his pants.

He didn’t reply, but you didn’t need him to. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” You asked breathlessly, biting your lip as you let your eyes linger on the tent in his own sweatpants.

Luke’s eyes followed your gaze, and he yanked his hands back to cover himself. “Y/N, oh my God, I am so sorry—“

Your throat went dry, watching as Luke scrambled to get away from you. You slid up from your position on your stomach, sitting on your knees as you reached for Luke’s hand. His eyes immediately flickered down to your exposed chest, and you gripped his wrist.

“Were you thinking about it, Luke?” You asked softly, looking up at him through half lidded eyes. “Were you thinking about touching me… making me come? Did all my little noises help your fantasies baby?”

Luke swallowed thickly, his gaze darting away before meeting yours again. “Fuck.”

You scooted closer to the edge of the bed, taking his hand. “When I took off my bra, I knew you got worked up. You wanted to see me, hmm?”

The way Luke’s eyes had glazed over was intoxicating, his eyebrows furrowing into an almost pained look as he nodded slowly. You took this as a sign to continue. “You wanted to touch me?”

Luke nodded.

“Say it baby,” you whispered.

Swallowing thickly, he nodded rapidly. “Fuck— yeah,” his breath hitched as you slowly moved his hand closer to your chest. Your heart beat rapidly as you met Luke’s gaze.

“Show me how you wanted to touch me,” you instructed, letting go of his wrist. His hand hovered over your breast, and Luke licked his lips before tentatively touching your skin. The second his fingers brushed against your soft flesh, he let out a strained moan, squeezing slightly, his fingers grazing over your nipple.

Your head fell back, a soft moan slipping from your lips as you guided Luke's other hand to your chest. His wide, blue eyes were heavy with desire as he gasped, “Fuck, Y/N, you're so hot.” His voice was laced with need. “Can I-?”

You nodded, and he didn't hesitate. Leaning down, he wrapped his lips around your hardened nipple, his groan muffled against your skin. The sensation sent a shiver through you, and you moaned his name as his tongue swirled expertly, teasing and soft.

Slowly, he lowered you onto the bed, his mouth switching to your other nipple while his fingers pinched and rolled the one he'd just left, making your back arch.

“You wanna help with my headache?” you teased, your voice breaking into soft moans.

Luke let out another muffled groan, his mouth never leaving your chest. “Make me come,” you added with a smirk, tugging gently at his curls.

That was all it took. A low, desperate sound left him as he pushed you back down onto the mattress, his large hands trembling as they roamed over your body with unrestrained hunger. “Please let me taste you,” he whimpered, his voice breaking into your collarbone as he kissed and sucked at the delicate skin, leaving marks with each pass of his mouth.

You gazed down at him, tugging harder on his curls and making him whimper against you. “Make this headache go away, baby boy,” you whispered, your words electrifying him. His reaction was instant—he slid your sweatpants down your legs with feverish urgency.

“I'm gonna make you feel so good,” he murmured, almost incoherently, his breath hot against your skin. “Fuck, I'll make that headache go away, I swear.”

You watched, breathless, as he tugged your underwear down, leaving you completely exposed beneath him. His gaze was heavy with devotion and lust, and you let your head fall back against the pillow, commanding softly, “tease me a little.”

Luke whimpered at your words, his desperation palpable as he leaned down, dragging his tongue in a long, deliberate stripe along the inside of your thigh. The warmth of his mouth left goosebumps in its wake, your body trembling under his touch. When you looked down, his eyes were nearly black, pupils blown wide, glazed with arousal.

“Now kiss your way there,” you said, your voice a sultry encouragement that had him obeying immediately. His lips trailed reverent kisses across your folds and inner thighs, his breath fanning hotly against your skin. You could feel his restraint faltering, his need undeniable.

“Please,” he begged, looking up at you, his features twisted in desperation. “Please let me taste you. I-I need to.”

Your breath caught when you noticed one of his hands had drifted between his legs, palming himself through his sweats as he begged for permission. The sight made your stomach tighten with want. Without a word, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and guided his mouth to the aching heat between your legs.

Luke's lips wrapped around your clit, and the sensation was immediate and overwhelming. You let out a sharp moan, your back arching off the bed as his tongue worked against you with fervor. His muffled groans vibrated against your sensitive skin, and his eyes fluttered shut, as though he was savoring every second of having you like this.

You could hear Luke groaning against you, low and desperate as you writhed beneath him. His sounds were mainly muffled by your body, his tongue working on you eagerly and leaving you breathless. He gripped your tights, keeping them open for him as he worked.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” youcooed, your voice trembling as a moan escaped your lips. The praise spurred him on, his licks growing faster and more desperate. His shoulders shook with effort, and you could tell his hands weren't just idle —he was touching himself, his movements frantic, his muffled moans vibrating against you.

Luke's eyes fluttered open, locking with yours. His pupils were blown wide with lust, and the sight of his flushed face, lips slick and busy against you, made your breath hitch. He never broke contact, taking your clit into his mouth and sucking gently, the sensation so intense it sent tremors through your legs. His blush deepened, his hand moving even faster, completely lost in his desire to please you.

The sight of him like this—Luke, who always carried himself like he was larger than life, now utterly undone before you—sent a jolt of power and pleasure through you. His need, his complete surrender, was intoxicating. He whimpered against you, his hand wrapped around his cock as he devoured you, and it was a vision you never dared to let yourself dream of before.

Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging just enough to guide his movements. He let out a needy whine at the pull, his eyes fluttering closed as if your touch alone was enough to send him over the edge. His name fell from your lips in a breathless gasp as your back arched. ”That's it, baby,” you encouraged, your voice heavy with pleasure. “You're making me feel so good.”

Luke whimpered again, the sound shaky and desperate, his hips rocking against the bed as though he couldn't help himself. “You taste so good,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, muffled against you. “I can't—I need—“ His words dissolved into a whine as his tongue moved faster, his hand gripping your thighs as though he were afraid you might pull away.

You watched as Luke's other hand-—the one wrapped around himself-began moving faster, the desperation evident in every stroke. Your grip on his hair tightened, and you bit your lip as a low whine escaped your throat. Leaning back on one elbow, you adjusted to get a better view of him falling apart beneath you.

His free hand slid up to your chest, kneading the sensitive flesh feverishly as if he couldn't get enough of you. “Oh, fuck,” Luke moaned against you, his voice trembling with need.

“Y/N, fuck, l'm gonna—” His movements faltered momentarily, and then his entire body tensed. A long, muffled whine spilled from his lips as he buried his face between your legs, taking your clit into his mouth as though it were the only thing grounding him. You moaned, the sound mixing with his as you watched his eyes flutter shut, his body shivering under the intensity of his release.

Heat coiled deep in your belly at the sight of him—at the realization that he had been so consumed by pleasuring you that he couldn't even hold back. He had touched himself to the sheer thought of making you feel good, and that fact alone sent a thrill through you.

“Look at you,” you purred, your tone drenched in satisfaction. “Such a good boy for me, making a mess for mommy.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and electrifying. For a moment, Luke froze, his breath catching audibly in his throat. Then, with a deep, shuddering exhale, a broken whimper escaped his lips, his cheeks burning crimson as the flush spread down his neck. His body trembled, every muscle taut, as though the word had unraveled him entirely.

“Gonna make a mess out of you, mommy,” he whined, his lips latching on to your clit again. He worked tirelessly, licking and sucking at your skin. Your body vibrated with pleasure as you arched your back, letting out a crescendo of whimpers.

“You're doing so good, Lu,” you moaned, grinding your hips up against his mouth, desperate for more friction. Luke, catching on to your need, slid his hands up your thighs, steadying you before he slowly slipped a finger inside.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. The stretch sent a shiver through your body, your legs trembling as your eyes fluttered shut. He curled his finger just right, hitting that perfect spot, the motion perfectly timed with the flicks of his tongue against your clit. The combination made your head spin, stars dancing behind your eyelids.

Luke seemed completely lost in you, his own eyes shut tight, savoring every sound and movement you made. His tongue worked you with precision, his devotion clear in every flick and stroke.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he let out a muffled groan against you. The vibration sent a new wave of pleasure through your body, making your back arch. “Just like that, baby,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Don't stop.”

“Never,” he groaned. “I wanna make you come, mommy.” His pace quickened, his finger curling in deeper as he added another one, making your entire body tense.

“Fuck, Luke,” you whimpered, tightening your grip in his hair as your hips continued to buck against him. Each time they did, he let out a small whimper. His tongue never faltered, though, swirling and flicking over your clit in ways that made your eyes shut tightly.

His free hand roamed your body, kneading at your hips and ass, exploring the length of your stomach and reaching up to your chest. When his fingers closed around your nipple, you couldn’t help but cry out.

Luke’s movements were desperate and needy, as if he were worshipping every inch of you. God— the sound she made. Each of his whimpers, the broken moans, the soft sound of his lips as they sucked at your clit or the flicks of his tongue, all drive you closer to the edge.

“Look at you,” you managed to get out, forcing your eyes open to meet Luke’s. “You’re such a good boy for me, such a good little toy for mommy.”

Luke’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked up at you, the look of his blissed out face almost sending you over the edge completely. He had beautiful lips, that was just a fact, but you didn’t know how much you’d enjoy the sight of them working on you— glistening with both you and his spit.

“You’re so good at this,” you praised, the tremor in your voice only proving your point. “Such a good boy, always making me feel so fucking good.”

His moan vibrated through you, and you felt him press harder against your core. His fingers picked up speed, creating a delicious friction that made the coil in your belly tighten, your breathing growing erratic.

“Oh baby, I’m so close,” you gasped, your own hand coming to play with your chest in an effort to facilitate your release. Your tights were trembling against his head, and he groaned in response. His tongue worked tirelessly, his fingers curling in just the right way. “Please don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

You watched as Luke shook his head slightly, a muffled, “I won’t,” escaping his lips as he latched on to your clit yet again. This time, he sent you over the edge.

