kaleidoscopecth

[kaleidoscopecth]

can i request where you accidentally send ashton nudes instead of whichever other member and he ends up fucking you?

this is actually so messy and so ashton and i wanna write this so damn bad HOLY FUCKKK

[kaleidoscopecth]

i miss you. life is kicking my ass and yall are sending me such good prompts (esp about ashton, yall are filthy and MESSY!!! ily all)

[kaleidoscopecth]

please, please, please. lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: your roommate is full of surprises, it seems.

warnings: 18+ only. minors DNI. hints of dub con, veuryism, teasing, submissive!luke, dominant!femreader, sub/dom undertones, praising, light degradation/teasing, oral sex (male & female receiving), safe sane and consensual, explicit sexual content.

words: 3,783

a/n: lou planted this little seed in my head and i didn't expect a whole thing out of it, esp given my difficulty writing but.. lord, am i a whore for submissive luke. i kept this fairly mild but, alas, enjoy. x <3 (or don't, up to you.)

feedback and constructive criticism welcome. requests are open!

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

You weren’t supposed to be home tonight.

Picking up shifts at the diner, unfortunately, were unpredictable at times. The restaurant was either over-staffed or under, with no inbetween. So when your phone rang during the twenty minute drive to town, there was a fifty percent chance you’d get the don’t bother, it’s slow spiel from the manager.

After confirming twice – just to be sure, of course – that your presence wasn’t required tonight, you decide to swing by and grab a bite to eat before returning to the apartment. You fire off a quick text to your roommate, Luke, asking if he’d like anything. He’s a terrible, terrible cook. Can’t use an oven to save his life, poor thing. The two of you mainly survive off of your passable skills of recreating TikTok recipes Luke wants to try and Luke’s obsession with takeout.

When you don’t receive a response before placing the order, you decide to choose something for him anyway. The only thing Luke’s worse at than cooking is answering his phone. Half the time he’s left it somewhere with no knowledge of its whereabouts, and any other time he’s got Do Not Disturb on, so there’s really no point in contacting him at all. That’s a problem for his future girlfriend slash eventually wife, not you, his long-time friend and reluctantly, current roommate.

Living with Luke isn’t all bad. He’s got a beautiful voice. When he sings in the shower it’s like a personal concert, and although he leaves wet towels on the floor and finishes off the shampoo without telling you, he’s respectful. He doesn’t bring any girls home, so there’s no explicit noises wafting through the thin wall separating your bedrooms. And in return you do the same, keeping any activities strictly elsewhere.

It’s not like you’re having much luck in that department anyway.

Guys these days, at least the ones you’ve been meeting, don’t take too kindly to your best friend. The number of times you’ve heard oh, that’s him? you’re sure you’re just friends? is honestly ridiculous. God forbid you’re close with someone platonically these days.

And like, okay, yeah, you know Luke’s an attractive guy. With his stupid blonde hair he never styles but always falls perfectly, and his pretty, sparkly blue eyes, he’s honestly a main love interest in a romance novel for sure. But you’ve been there for Luke’s horrible acne and shuffle-dancing obsession, for his drunken karaoke nights that consist solely of the HSM3 soundtrack, you’ve seen him at his worst. 

But that’s the whole thing. He’s.. He’s like, the cutest guy on campus. The one who dates the cheerleaders or volleyball players or something equally cliche. He tells you about his failed sexcapades and shitty dates over popcorn and dollar store candy. You’re best friends, nothing more, nothing less.

Even if sometimes you wish that wasn’t the case.

Yeah, a girl with a fleeting crush on her guy best friend. A terrible cliche, really. But you know it won’t go anywhere, especially considering the fact that you’re one hundred percent not Luke’s type at all. If his hookup stories are anything to go by, you’re the moon and he’s out there looking for the sun. He likes submissive women. Luke’s not bossy but he wears the pants in the bedroom, as he says, and that’s so incredibly far from what you’re into it’s funny.

Stupid crush aside, you head back to the apartment, shaking the thoughts of Luke around in your head like a loose screw in a drawer. You’ll only be living with him for six more months, and when the lease expires on your apartment the two of you will go your separate ways. He’ll probably move in with Calum and Michael and you’ll figure something out. You can’t be stuck with him forever.

With your head full of fuzzy, Luke-centric thoughts and armed with a bag of delicious takeout from your favorite spot, the trek up to your second floor apartment seems to pass by in a blur. The fluorescent lights buzz and hum and flicker above you and eventually, within what seems like seconds, you’re fishing the apartment keys from your pocket to unlock the door.

Except nothing could have ever prepared you for what welcomes you on the other side.

The apartment is dark, save for the television illuminating the open living room in a soft glow. Your heart leaps into your throat after the door clicks shut, shoes squealing on the cheap flooring as you freeze in place, and somehow you manage not to drop your dinner. 

You can’t make out what’s unfolding on the television but you hear it, the noises and sounds of skin and pleasure, yet what catches your attention solely is your roommate. Bare skin flushed, lounging on the couch with his thighs splayed open, head tilted back with his plush, pink lips and the whiniest sounds spilling out of them. Hands roaming in places you’ve only imagined you’d ever see.

“I–” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. Like lead, preventing you from making your presence truly known. It feels all types of wrong, witnessing Luke like this, while he’s clearly in the middle of something and hadn’t expected you to be home.

You’re torn. Should you chalk this up to an awkward moment? One you can laugh about later on, and never truly acknowledge the swarm of lustful butterflies stirring inside you? Or, do you just rip the moment apart and start packing your things?