Your back arched with the force of your release, your legs shaking violently as a loud moan ripped from your throat. Your thighs clamped around Luke’s head, keeping him in place as you rode out your high. His hands held you firmly, savoring every bit of your release on his tongue.

As your breathing steadied and your body relaxed, Luke pressed a tender kiss to the inside of your thigh, his gaze shy as he looked up at you. “Did I do okay?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “Is your headache gone?”

“Fuck,” you said, letting out a breathless laugh, tugging him up by his curls until his lips met yours. The kiss was messy and heated, and you could taste yourself on him as your fingers tightened in his hair. Luke let out a quiet groan, kissing you back feverishly, his hands sliding to your waist to pull you closer.

“Headache's gone,” you murmured against his lips, brushing a stray curl from his face. His cheeks were flushed, his gaze wide and filled with awe as he looked at you. “You did so well for me, baby. I'm proud of you.”

His lips curled into a bashful smile, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses along your skin. “I've had a crush on you for the longest time,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft hum escaped you as your hands ran soothingly over his back. “I know,” you said simply, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his brows lifting in surprise. “You knew?”

You nodded, letting your palm rest against his cheek. “Of course, I did,” you replied gently. “How could I not? Especially when you're so eager to please and look the way you do. But it's more than that, Luke. It's you—just you.”

The blush that spread across his face was endearing, painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears a deep pink. He bit his lip and let out a soft, nervous giggle, his eyes briefly darting away before coming back to yours.

Your gaze shifted downward, and the sight of him still painfully hard stirred a pang of sympathy-and desire-in you. Leaning closer, you brushed your lips against his ear, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Tell you what,” you murmured, trailing your fingers lightly down his chest. “You were such a good boy for me, Luke. When we come back later, how about we take care of that little problem you've got between your legs? What do you say, baby?”

His breath hitched, and he let out a small, needy whimper, nodding eagerly. “Y—Yes, please,” he stammered, his voice trembling with anticipation.

You smiled, kissing him again. “Good.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

hope u enjoyed 😁🫶

[bloomingbluez]

friends don't lie | luke hemmings

MDNI

"Luke and Sawyer's friendship goes way back. They're inseparable, compatible to the bones, unable to stay mad at each other… Unless it's about a girl, and about a girl it was. Everything would be alright, if Luke didn't lie.

But he did. And friends are not supposed to lie."

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pairing: sgfg!luke x original character

word count: 14.7k

tw: smut, referenced self harm

a/n:

hello! i hope you enjoy this little angsty story about sounds good feels good ! luke and my original character sawyer. i hope you like her, because my girl is messy, not going to lie.

thanks to my girl kaleidoscopecth for helping me tame the english language and being an amazing critic 🩷

feel free to leave me requests!

© 2024 bloomingbluez

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Pounding on the door echoed through the entire Hemmings house. Luke had the impression that soon, it’ll conjure an earthquake that could crumble the foundation and knock down the walls. If only he had any motivation to pick himself up from the warm bed and open the front door… But Luke had none. The cold had been tormenting him for a week, —which also meant a week of house arrest and skipping school–, and because of that, he lay buried under the covers, with his chest slippery from a warming body balm. The usual, messy decor of his room was joined by a used pile of tissues on the dresser, and multiple empty mugs after tea and aspirin. Back on Sunday, when he started sneezing and his mum pulled out an old mercury thermometer from the cabinet above the fridge, the prospect of being sick seemed like the most appealing thing on Earth. Then, one by one, Luke lost the energy to play the guitar, his phone screen was too bright even on the lowest setting, and his fever reached the levels where Liz forced him to take cold baths. And at school… Suddenly, everyday there was something happening, people fighting and arguing, teachers playing movies instead of teaching a class, and giving out free A’s for bare minimum tasks like painting the best birthday card for their elderly cat. Fucking awesome!

Liz Hemmings raised her gaze from the pages of a very exciting crime novel. For some unknown reason, she assumed it had to be her husband, who once again didn’t feel like looking for keys in his leather briefcase. However, the banging didn’t stop, if anything, it only intensified. She wanted to call Luke, but remembered that she herself tucked him under the covers and prohibited from even going as far as to the bathroom. With a sigh, she rose from their beige corner sofa and opened the door for an unexpected intruder. 

The woman squinted seeing Sawyer Ashwood on her doorstep. 

“Good Morning, Mrs. Hemmings!” the blonde girl practically shouted, as soon as the door opened enough for the tiles in the hallway to become visible. 

Sawyer Ashwood’s blond hair flew in all directions, free of the woolen hat she was crumpling in her hands despite the winter weather. Her navy coat stayed unbuttoned as always, although unlike some of the other high schoolers she wasn’t keeping it that way to show off her outfit; running out of school, the last thing she wanted to waste time on was something as mundane as closing all the buttons. It resulted in a furiously red blush on her cheeks, and a very similar color covering the tip of her nose. The chattering teeth were a nice addition to the team, but the girl didn’t seem to mind at all. Of course, Ashton was standing right behind Sawyer, his jacket buttoned up neatly, with the scarf tucked in tightly and a hat covering his ears. The only thing missing were Calum and Michael, but Liz would ask her questions later. 

“Is Luke even still alive? He hasn’t texted in four days and yesterday, we were supposed to play GTA. But he never logged in! Ashton didn’t want to come. but I need a mediator in this conversation. Otherwise, I might rip his fucki- his head off,” Sawyer explained, falling into her usual chattiness. Out of all the Liz’s friends’ children, she started talking the earliest and hasn’t stopped ever since then. 

“Luke is sick…”

Liz didn’t even have time to finish, because as soon as Sawyer heard that her friend was living and breathing, she rushed into the house. She quickly kicked her shoes off her feet and ran towards the stairs. Sawyer knew the Hemmings house as well, if not better, than her own. Whenever she and her parents would come over for dinner, they ended up staying the night. The Ashwoods occupied the guest room, while Sawyer and Luke sat on his bed under the blanket, reading comics and playing games until well past midnight. Sometimes, he would show her what song he was currently learning on the guitar and his mum would barge into the room, rushing them to sleep. There was also the fact that Ashwoods lived just a street away – it might have been a long street, but ever since Sawyer got a skateboard for Christmas, the distance didn’t scare her at all. Luke’s parents saw her as often as their own kids, and Sawyer saw them more than her own parents, who always ended up staying late at work or simply wouldn’t notice that their daughter wasn’t home. 

Ashton calmly crossed the threshold and started unbuttoning his jacket with steady fingers. He was the most composed out of their friend group, and would often look with confusion at their erratic behaviour and ideas. That said, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t participate when it came to putting those ideas to live. 

“We had to play with Dirk,” he explained. 

“The one who pulled at her braids?” the woman asked. 

Ashton confirmed. About a month prior, a boy from their grade made such questionable choices and decided to pull on Sawyer’s messy braids in the unofficial smoking area behind the school gym. Sawyer, as expected, didn’t bother with talking to the teacher and simply punched Dirk in his freckled nose, which ended with a hemorrhage for him and a principal visit for her. Talking to the teacher, Dirk disclosed that the last thing he heard before getting punched was Luke Hemmings’ tired not again, and then the blond was on him. The very next day, Evelyn Ashwood was sitting at Liz’s kitchen island, complaining about her daughter and her uncontrolled temper. It seemed to always be Evelyn’s favourite subject – she had to pick her daughter from school, talk to teachers, drive her to a mandatory psychologist appointment, maybe an anger management class, all for Sawyer to act up again and again, just to make her mother’s life harder. 

Liz only sighed. 

“Fine. In that case, go join them, I’ll make some tea. Just don’t sit too close to Luke,” she asked, and Ashton nodded in confirmation. He started climbing the stairs, before turning back to his friend’s mum. 

“Calum and Mike will probably come in a bit. They still had classes when we left.” It was a nice way of saying that Sawyer skipped her last hour, since Ashton’s schedule was different. If anyone cared to ask, she would explain that Ashton was absolutely necessary in this scenario and she couldn’t let him go home, because then, he probably wouldn’t agree to come out again. Liz couldn’t care less; she was used to her son having these four basically attached to the hip. When Sawyer was expelled from their first high school, Luke basically begged her to allow him to switch too, since the girl was his best and only friend. Although she was sceptical at first, watching him find new friends never failed to put a smile on Liz’s face. 

Of course, there has always been Sawyer, and Liz doubted she would ever disappear from her son’s life. Thankfully, her opinion of the girl was much more positive than her own mother’s. Some would even say that Liz treated her like one of her own… And it certainly was true. Sawyer would kill for Luke (scientifically proven, as she did beat people up in his name before), and Liz would never take affection like that for granted. 

Entering through the doorway covered with posters of various rock bands, Ashton saw the blue navy coat draped over the guitar stand, as well as her red hat somewhere under the desk. He closed the door behind him, only to realise that Sawyer was already lying on the bed next to Luke, –the same Luke they were supposed to not sit too close to–, and vividly retelling everything that had happened at school during the last week. Every single time she gestured, and Sawyer talked with her whole body, Luke almost got hit with her fist across the face, but Ashton wasn’t there to save him. No, no – if Luke didn’t get sick in the first place, Ashton wouldn’t be forcefully dragged to a pottery class and Michael wouldn’t have to suffer through sitting with Sawyer during most classes, meanwhile Calum had to sit alone. It was their joint decision to let Sawyer eat him up, and only intervene if she got physical, but her rage over yesterday’s game seemed long forgotten. Without a word, Ashton sat down at the foot of the bed, listening to Sawyer’s exaggerated story by himself. 

Luke, however, didn’t look like he needed saving at all. He shifted on his pillow and stared at Sawyer’s profile, inhaling her every word and organizing it in his head. 

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Six years later…

He felt pathetic. Or maybe he simply was pathetic? Luke didn’t know. His life was falling apart before his very eyes, and he didn’t know how to stop it from happening, or whether he even wanted to stop it at all. Maybe what he needed was for everything to just crumble into ash – to get a fresh start. That depressive dilemma had appeared in his head ever since they came home from the last tour, and with it, Luke made a few questionable decisions. Not knowing where his life was at, he felt unable to find his footing, both physically and emotionally. The band was on hiatus, even though their friendship stayed intact. The label clearly communicated that if the next song that they deliver wouldn’t be a hit, the hiatus might as well turn into a permanent solution. He wanted to write, chase the adrenaline of being on stage, but just thinking about the claustrophobic rooms and sharing a bed with Calum made him want to puke. Luke couldn’t remember when was the last time he ate a home-cooked meal, but surprise, the relationship with his parents and siblings also got strained ever since he turned eighteen and decided to be as independent as it gets, which somehow also meant not calling home. Then, there was Sawyer… The one person Luke really wanted to talk to, who was mad at him, and he couldn’t even be frustrated about it, because she had every right to hate him. 

The need to sort his shit out was overwhelming, but he didn’t even know where to start. Parties became a perfect form of escapism for pretty much everybody, and thus drowning their sorrows in alcohol. Instead of looking for solutions, his thoughts circled the same situations, even though Luke thought them through millions of times. Funny, since he wasn’t a person prone to reflection, certainly not in the context of his own life. He couldn’t change the past anyway, and dwelling on it could be destructive. 

“Fucking God, Luke…” 

Ashton appeared out of nowhere, or maybe Luke was just too drunk to follow his movements. The red bandana sat unevenly on his head, and his eyes drilled into the blond’s face as if he was expecting him to do something. Well, good fucking luck because Luke rarely knew what people expected of him anymore. In his current state, he couldn’t bring himself to worry about Ashton’s concerned scowl. After the last few beers, he felt all warm and cozy inside, not the usual crazy drunk, and even Irwin wouldn’t fuck this up with his mothering. 

“Sawyer is here,” Mike said, appearing out of the crowd that occupied the kitchen and beer pong table. His face was equally worried, and only after he announced their newest guest, the words and their meaning crushed into Luke like a truck. 

His face turned pale. She was the epicentre of his whole plague, the moral dilemmas engulfing him every night before falling asleep. For a second, an idea struck him, —he could run away, lock himself in one of the bathrooms in their rental–, but Sawyer could already be noticed cutting through the people. Her blond hair bounced with every step, and the brown, constantly smudged wings gave her narrow eyes a military grade sharpness. The chapped lips, pulled into a thin line, were unnaturally closed. Luke would rather be talked to death by Sawyer, recently it’s been all he dreamed of, rather than being on the receiving end of this fury that radiated from her whole body. Fucking hell, he was not only the recipient, but also the reason. 

“Shit…” he whispered to himself, taking a panicked step back, but Sawyer was already approaching; there was no way of escaping her, and Luke knew that too well from pure experience. Boys who messed with Sawyer Ashwood never met a happy ending, because she wouldn’t stop before making their lives miserable. They used to laugh about it, joke about having brownie points because of their bond. Except Luke didn’t know where that stood anymore. Could one mistake ruin a lifelong friendship? Apparently, because once Sawyer was close enough that he could count her freckles, her hand connected with his cheek without hesitation. This was what they used to laugh at, but now everyone watched with an open mouth, not knowing if they should laugh or call the police. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Calum abandon his cigarette and some brunette on the terrace, making his way towards the scene. 

“Fuck you, Luke,” she hissed through her teeth, her every muscle tense. “You’re such a motherfucking dick-”

A girl stepped away from the observers, standing between Luke and Sawyer. He swallowed hard; this wouldn’t end well. Her blue hair barely reached her shoulder and thick-rimmed glasses sat low on her nose. 

“Sawyer, please, stop. This is my fault, don’t take it out on Luke. You’re embarrassing him.”

Sawyer pursed her lips and looked away from her. Her bottom lip actually seemed to quiver – it reminded Luke of many times when his friend was close to a breakdown and pushed it down for appearances. The facade fell, letting her muscles relax. Seeing that, Luke allowed his shoulders to fall. He didn’t even dare to look at Grace, because he worried it might pump his friend full of rage again. Or maybe an ex-friend? Luke knew one thing for sure; he looked at Grace way too many times to do it again without a guilty conscience, even though deep down he knew her words were pure bullshit. 

“Fuck all of you,” the blond simply stated, before turning on her heel and heading for the main entrance. Watching her disappear in the crowd, losing the view of her head behind a corner, Luke felt like he didn’t know where he was himself. What the fuck did just happen? Only then did his cheek start to hurt, and he held up his hand to touch it. He needed to put something cool against it to prevent bruising; funnily enough, it was a trick Luke learned from Sawyer. 

Grace approached him and placed her small hand on his shoulder. Oversized hoodie and black jeans swallowed her whole, but Luke remembered her figure even through the haze of all the alcohol. Involuntarily, he wondered if tonight she’s also wearing lace under all these clothes, but he shook the thought off in a second. It was the alcohol thinking, or so he wanted to believe. If not… Well, that would make Luke Hemmings a very shit human being. In reality, he was just too childish to forget how much fun it was to play with matches, even though everything around was getting engulfed by fire. 

“Sorry about her-” Ashton’s scoff interrupted Grace. Luke could feel all the alcohol evaporating from his body. He noticed Calum pushing through the crowd towards them. Everyone around seemed to forget about the assault that took place when Hot In Here blasted from the speakers. “Is this funny to you?” she snapped at the drummer. 

Ashton brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes; he was getting ready to argue. 

“You’re funny to me, Grace. If anyone here is taking it out on someone, it’s you, on both of them,” he stated nonchalantly. Calum reached them, and instead of standing in the clearly antagonistic circle, leaned against the nearest wall, giving him a good view of the argument. 

“Then write a song about it or something, but stay out of this,” Grace whimpered, offended by his words. Luke focused on the floor, trying to get the memory of her hips, waist, stomach, thighs out of his head… “It’s not me who has a problem, it’s her!”

“You cheated on her,” Calum murmured, catching everyone’s attention. It was clear his head was working overtime to understand what was happening, yet he still managed to defend his friend. 

“If it was me, I would also have a problem with it,” Michael added, making Ashton smile in triumph. If it was up to him, they could bully the blue-haired girl all night. Maybe it wasn’t within the traditional framework of fun, but he was having lots of it knowing that they’re one step closer to getting rid of her. The last thing he wanted was for her to get attached and Luke being too passive to do anything about it. It was clear he had to put on his paternal shoes once more, for one last dance. 

Grace seemed outraged by his statement, although everyone in their group knew that Calum was right. In desperation, she looked towards Luke for help, but to no avail – he still watched the floor as if it was the most interesting thing ever. First of all, his friends weren’t wrong; Sawyer had every right to be pissed, and Luke knew it damn well. Second of all, he simply felt guilty, because even though all the anger concentrated on Grace, it takes two to tango. 

“Luke, say something,” she tugged on his sleeve, completely ignoring the accusations.

“Luke, go chase your fucking friend,” Ashton corrected Grace, not so subtly kicking him in the shins. He received a pointed look, because after getting slapped, Luke didn’t need any more violence inflicted on him. Contrary to what his friend might have thought, his brain could still distinguish a completely wrong reaction from a good one. 

“Grace…” She looked at him hopefully. “Come on, let me go.”

He left the rental after pushing through the people. Going back home definitely proved that keeping relationships can be complicated, because as much as everyone was proud, nobody had a problem showing that they should have handled certain things differently. On the contrary, random people from their school or the neighbourhood had no problems glueing themselves to the band, as if they were part of the group in the first place. Constant texting about free tickets, invites to the parties, or rather nagging whether they would like to organize them. The worst part was, it felt good to be liked and wanted after being sidelined by the label; it was certainly easier to allow those people in than make amends with their loved ones. When things got complicated, they simply decided to escape them by moving out, and now, vodka bottles covered the kitchen counter every weekend and their dinners consisted of instant ramen. It wasn’t smart in the longshot – Luke knew that when he saw another couple doing lines in the bathroom or people jumping to the pool from the balcony. But for once, he needed to rest. The smell of weed hung thick in the air, so when the fresh wind outside hit him, he almost gasped. 

He ended up in their wanna-be courtyard. The path leading to the garage was fenced from the entrance pathway with a little, brick wall; the first week they moved in, Calum bumped into it with his car. Now, Sawyer Ashwood sat on top of it, a lit cigarette between her fingers. 

Sawyer had never been drop-dead gorgeous. She had never taken his breath away, never made his heart rush. Her view never made his thoughts get clouded, obscuring his common sense. He would not jump into the fire after her, and not because she wasn’t worth it, but because Luke strongly believed that Sawyer would rise from the flames just to beat him up over making such a stupid self-sacrifice. Or worse, she would haunt him in the afterlife. 

When Luke looked at Sawyer, the complete opposite happened. A wave of pure, uninterrupted thoughts would flood him, his heart and breathing slowed down to their natural rates, his hands stopped shaking… It was like a calm in the middle of the storm, like the realization that everything is going to be okay. Common sense broke through the intoxication. When he looked at her, he thought about the memories of their childhood and the carefree years that had long passed. With Sawyer, Luke could finally feel like a responsible adult, because she never really grew up. She would always need someone to pull her away from the trouble, from the fights, remind her that all this rage and chaos were hollow and pointless – only for Sawyer to pierce her own tongue in the school bathroom the next day and call in a hurry, because it started getting infected. With her, his life had an ounce of significance, because someone needed him, and Luke knew damn well that without Sawyer, he would fall apart so many times. At the end of the day, together they could fall apart just enough to still make sense. 

He approached her slowly, hoping she would see him coming and they could avoid another fit of anger – it was a stupid assumption in Sawyer’s case, but nobody ever said that Luke was smart. Her hair was flowing in the wind, many dye jobs leaving it anything but the underlying blonde. The ends still had a green hue to them from her last idea, while towards the root, the color looked like the perfect peachy pink, to finally reveal the darker roots. The messy eyeliner and strategically placed white pencil made her eyes look more round, and the raspberry lipstick peeled off her chapped lips, staining the white cigarette paper. 

Luke, for some reason, thought he’d be able to sit down next to her, but before he even reached the wall, Sawyer stood up and threw the cigarette under her sole, and then unceremoniously slapped him across the face, again.  

And again. 

And once more. 

And yet again. 

She finished, pressing her hand to her stomach. From the scowl on Sawyer’s face, Luke could tell that it hurt from all the blows – he did have an exceptionally chiseled jaw, and it wasn’t feeling much better. Maybe if they allowed her to actually fight people for more than one punch, she would build a stronger endurance. 

“Are you done?” he asked, touching his throbbing cheek. Thankfully, she didn’t break the skin, because it would make rounds in the papers. Luke knew damn well that he could have stopped her, caught her wrist before she even landed the first blow, and every other one that followed. He also knew that he deserved it, and a part of him thought that taking the punishment was more honorable than running away from it. Bullshit. “Because it hurts…”

This time, Sawyer punched him in the chest with her closed fist instead. Luke looked at her with confusion, making her snort. 

“I meant it, Luke, fuck off. You have no right to come crawling back to me, expecting that we’ll reminisce about the good old times and I’ll magically forget. You really fucked me up this time,” Sawyer admitted, brushing her unevenly cut bangs out of her eyes. Her voice was hoarse; from the cold, or from the cigarette, or maybe from crying, but it made something break inside him. 

“That’s not what I expected,” he lied mechanically. Because that’s exactly what he expected – that’s how it happened in the movies. The power of friendship could overcome pretty much anything, and he knew Sawyer Ashwood from the diapers and breastfeeding. Theoretically, they could have lost touch multiple times throughout the years, but they never did, and that must have accounted for something. All Luke really wanted was to be back in his room, sitting on his bed, sharing a joint while he showed her how to play Wonderwall on his guitar. “Look, Sawyer… I don’t know what got into me that night. I never meant for any of this to happen. But maybe it’s for the better, ok? Grace is a bitch, the way she played it out–”

“Fucking God, Grace isn’t the one who decided to fuck her best friends’ girlfriend!” the blond interrupted him, clearly unable to take anymore of his pathetic explanations. It hurt him that she only seemed to blame him, not her ex. “It’s you, Luke! You’re the bitch! You’re a two-faced piece of shit who only thinks about himself!” 

Luke fell silent and sat down on the wall. He looked at her, trying to keep his composure. Liz raised him better than to use verbal insults, and he was really holding himself back. But he wasn’t like one of her exes or boys who bullied her in high school; he deserved at least a bit of respect. 

“Was it so hard to swallow that I was finally happy?! You have your fuck-ass band, and I have to read what happens to you from fucking gossip magazines, because all of the sudden I’m too lowly to be a part of your life! If you don’t want me anymore, why the fuck would you go and ruin the one thing where someone did actually want me?!”

“She clearly didn’t want you that much since she fucked me!”

Well, Luke got punched in the face again. He should have expected it. Looking into her resentful eyes, you couldn’t say that Sawyer was close to tears, because she wasn’t. Sawyer was angry, only angry. She had already cried too much over this, and if she was going to shed another tear, it wouldn’t be for the comfort of others. Luke should have known that he had broken something inside her, hurt her to the bones, but apparently, he only had enough empathy to see his actions as a favour. 

“You’re such a dick…” she began again. 

“Sure, Sawyer, you can insult me. I deserve it. But if you thought I did it on purpose, then maybe it’s a good thing you’re not part of my career, because that’s a place for friends, and friends know each other,” Luke spat out. Sawyer only shook her head, slowly losing energy for this. He wouldn’t understand it; she was naive to think he ever would. 

Sawyer Ashwood knew Luke Hemmings before she even knew herself, but apparently it wasn’t good enough. 

“Most of all, friends don’t lie, Luke. If you had told me when it happened…” Sawyer’s voice rose an octave higher. That was the worst part of everything, what actually hurt her so deeply wasn’t the cheating, but the fact that everyone kept it from her. She felt pathetic admitting that it was this simple; that Luke might have gotten off easy if he stayed honest. After months of ignoring her, missing birthday wishes and making her feel like shit, she would take him back if he had the balls – it made Sawyer feel weak and stupid. 

She cleared her throat. 

“If you had just told me you slept with her when it happened, I might have been able to swallow it.”

“I couldn't,” he said, forming a logical explanation in his head. Luke thought about it for a long time, before realizing that he never wants to be in a position where he would have to tell her. His reasons were so cliché, especially after always hearing from Sawyer that she was much more into women. Revealing this secret had no better purpose than to make a fool of himself, and Luke had enough of that on tonight’s record. He was sure when Ashwood looked up at the sky; sure that she would ask why, that she would want to know. “You say that now, Sawyer,” he added, shrugging. 

Luke was just so fucking sure she would ask any time now. 

But instead, Sawyer turned on her heel. She wanted to get out of this place, out of this situation and people who were wasting her time and energy and sanity. She had already wasted two decades on Luke, only to end up with a broken heart. Sawyer might not have been an internationally acknowledged artist or earn millions of dollars, but she expected so much more. Sawyer deserved so much more. For years, Sawyer Ashwood considered her life less than satisfying, –she didn’t have lots of friends, wasn’t particularly attractive, got average grades at best, had shit parents who couldn’t care less–, but at least she had Luke. She had a friend who would be there no matter what; but that train left the station a long time ago, and he jumped it before she could even notice. Funny how everyone around her always said that nothing good would come from her friendship with the four boys, but she always believed in them. 

Now she was eating her own shit, because no way Ashton, Michael and Calum would take her side. They were his friends, his band. 

“I couldn’t, because you would ask ‘Why did you do it, Luke?’, and look at me with your huge doe eyes, and I wouldn’t be able to blame it on alcohol. I was so wasted, Sawyer… But despite everything, I just didn’t want to see you with someone who wasn’t me.”

In one of the pop music videos, or a romantic comedy on Netflix, they would be seventeen and played by actors half their age. She would turn to him and start walking; he would do the same, just so they could meet halfway and kiss. A cute kiss – something seemingly deep to be romantic, but in a way that the movie could be rated PG13. That’s why, when Luke noticed Sawyer turn back towards him, he stood up and smiled to himself. 

“Well, you did amazing, because I don’t want to see you ever again. Leave me alone. You’re too pathetic to look at Luke, so much that it hurts.”

----------

“There you go.” Ashton’s voice woke Sawyer from a trance. The blonde didn’t know why she agreed to meet with him. Maybe it was the shock – she didn’t expect the invite at all, and when it came, she texted back sooner than her mind could analyze every possible angle. 

She kept on going back to everything that happened, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, as if it would give her any answers. 

Just to make the rent, Sawyer shared her time between a reception desk at an art gallery and a rave club in the center. The first job was just for her, within the area of her interest, but the second one was what made the difference; at least on the nights when she wore a tighter blouse or her boobs were showing a bit more, and the tips would flow in much better than usual. She met Grace at that club, during her shift, feet hurting from standing around and hands constantly sticky from grenadine, no matter how many times she washed them. A petite, pink-haired girl approached the bar and ordered two drinks, one with alcohol, while the other one was without. Sawyer asked her why would anyone stay sober at a rave, and Grace shrugged, admitting that technically, her date wasn’t off the clock yet. Sawyer decided not to comment, but then, right after she presented the drinks on the counter, Grace pushed the mocktail towards her with a cocky smile. 

They seemed like the perfect match from the beginning, or maybe Sawyer just liked that when she was with Grace, her thoughts were taken off everything else. When they were together, she didn’t feel the need to google her best friend’s name or look through his recent concert videos on Twitter. She wasn’t tempted to text him or call him, even though she knew he wouldn’t pick up and minutes after being sent to voicemail, Sawyer would be deleting any traces of her call from their chat because she felt embarrassed. Then, she would get mad and scream into her pillow. Then, she would punch the pillow, but that didn’t change the fact that she felt stupid. 

Sometimes, you have to beat stupidity out of someone, her father would always say. So Sawyer would; her open palm connecting with her cheek, sometimes harder and sometimes missing the aim completely. Sometimes concentrating the blow on her nose rather than the cheek, or hitting the lip with her nail, making it bleed. She would slap until the cheek was red and first tears streamed down the burn. 

But she didn’t need that with Grace. She was the perfect distraction, and enjoyable at that. Sawyer could really see herself falling for that girl – her humor, her body, the way she kissed her worries away and made her scream without much effort. Grace always made the cutest promises and gave the most convincing arguments… And turned very fast from sweet to bitter, over the smallest things. But Sawyer would much rather cry over her relationship than the guy that clearly forgot she ever existed. At least Grace wanted to talk to her and touch her and kiss her in public; at least she wasn’t ashamed. 

She clearly didn’t want you that much since she fucked me!

It made Sawyer feel so stupid, to not notice any signs before. No matter how many times she analyzed the course of the four months since she and the band reconnected, she couldn’t find any hint that this would happen. Grace didn’t seem fazed by her girlfriend knowing a pretty famous band. She wasn’t rendered speechless by shaking Calum Hood’s hand. She sure as hell didn’t seem to be attracted to any of them. Hell, for all that Sawyer knew, Grace was a full on lesbian. All of that made her go in circles around those few memories she had of their interactions, trying to find the moment when Luke looked at Grace differently, or where her body language changed. She tried to find the solution to the problem until her head hurt and frustration set in, and from there, the line to screaming and kicking and hitting was very thin. 

Irwin passed her a strawberry beer and sat down next to her. A few metres away, a group of high schoolers was starting to drink away to celebrate the weekend. Sawyer couldn’t look away, even though her gaze harbored a lot of disgust. 

It’s on those parties where people would promise each other things, like friendship until the grave. Eventually, the only thing left of them was a hangover and disappointment. 

“Look, if Luke sent you here to apologize for him…”

“Now, where did that idea come from?” Ashton asked, furrowing his brows. He took a swing out of his bottle, looking towards the group too. Back then, those parties seemed like a lot of fun, especially when they had to make a run for it away from police. Now, when his house would turn into a club every weekend, it just looked silly. “No, Luke didn’t send me. After all, you could say I’m a little pissed at him.”

Sawyer frowned. Maybe it made her naive, but his words simply didn’t make sense in her head. They haven’t been spending any time together recently, nowhere near what they used to. Her perception of Luke, Calum, Michael and Ashton changed from the real state of things to the way the media presented them, to their Instagram posts and fan commentary on their behavior. She felt left out – like just another consumer of their unbreakable friendship. She knew that the three guys would follow Hemmings into a hurricane, and honest to God, Sawyer couldn’t blame them. Maybe she would follow him too… Honestly, Sawyer was already losing it herself, how much she would be able to do in the name of their childhood friendship. 

“Why? Ashton, you’re best friends.”

Ashton put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, so that Sawyer could lean on him. She swallowed hard – Ashwood had never been that person, but recently, she really needed a hug. Another thing to add to the list of reasons of why she felt like a fucking idiot. 

“I’m friends with you too, Sawyer.” She snorted at his statement. Sawyer expected him to roll his eyes, but he just stared at her with the same disappointment she gave to those kids. His arm dropped from her shoulder, and for a second, she wanted to protest, the weight leaving a phantom pain behind, but he already wrapped his hands around the bottle. “I mean it. Mike is mad at him too. He even said that if Luke won’t stop acting like this, we’ll need to look for a new guitarist. Calum basically breathed down his neck until he deleted Grace’s number and blocked her everywhere.”

She looked down on the pavement. Sawyer had always been hasty. She drew conclusions too quickly and then stubbornly wouldn’t admit her mistake. She hated that about herself, but couldn’t change that behaviour – or maybe she just didn’t want to, because it meant too much work. Everyone always told her at times like these that she should go to a specialist; her highs weren’t supposed to be this high and lows weren’t supposed to be this low. But Sawyer didn’t trust specialists, ever since a bunch of them proved unable to diagnose ADHD in her youth. Everyone told her parents that she was normal, because during an appointment she could sit calmly in an armchair instead of running around the clinic; then they would come back home, where she still couldn’t concentrate, remember the instructions or keep order. Her mum would get mad at her and stop talking to her own daughter until she cleans up her act; her dad would scream, because what fourteen year old forgets to put a plate in the dishwasher or can’t study for a simple math exam. They would call her lazy, an idiot, a fuck up. Sawyer would go to her room and cry, try to muffle it with her pillow or t-shirt, hell, sometimes even fist, because her dad would always say that she doesn’t get to cry because of her own incompetence. She didn’t know she ended up in a psychologist’s office at the end of her freshman year,it could have been her terrible grades or another fight, but it was on this doctor’s recommendation that she finally got a diagnosis… 

…and an explanation that she couldn’t get angry about it, because it’s completely normal that it’s harder to diagnose girls. 

Even when they prescribed her medication, Sawyer didn’t want to take it. Because of the doctors, she had to manage without the pills her whole childhood and most of the teenage years. If she did it for that long, she could also manage now. It was too late for therapy or other crap that everyone suddenly deemed necessary. All Sawyer wanted was to forget; if all of her symptoms were normal until now, she intended to continue treating them like that. Unfortunately, that very attitude made her unable to cope with it all, and as a result, Sawyer developed a series of traits that she didn’t try to get rid off, even though she could. In the end, she could blame almost everything on ADHD – even though, more often than not, it was the result of her sulking and oversights. 

“Ash…” she sighed. “I appreciate it, okay? You know I love you. I- I love Luke too. I just can’t understand why none of you would tell me about it.” Sawyer shrugged. 

Now, it was Ashton’s turn to act like the pavement was suddenly very interesting. 

“You can’t tell me you didn’t know anything. It was Luke’s fault, yes, but you allowed me to be in a relationship with someone who cheated on me.”

“Sawyer, you know it wasn’t our place to tell you about it,” he cut in. 

Sawyer pursed like lips into a thin line, because Ashton was right, as always. If they had run to her with this information, she would have been pissed at everyone; Luke would probably be lying in a grave right now, probably beaten to a pulp with an easel or another random item lying around her small room. 

However, after a moment of silence, she asked quietly: “Is he even a bit sorry about the way he acted?”

It was just a shallow manifestation of her desires. Ashwood wanted him to regret it, even if he didn’t shed a tear. She wanted it to stay with him, etched on his consciousness forever, haunting his every relationship. First of all, Sawyer wanted Luke to realise that his pathetic excuses from the party were fucking worthless.

“He is.” Ashton hugged her again. It took him a second to find the right words. “Only… Hemmo style, you know.”

Sawyer knew. She could clearly imagine her friend drunk to the point of unconsciousness, with red eyes, babbling incomprehensibly to anyone who would listen. His style was to suppress problems, often more than necessary. Looking them in the eye… She had never seen Luke do that. Before it even occurred to him to draw conclusions, to come to the terms with consequences, he had to drink and fuck and party them away. 

Not that Sawyer was any better. 

“I know,” she muttered. 

----------

“Hi.”

Sawyer jumped. The kitchen in her friends’ rental home was huge, even by her standard, and Sawyer grew up wealthy. A black bikini hugged her pale body, revealing many tattoos, and wet hair stuck to the nape of her neck. Without make up, her under eye bags could shine with all their glory, and pale lips almost blended in with her skin tone. She only wanted to grab more of the sparkling water before getting back to the swimming pool in their garden. When Ashton invited her last time they saw each other, she initially didn’t want to come, but caved in once Calum and Michael also texted her, nagging to agree. Luke was supposed to be gone, and it was the only fact to convince her – she was ready to rebuild the friendship with the remaining three boys, but the wounds from that night were still fresh. 

She made an attempt to just move on and forget, even though that wasn’t something Sawyer would usually do. She truly meant it when she said that she wasted enough time and energy on everything to do with Luke in the span of the last few years. 

Sadly, when she turned around to face the entrance to the kitchen, Luke was exactly the person to stand there. Seeing a purple bruise on his cheek, Sawyer felt pride. At least she made a physical mark, if her words didn’t seem to land. 

“Hi,” she said, speeding up the process of pouring the drink into her glass. She could feel his eyes scanning her exposed body, and although the suit covered everything it should, under his gaze Sawyer felt almost naked. He probably judged her ink, wondered how Grace found her attractive in the first place. From multiple, messy tattoos on her arms, to an ornament on her stomach and silly cat design on her knees, she could become a color book.  It definitely wasn't something Luke was used to seeing on the bodies of all the model’s and pretty girls that came to their parties. Their hair wasn’t fried by bleach, the black polish on their nails wasn’t half-scratched and their lips weren’t chapped. But as she stole a look at him… That definitely wasn’t disgust. 

Once upon a time, she wished for Luke to look at her like this. Grace was the first person who managed to make her move on from this sick fantasy of his affection; not only friendly touches, but something on a completely different level. When it first appeared in her dreams, she wanted to wash her eyes with Listerine, but soon after that, Sawyer just… went with it. She couldn’t fight her body’s physical reaction even if she tried, and her body definitely reacted.

It was a shame it didn't get the memo that Luke didn’t exist to them anymore; especially when her nipples started to harden under his gaze, and the black bra did nothing to hide it. The only thing Sawyer could do was hurry to the terrace. 

“Sawyer, can you bring some more beers?!” Michael called from the pool. She closed her eyes, irritated. It didn’t help that instead of going further into the house, Luke just stood there, staring. Sawyer was growing pissed at him again, for that simple fact alone. Sure, it was her decision to come over, but he could at least make it easier for the both of them. Her head was working overtime to understand what he was expecting – after the conversation with Ashton, she couldn’t find her footing between hating Hemmings and just wanting him to finally find a good enough excuse that would let her forget and move on. But Sawyer also knew that getting back to how they were wouldn’t satisfy her. She desperately wanted back her friend, the one who gave the best hugs, always helped wash the dye out of her hair, and would listen for hours as she babbled on about the new art exhibition or her last, terrible hook up.

“Sure!” She opened the fridge, but couldn’t find any new cans inside. Sawyer huffed, and started checking the cabinets. She had no idea where it was, and after stumbling through the plates, glasses, almost empty spices, she was nowhere near finding the six-pack. 

“It’s here.”

Luke came up behind the kitchen island, fitting into the space next to Sawyer. She turned, leaning her hips against the counter, and drilled her eyes into his face. Even though he opened a floor length cabinet and pulled out what she needed, Luke wouldn’t stop staring at her face, and as a result, they maintained a heavy eye contact that made Sawyer’s skin tingle. The stupid lip ring seemed to taunt her, because she wasn’t able to look away. 

It was hard to pinpoint when she started finding Luke attractive – one day, maybe after she saw him in a suit for Ben’s graduation or after one of the Sunday dinners, when they went to the beach, to surf with his family, she came home and the only thought in her head, as Sawyer slipped her hand under the waistband of her shorts, was Luke’s eyes, and his lips, and the texture of his palm when he grabbed her arm, and the way he could push her around with little effort. She felt giddy because of the overwhelming feeling the whole day, knowing deep down that this wasn’t good; not how friends were supposed to think about each other. 

“Thanks,” she breathed, taking the beer from his hand. Once upon a time, they were the same height, but now Luke towered over her with multiple centimeters in favor. Sawyer felt trapped between his hard body and the counter. Usually, she would be too stubborn to be the first person to look away, but today, all Sawyer wanted was to be smart. 

She looked away, and tried to make her way away from him, away from the kitchen. The longer Sawyer stayed close to Luke, the harder it was to remember that she didn’t want anything to do with him. Her mind and common sense might have been saying one thing, but her body and the nostalgia flooding every second she looked at him… She would prefer him to come back home after she left for the day. Nothing was easier knowing that she could jump back to the old routine, yearning for every sign of him. It would also mean absolute lack of self-respect, but at the end of the day Sawyer knew damn well that she didn’t have much of that in the first place. 

Luke’s whole palm closed around her thin upper arm when he grabbed her. 

“You don’t have to run away from me,” he said, brushing blond hair out of his eyes. He was dressed neater than usually, an ironed t-shirt and dress parts that Sawyer had not seen him in before. Not that she had seen much of him since they left. Only then did she realise that it was Sunday, and Luke probably came back from the dinner at his parents’ house. She used to be invited to those, and even continued going after Luke was across the planet, but things flaked off once the big drama at her house happened and Sawyer cut ties with her family. She had always loved Liz and appreciated everything that Hemmings’ did for her, but deep down, she knew that Liz would talk about her to her mum, and Sawyer wanted nothing to do with them. She could do well just fine by herself, and giving them an opportunity to keep tabs on her was as far out of her interest zone as possible. 

“Luke… I really don’t want to talk about all of that,” she admitted, not bothering to pull her arm out of his grip. “It’s better if we just ignore each other.” In her hand, that was the only solution that made sense. 

Sawyer always missed Luke, she thought about him and watched out for him in the news. She fixated so much on his person, she seemed to have forgotten that although Calum, Mike and Ashton were friends she made much later, they were also a huge part of her life and a comfort zone. Knowing that they valued her as a friend even after all this time, made her want to make amends. 

“Sawyer, you’re at my house,” he scoffed. 

“Oh,” Sawyer matched his tone and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you going to be a dick again? I’m here for your housemates, Luke,” she clarified, although both of them knew that.  What she didn’t know was that Ashton told Luke about her visit, and it made blond that much more motivated to leave the family dinner earlier. “Now, will you let me go, or do you have some more brilliant comments?”

“I’m not being a dick…” He immediately let go of her arm, the warmth of his touch leaving a red mark on her pale skin. Luke tried to find the right words, something that might give him a fighting chance. 

When he came to his childhood house, Liz noticed the bruise on his cheek from the moment she opened the doors and his brother teased him about it through the whole dinner. Luke had been on edge since that party, not only Sawyer making a valid scene, but also his bandmates switching sides; the last thing he needed was Ben and Jack being nosy about the plum markings on his face. Naturally, Luke snapped at them and admitted that the reason for his appearance was Sawyer. His mum always dropped a plate of potatoes, and she didn’t even wait until they finished eating before asking what the fuck did he do to provoke her. Of course, as much as Luke tried to play it down and lead his mother away from the topic of the blonde, the more she drilled, and eventually, Luke had to end up telling her some version of what happened recently. Simply saying, Liz was not a fan of that – she lectured him on how to treat a woman, especially a woman that you have feelings for. Luke wanted to laugh, but after another twenty minutes of the one sided conversation, he was pretty sure his mum might have been right. 

There was nothing casual about the way he felt about Sawyer Ashwood. 

Looking at her then, ready to leave that kitchen with her back turned on him, miscellaneous colored hair glued to her nape and a black swimming suit hugging her hips tightly, Luke felt like this was his last chance to get that point across. All he wanted to do was get back to how they were, except not really, because this time around, he also wanted to be able to kiss her lips anytime he wanted; he wanted to know her every tattoo in detail, trail his tongue across every inch of her skin, make sure that when they go on the next tour, she’ll be waiting back here for him. Even if Sawyer wasn’t able to see it now, Luke would give her time, but beforehand, ruin her so thoroughly she wouldn’t be able to look at anyone else. 

“I meant what I said at the party,” he said, ready for the hurricane that it might invoke. “The part about how I didn’t want to see you with Grace. I was jealous that she just gets to have you…” The blonde turned around, her expression hard to read. Luke was ready for her to approach him and slap him in the bruised cheek again, but she just stood there, considering his words. He took it as a sign to continue. “Look, I fucked up. I should have been calling and texting while we were away, fuck, send you letters. But a part of me wanted to move on.”

“And did you? Move on I mean?” she asked, her brown eyes darker. She set her glass and the beer on the counter, leaning on it with her hip. The two meters of space between them seemed like a lot, but at least Luke was able to think straight; when she was close, he felt a step from complete madness, his every bone screaming to just close the distance and finally have the kiss that he dreamed about for years. It wasn’t just about the way Sawyer looked; it was about knowing how fierce she was and she would match him beat for beat. 

“No! Why would I sleep with Grace if I did?” he asked, exasperated. How could she not get it? Sawyer was never a good student, but Luke would never call her stupid. Maybe she wasn’t the best from math or geography, but she would figure out any situation. 

“I don’t know Luke! You’re giving me mixed signals all the time!” Sawyer needed no time to get just as riled up, and although it should have made him scared, it only made the desire under his skin crawl. He couldn’t bear to look at her and not feel it stirring in his stomach, when all the blonde was wearing was the swimming suit. “We've been best friends since we were born, and then all of a sudden you leave and cut ties with me! Then you come back, and start inviting me to parties as if nothing happened. You sleep with my fucking girlfriend, but for some reason, it’s because you want me? Sorry if it doesn’t make any fucking sense!” She gesticulated with her hands, and raised her voice. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Calum coming up to the glass terrace doors, closing them to give the two some privacy. He was not stupid; he knew that Ashton probably planned it exactly so they could bump into each other and work this out, because Irwin couldn’t help but meddle in people’s business. 

“I do want you! Why is that so hard to believe, Sawyer?!” 

All her life, all Sawyer wanted was to be loved and cherished, and she found a friend who did just that. Was it wishful thinking, wanting to have that friendship forever? It all begun getting complicated when she started having a fucking crush on Luke, or maybe just on the way he looked, but back then, she was able to control it. Sawyer could move past that. She could sleep with other people, women to take her mind off his appearance, and guys who could pass as him under the right light. She could gaslight herself into relationship after relationship, acting like he wasn’t the person she thought about when they fucked. 

“Because you said you want me as a friend, and then you stopped taking my calls! You told me it was all going to be ok, but it wasn’t, Luke! I needed a friend, so many times, and you wouldn’t pick up your damn phone! You lied to me about Grace! I know I used to be able to read you, but not anymore! I don’t think I even trust anything that’s coming out of your mouth-”

Luke cut her off – he wasn’t able to listen to this anymore, mostly because deep down he realised that Sawyer was right about everything. She had no reasons to trust him, but he also knew that this call was coming from somewhere else. He only noticed it after his mum pointed it out, but the blonde always seemed to put herself down. Luke knew it was probably because of her parents; her dad would always comment on her clothes being too revealing, then being too baggy. Once Sawyer was too skinny, another time too fat, and then on a good day he would buy her sweets on top of that. It didn’t help that her mum would always talk about Sawyer getting a nose job in the feature. At some point, she started modifying her appearance for her own pleasure, but also to give her parents something else to talk about than her face and her body. 

It’s not that Luke had always been attracted to his best friend, but he grew to appreciate her looks a bit too much. Maybe it was contemplating her profile for too long, or stalking her social media when Calum snored a bit too loud. Her pointed slim nose and the warm brown of her eyes, that stared into your soul and saw every little piece of you; her petite body, shoulders covered in light freckles and those fucking tattoos, that she somehow positioned in all the right places. Multiple times, Luke would dream of painting them over with his tongue – the vines on her underboob, the tribal below her navel, that fucking tramp stamp she got illegally done at sixteen that said “babygirl”. He also dreamed of tasting the cherry Carmex off her lips, and seeing how sensitive her nipples were, since Sawyer rarely wears a bra and more than often, he was able to get a good look at them. 

Fuck, Luke wanted to have his way with her, trapped in his sheets of hours, and showing just how strong his desire was. Just how pretty and attractive she had always been to him. 

First, though, he had to shut her up – and the only effective way to do that seemed to be connecting their lips in a kiss. It was bruising, because the longer Luke listened to her monologue, the more pissed he would get; at himself and at everything around them that just wouldn’t let this happen properly. He should have invited her on a date, showered her with tour tickets, and flown her out to cities just to have her at his side for a few hours. But it was too late for that, and instead, the only idea in his head was to close the distance between them and just show her first hand how much she meant. 

At first, she just stood there, unmoving and shocked. The last thing Sawyer expected was for him to actually kiss her, to feel his hands grip on to her hips and hold her in place. Would he stop if she stayed unresponsive? Just how far was Luke willing to take this? Sawyer knew damn well that if he allowed to take her foot off the break, she wouldn’t be able to stop again. She closed her eyes, slowly putting her own hands on his shoulders, letting her lips purse, trying to kiss back just when Luke decided to pull away. His eyes were glazed over and hooded as he looked at her, breathing hard. 

“Do you trust this?” he asked, his voice hoarse. His fingers trailed to the naked skin on her stomach. “Was this honest enough for you?”

Sawyer frowned, trying to make sense of his words. Her brain was screaming, going into overdrive. This was definitely overstimulating, but the restless butterflies in her stomach made Sawyer hesitant to stop. There was no going back from this anyway, and even if Luke would turn his back on her again afterwards, at least she would know if those years of daydreaming were justified. 

“No,” she breathed out, inhaling sharply, before letting her hands drift to the nape of his neck. Standing on her toes, Sawyer pulled him down, almost causing Luke to trip over. Last second, he hugged her waist, using the blonde as an anchor; soon enough, he used that same grip to lift her onto the counter, putting their faces on the same level. 

Sawyer moaned when he used her thighs to pull her to the edge; maybe because she was only wearing a swimsuit, but his every touch burned her skin. She was sure if she just took a second to look down, Luke would actually be leaving red marks in his wake. But the kiss was too all-consuming – she could taste the cigarettes he started to smoke recently and a hint of tea that she knew for a fact Liz made everyone drink after the dinner. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, it forced her to gasp and cling to his neck harder. And that fucking ring… Feeling it against her lips was driving Sawyer crazy. 

His hands explored her skin, skimming from the thighs to the sides of her stomach, sometimes hooking under the lines of her bikini bottoms. Luke had the placement of her tattoos burned into his brain, and Sawyer noticed that his thumb always circulated the lines on her hip, the design on her knees. She could feel his fingertips touching the material of her bikini top, and scoffed when he wouldn’t even grab her breast through it. They were way past shy, when she could feel the material of her panties slowly become soaked in the arousal. 

“Just touch me,” she suggested, breaking the kiss. Her forehead resting against his, the blonde tried to collect herself at least a little bit. The calloused fingertips of his fingers caused by playing the guitar without a pick made her shiver. The way Luke looked at her, Sawyer could tell that he was too far gone. She herself was only able to think straight because of the stress that inwillingly settled itself in the back of her head. 

Sex wasn’t anything new to her. In a way, Sawyer was a highly experienced person, and her ex partners would confirm just that. No matter how many hook ups she had though, Sawyer was sure Luke outdid her. She was also sure that her experience, as considerable as it was, wouldn’t be that valid when it mostly limited itself to fingering and eating out girls. Luke might have been the third or fourth boy she would ever be involved with sexually, and it wasn't even that Sawyer was worried about not pleasing him, but simply making a fool out of herself. In her mind, this was a one time thing. She wouldn’t be able to get Luke to herself ever again, because for all the blonde knew, he might have forgotten about her by the very next day. 

Maybe Luke Hemmings really wanted her, but it was just another whim of a spoiled rockstar. 

Sawyer didn’t care as her lips trailed kisses down his neck, finding a particularly sensitive spot just below his jaw. She left multiple open mouth kisses just there, before closing her teeth on the creamy skin. On her lips, she could feel the short hairs of his stubble. At least Luke finally groped her chest, and hearing that just a little graze of her teeth can make him moan, Sawyer was excited to see what else she can cause. After making sure that her mark would be visible, the blonde straightened, catching his gaze again. 

“Sawyer.” It was a warning, when her hand reached behind her back to untie the knots of her suit. His breath sounded laboured, even though no one had taken their clothes off yet. Juts from sitting there, knowing what was to come, Sawyer could feel her thighs tremble in anticipation. 

“Luke.” With a teasing smile, she let the black material drop to reveal her chest. The blonde always considered it was nothing to write home about; if not for the nipples, Sawyer could probably pass as a ten year old, but she never felt tempted to do anything about it. Surgeries were too expensive and invasive, and she enjoyed not having to wear a bra enough to not feel too insecure about the size of her boobs. That said, when they immediately caught Luke’s attention and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed, a weird sense of pride coursed through her. He seemed entranced, unable to look away. 

“The guys can probably see everything in the window,” he explained, although his hands started climbing up the newly exposed skin. Sawyer smiled to herself; seeing him unable to stop his own reflexes made her desire even stronger. If he wasn’t standing in between them, he would have to clench his thighs. 

“Then take me to your bedroom, or move on and fuck me here,” Sawyer whined, letting her own hand let go of his neck to play with her own nipple. If Luke wasn’t going to, she had nothing against pleasing herself; wouldn’t be the first time someone watched her masturbate. 

Luke bit his lower lip. When he kissed her, there was no bigger plan behind it, definitely not going to bed with his best friend. Sawyer shocked him with her boldness, but Luke wasn’t the only one who changed in the last few years. If he actually took her to his bedroom, there would be no going back from this. They would fuck, and Luke would become even more confused about what the fuck was happening between them. As if the situation wasn’t confusing enough! Even though she considered this a one night stand, Luke didn’t think he would be able to survive it and move on; he would become inconsiderably whipped for Sawyer, and it was a positively scary feeling, especially knowing the kind of girl she was. Most guys wouldn’t survive Sawyer Ashwood, and it was probably the reason she almost exclusively dated women – why waste her time on someone who wouldn’t be able to handle all the wonderful and bad that came with being hers.  

She was fierce and loud, and definitely not media trained, or even possible to tame. She had feelings bigger than herself and didn’t know how to deal with them. She wouldn’t tell him if something was wrong, she wouldn’t express her feelings… Fuck, both of them were simply terrible at communicating, terrible at relationships. But Luke knew for a fact that he had a lot of time to figure it out, here, with her, and maybe Sawyer would just work with him. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, and gripped her underthighs. Sawyer’s legs curled around his waist, and soon, Luke was carrying her to his bedroom. 

Even though he moved, the room was still messy, although it had less personality. No posters, no books, just a bed and a nightstand, with a single picture from Ashton’s graduation on it. He never stayed in school long enough to get one from theirs, and when Sawyer’s ceremony happened a year later, she ended up having a breakdown and never showing up. Out of the two of them, he always had the better prospects of getting an education, but somehow she was there alone? 

He dropped her on the bed, hovering over and connecting their lips again. Sawyer’s legs never stopped hugging him, pressing their hips together. After all those years of build up, all she wanted was to just get to the main part. She pulled him down, making Luke drop his whole body on her; it was a trick to flip them, so the blonde could be on top. In no time, Luke sat up straight and started kissing her breasts, teasing one of the nipples with his thumb and  tracing the valley between them with his tongue. It was a weird sensation, his hot tongue against her skin, not so long submerged in the cold water. But all of that cold was present now, when the arousal heated her like a furnace. 

Sawyer moaned in pleasure, fiddling with the ties of her bikini on the back, to take the bra off completely. She threw it somewhere on the floor, before moving on to Luke. He couldn’t stay fully clothed while she was almost naked – her hands found the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, not caring about all the buttons. Luke helped her, raising his arms and taking his lips off her skin. One of her hands splayed across his chest, moving down to his stomach and below the navel. Sawyer bit her lip. 

She did just that in her dreams so many times, feeling like a teenage fangirl, even though she knew Luke Hemmings better than most. At some point, he just stopped being real to her, an urban legend that Sawyer kept on believing in, a conspiracy theory. Seeing him half naked, touching his skin, made a part of her brain tingle; the exact part that was slowly doubting he had ever been real. Except Luke was really fucking real, touching and kissing and having his way with her. Maybe she was just another girl for him, but for Sawyer, this meant a lot. 

She might have tried to gaslight that importance out of this encounter… But at the end of the day, Sawyer would be analysing this over and over while falling asleep, rethinking his every touch, every kiss. Her dreams didn’t come true often enough to let this go easily. 

“Like what you see?” he asked, a cocky grin across his lips, although Luke really wanted to hear that she did like it.

Sawyer had always been the kind of friend who would put on a neutral face and push toward the final goal, except now, he had no idea what it was. Was she still mad or did this mean everything had been forgiven? He was about to see her naked for the first time ever, and not knowing if she did it out of desire or spite crossed his mind more than once. Luke needed anything to grasp onto, even if it was a simple compliment. 

“I’m just wondering what Grace thought at this very moment.” 

The pointed look she sent him was enough to make Luke’s blood boil anew. Even in the middle of all of this, she had the ability to piss him off, even if just a bit. He sure as hell wasn’t getting back to this now; instead, Luke connected their lips in yet another kiss, placing her down on the mattress. He settled between her legs, while continuing to kiss down her body. His lips traveled over her skin, tongue slightly darting out to leave a wet pathway. Finally, he could explore all the ink on it, and one look up told Luke that Sawyer enjoyed it just as much. 

He hooked his fingers under the band of her bottoms, and Sawyer wasted no time to lift her hips to help him slide her off. Her lips fell open when, instead of coming fully back up, Luke settled at the feet of the mattress and started kissing up from her calf. Well, that was oddly familiar. She watched with glazed eyes, moaning softly every time he bit down on her skin or got awfully close to her core, just to back out again. While she rested on one of her elbows to be able to see Luke, the other hand sneaked into his messy hair. 

“Stop being a tease, Luke,” Sawyer huffed, pulling at the ends of the blond strands. He looked up, the blue eyes crashing into her brown ones. They were so much darker, but somehow still familiar; Sawyer realised he looked at her like this before – when they met up before prom and she wore a form fitting black dress, when they tried sneaking into a club and Sawyer made a point of wearing pants low enough to show off the stamp on her lower back. “Fuck,” she moaned, so lost in the realization that only the feeling of his fingers finally making contact woke her up. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, spreading her open with his fingers. Sawyer bit her lips, waiting for him to finally do something more than just admire and tease. It was such a guy thing to do, but she decided to stay quiet for now, if only for the sake to finally find some release. 

Sparing one last look at her blushed face, Luke finally lowered his lips. Sawyer gasped, feeling his tongue exploring her, up and down, skimming over her clit. She waited for his movements to organize, to find the rhythm that she so desperately needed. It took him a second, but eventually, Luke concentrated on her most sensitive spot, circling it with his tongue and pressing it flat. When she almost gasped for him to do more, Luke teased at her entrance with one finger, slipping it inside painfully slowly. Just his finger was much bigger that what Sawyer was usually used to start with, but she took it like a champ, without a sound. Last thing she needed was for Luke to think of her as inexperienced. 

Besides, it only took a second to get used to the feeling. Under Luke’s actions, Sawyer turned into a mess, her legs bending at the knees and falling over his shoulders, pulling on his hair a bit stronger than necessary, back arching on the mattress. The last thing Luke expected was for Sawyer to be so vocal about her pleasure. 

They both seemed to have forgotten about their friends sitting by the pool, wondering where the blonde had disappeared, even though the sounds coming from Luke’s window were pretty telling. Ashton never expected for this to happen when he invited Sawyer over, but as long as his friends weren’t fighting, he couldn’t care less. Besides, everyone around Sawyer and Luke seemed to have suspected that there was something bound to happen between them. Some people didn’t believe in friendships between boys and girls, while others thought that when you get to know someone this well, you either start to love or hate them. Judging by the moans, these two fell under the first option. 

“Luke, I need more.” Sawyer pulled at his hair again, forcing him to speed up the movement of his tongue. Luke was becoming sloppier with every second, the taste of her arousal and the sounds getting into his head. He looked up, not understanding what she meant at first. Propping herself on shaky hands, Sawyer’s palm cradled his cheek, pulling him away from her clit. “Luke, please, can you finally fuck me?” she asked, her tone full of pretension. 

“Is Sawyer Ashwood going to beg?” Luke asked with a teasing smile, but obediently left the valley between her legs, kneeling on the mattress to kiss her neck yet again. 

“Fuck no,” she scoffed, Sawyer’s fingers finding the button of his jeans and undoing it together with the zipper. She started to pull the material down together with his boxers, her short nails scratching at his skin when the jeans got stuck. Noticing it, Luke helped her, pulling them low enough for his hard cock to spring free. “Oh my- Shit,” she cursed, seeing his length and girth. Blush immediately covered her cheeks at the thought of making him fit alone. The last time Sawyer was in bed with a guy, he was much smaller, and she did everything to forget the encounter afterward. 

“Wha-” Luke looked up, and seeing her red face and eye trained on his cock, he knew something was up. Anyone else would have taken it as pure awe, but he knew Sawyer well enough to know that she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that his size was impressive. “Wait, is this your first time?” he asked, face paling. That would elevate the pressure drastically, because of all the people in the world, he wouldn't want Sawyer to have a bad first time. 

“What? No,” she breathed out, finally lifting her gaze to his shocked face. “But you are maybe the third guy to sleep with me? Feel blessed,” she added, shrugging it off. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and nothing could have been worse than her first time at some stupid party, when Sawyer decided to pull the first available blond guy into a free bedroom and strip him, both of them so drunk that it took him almost five minutes and three condoms to finally find her entrance.

“Do you have a condom?” She bit her lip. There was never a point for Sawyer to get on the pill, but now that she started sleeping with guys, maybe there were certain things to reconsider. 

Luke only nodded, stepping off the bed and almost tripping because of the jeans stuck at his knees. He kicked them off completely, before opening the night stand and pulling out a string of foil packets. He ripped one off with his teeth, opening it in the blink of an eye. The whole time, Sawyer watched his movements, studying the muscles on his stomach and everything happening below the waist, committing it to memory. The messy blond hair fell over his forehead, and all she wanted to do was snap a photo, finally having one of her own, one that no paparazzi could ever take. 

“How do you want me?” Once the condom was rolled on his cock, Luke joined her on the mattress again, finding Sawyer playing with her clit. He leaned down to her chest, taking a nipple between his teeth, eliciting another moan. Usually, he preferred his partners to stay quiet, but something about Sawyer showing off just how pleased she was made him even harder. 

“What does the chef recommend?” she asked, her voice hoarse from the moaning. Luke laughed, before laying down with his head on the pillow. His hand started stroking his cock, and he could see the fire that it ignited in Sawyer, if only by her lips parting open. 

“I want you to ride me,” he announced, reaching out to pull her closer. Sawyer straddled him obediently, sitting on his thighs. “Touch me, Ashwood,” he challenged, knowing that she wouldn’t back down from it. 

Although tentatively, Sawyer wrapped her hands around his cock and started stroking it, riding on his thigh, where her clit received the perfect amount of friction. Luke gave her a few moments to get used to his size, and when she sped up her movements, he gestured to take over. With one of his hands, he guided Sawyer’s hips up and made her sit closer, guiding the head to tease her entrance. 

She had been right in one thing – her appearances weren’t similar to the models Luke was used to sleeping with. They didn’t have tattoos or piercings in their noses, their breasts were small but at least stuck out a little bit, there were no razor bumps on their pubis and they knew how to handle a guy. But Sawyer’s rawness, all those things that she might have considered imperfections, were exactly what attracted him the worst. The blonde was real, as real as it gets; she didn’t have money to get lasers and dyed her hair at home, she wore basic cotton underwear and wasn’t a particular vixen. But Sawyer still had her confidence and didn’t care what he thought about all those little details. In the world of perfection and appearances that Luke’s routine had become, she reminded him that this was what life actually looked like, and what he actually wanted. 

“Should I go slow, or…?” He asked. Sawyer’s head was thrown back in pleasure, as he continued to slide his cock on her clit. His breath was getting laboured, because just watching the blonde as he ate her out before was enough to work him up. Luke knew he wouldn’t last long, but she also seemed close to the finish line. They could always go again – Luke would cancel all his plans just to prolong this moment of understanding between them. 

“Just go,” she cried out, biting her lip and looking down at Luke. She moved her hands from his thighs to his chest, letting her nails ram into his skin as he started pushing his cock in. Her mouth fell open, and soon, a moan escaped it. “Fuck, Luke, yes,” she gasped, slowly letting her hips drop, taking more and more of his length. 

“Sawyer, you take me so well,” Luke groaned, closing his eyes at the sensation of her tight pussy. Somehow, the realisation that he was one of the first guys to ever fuck her made him proud; a stupid, manly sensation that puffed his ego anyway. Luke grabbed her hips, helping Sawyer pace herself. Honestly, he was enjoying the slow start that allowed him to feel every inch she managed to take. “Shit, such a good girl…”

“Shut up,” she cut him off, not letting him get too creative with the nicknames. Once his whole cock was inside her, she took a second to get used to it. Sawyer had never felt so full before, even with a vibrator. 

Only after a minute, she started swaying her hips to the sides, her nails scratching Luke’s pecks. His hands helped to guide her, showing Sawyer how to move on top to pleasure both of them. She moved her hips in circles, lifting off the last few inches before falling back, each move deliberate. His tip touched the specific spot inside her every time, making both of them gasp.

With every second, she sped up her movements, making them more chaotic and sloppy. She quickly got tired of using her legs to lift her hips up and down, and soon, Luke had to help Sawyer up by lifting her himself. She was committed, and tried to last as long as possible. It was hard when the pleasure was attacking her from everywhere. 

Thankfully, Luke intervened, sitting up and driving his hips to fuck into her. Sawyer grabbed his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, moaning into his swollen lips. She could still taste herself on them, and somehow, it made her come even closer to the release. His moves got sloppier by seconds. Soon they were moaning, holding each other tightly. 

“Come for me, c’mon Sawyer,” Luke urged, kissing the corner of her mouth tenderly. 

“I can’t. I need-” she said, just when he drove his hips up with a bigger force than before, leaving her to whine. Sawyer’s head rested on Luke’s shoulder. 

“What do you need, baby?” Luke’s voice was tender. As his hips snapped up to fuck into Sawyer, he realised that even if it wasn’t her first time, he still wanted her to remember it fondly. Even before he came, Luke knew that he wanted this to happen again. He aimed to please, if only to etch himself into her memories, fuck her up so badly she wouldn’t be able to find the same pleasure anyway else. 

“Touch my clit,” she asked, and in no time, Luke’s finger was pressing against her sensitive spot, moving in circles. It took only a few more snaps of his hips to feel her thighs tremble, and hear her moaning his name. 

Even though Sawyer got her orgasm, Luke rode her through it, chasing his own release. Her body fell limp against him, but after two more sloppy moves, Luke spilled into the condom, his back falling spent against the headboard. 

“Fuck, you were incredible,” he mumbled, tired from the activity. Slowly, Sawyer raised her head from his shoulder, looking at him with a smile that could make a whole city light up. “You are incredible, Sawyer. And beautiful.” Luke leaned in, kissing her nose. He brushed through her tangled hair with his hand, taming it. 

Fuck, he had never been the one for the aftercare, but with her, all he wanted was to make sure she felt good and wouldn’t be sore the next day. 

“Thank you,” she chuckled. “We have to work on your head abilities, but…” Luke raised his brow. He hoped that they could be honest at least now, because well, this was quite a vulnerable situation. As if seeing his doubt, her expression softened. “Every time I was with a guy before, I wanted to forget about it right after, but I don’t want to forget this,” she admitted, blushing slightly. As if on cue, she started slowly lifting her hips to free herself of his cock. 

Sawyer slid off the mattress, finding her soaked panties on the floor. Typically, Luke would be the one to run from a conversation while she pushed for it, but maybe they exchanged roles. Maybe Sawyer was tired of being the bigger person, the mature one, who will prompt every conversation and motivate the solution to conflicts. For once, she didn’t want to put her heart on her sleeve for him and see the reaction it would trigger. 

“You can take a pair of my boxers, they’re in the wardrobe,” he proposed, seeing how she scanned her bottoms with doubt. Sawyer nodded, and approached the dresser door, soon finding a pair of black underwear. “So, I was good?” he asked teasingly. 

“Average,” she threw over her shoulder with a smirk, putting the boxers on. They were almost falling off her hips, but all she needed was to get downstairs, where her clothes waited on the washing machine in the bathroom. 

Sawyer found her bra on the floor, and came up to the bed, sitting down, and letting Luke tie it over her nape and back. 

“Friends don’t lie, Sawyer,” he reminded her with a scoff, but seeing her profile twist in doubt, Luke swallowed hard. “We’re friends, right?”

“I-” Sawyer stood up, looking at him with lost, brown eyes. 

She really wanted to say yes. Why throw away so many years of history because of one mistake? But a part of her couldn’t just lie to him, as if the second they weren’t done her mind hadn't drifted to the thought of Grace’s having him first. As if she could forget all those nights she needed to talk to someone and would dial his number again and again, just to end up with ten voice messages and even more doubts about her life than before. They had an idea of each other, but nothing else. Maybe she would be able to get to know him again, but Sawyer knew that it would take time to gain the old level of trust; even though it would break her heart, seeing how he looked at her with hope filling his eyes. 

She had Luke exactly where she wanted him, but somehow it wasn’t all as easy as she thought. It didn’t feel as good as she thought to deal the killing blow, even though Luke hurt her first. 

“I don’t know,” Sawyer admitted, coming up to the door. Maybe Luke needed a taste of his own medicine. “Call me when you figure your shit out, or if you want to do this again.” 

With that said, Sawyer left his bedroom, and Luke’s body slumped over the headboard. He followed her steps as long as he could, before closing his eyes and exhaling. 

Luke Hemmings knew two things:

First of all, in no universe would he have the space and mental capacity to figure his life out while sleeping with Sawyer Ashwood.

Second of all, Luke wouldn’t be able to let go of Sawyer now that he knew how it felt to have her.