Despite the low light and gentle sounds from the video Luke had put on the t.v., you can clearly hear the sharp, low breath he sucks in when his eyes flutter open. Glimmery, sapphire blue you’d liken to the ocean, now a dark navy that makes your skin prick with goosebumps. It was a look you’d only read about in stupid books, so desperate and hopeful and sinful all at once.

“You’re– you’re home,” He sounds hoarse, as if every moan he’d retched around the apartment reduced his voice to a mere rasp. Luke’s hands don’t halt their exploration, one wrapped loosely around himself while the other traces the inside of his left thigh delicately. “Got a little ahead of myself. M’sorry.”

What the fuck?

You’re incapable of speaking, mouth fallen open like a fish out of water because what?

“Luke, I..” Your words almost sound slurred, blending into the soft sounds in the apartment. You slowly set the takeout bag on the floor, feeling so dirty with the way your eyes refuse to leave Luke. He looks almost ethereal in the television light, like something out of a magazine. “What..”

“I was hoping– hnnnf– hoping you’d wanna watch,” The way Luke’s looking at you feels wrong. Wrong, because that’s how Luke looks when he’s on the prowl, when his sights are set on some girl at the bar. Never you, though, because you’re not his type. Nothing makes sense. “From what you’ve told me – shit – you like watching. Like being in control,”

Luke’s breaths stutter as his chest begins to rise and fall a bit quicker. “And– fuck, Y/N, you have no idea how long I’ve– been thinking about it. Fantasizing. Wishing you’d come home and find me like this. Telling me where to touch, when to– I– oh fuck.”

Luke’s clearly on the edge already, desperately clinging to anything to keep himself from going over the cliff. He squeezes the base of his cock with a low hiss. “Please,” He says. Almost a plea, with how whiny it is. “Please.” He repeats.

Something inside of you snaps, then, like a rubber band pulled and pulled and pulled so tightly, a flush taking over your cheeks and body, ears hot. Your feet move of their own accord, brain a frenzy of the most ridiculous thoughts, as you slowly step closer to the couch.

Despite stretching across the entire sofa, even with his legs bent and thighs open the way they are, Luke looks so small. The way his dark lashes flutter, his hair messily strewn across his forehead, lightly dampened with sweat. He looks beautiful. 

You want to ruin him.

“You’re so desperate for it,” You say, arms crossing over your chest, nerves fluttering and buzzing every bone in your body. Words come easy, ironically now, like they’re not coming from you at all. “You did all this,” You gesture to him with your chin, eyes narrowed. “Hoping I’d be into it?”

Luke’s cock kicks in his hand. “Yeah,” He says breathily, plush lower lip tucked between his teeth. “Even if you weren’t, I’d probably get off to you yelling at me for it.”

Good Lord, is Luke Hemmings even real?

“Slow down,” You scold softly. “You’re working yourself up too much. It won’t be worth it,” He sucks in a tiny whine, you watch as his throat bobs with the noise catching there. Luke’s hips shift, as if it pains him to slow but he complies. “What else have you fantasized about?”

Luke looks bashful, then, and tears his eyes away from yours. “No, look at me.” You tell him.

He listens so well. You consider complimenting him, telling him just that, but perhaps you’ll save that for later. After this, whatever the hell it is, is over.

“Just– um,” He shudders, working himself slowly, thumb running over the tip of his cock. “Fuck, like– thought about you riding me – my face, actually. God, I love your thighs.”

“You want me to ride your face?” You ask. 

“Yes.” He whines softly, hips jerking.

“Do you think you deserve that?” 

“No.”

“At least you’re self aware,” You snort, stomach twisting as color floods Luke’s face. So bashful and embarrassed, though he doesn’t stop touching for a second. Slow and tortuous. “What do you think you deserve?”

Luke squeaks out a rasped, “Nothing.”

You watch in awe as pre-cum pools at his tip, swiped away by his thumb, beautifully slick along the length of his cock. You can’t help but let your mind run wild with the worst scenarios imaginable. The positions you’d put him in – the noises you could draw from him. He’s simply putty in your hands and you haven’t even touched him. 

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” You hum, arms uncrossing. “You at least deserve to cum.”

Luke hisses thankfully at that.

“But I’m trying to figure out how.” You say. 

Luke tosses his head back with a low, strangled groan.

“Oh, I know. You poor thing,” You tilt your head, tone mocking, as if talking to a puppy. “Think you can be a good boy and make some room for me? Just sit up a bit.”

“Fuck. Yeah, ‘kay.” Luke nods quickly, so eager to please, letting go of his dick in favor of shuffling up, sitting halfway against the arm of the couch. 

With the length of his legs there isn’t much room but it’s enough. 

You’re slammed with a thought so sudden it makes your head throb. Holy shit, this is happening. The nerves have been dormant, though you’ve been well aware of them, resting below the surface of desire that swims in your veins. The one thing you deemed unattainable, dangling like a treat in front of you.

Willing and oh so pliant. 

“Don’t touch,” You tell him, his hand quivering on his abdomen. Fingers itching to get ahold of himself again, cock kicking against his stomach. You don’t bother kicking off your shoes or discarding any clothes – that’s all part of the scene, the power imbalance between yourself and Luke. With him exposed like this, with you covered up. It sends warmth pooling between your thighs. 

Your knees sink into the couch between his splayed thighs, guiding one down so that his foot rests flat on the floor, giving you more room. Luke’s hips shift at your simple touch, so featherlight, cool fingers on hot, flushed skin. “You’re not the only one who’s been fantasizing.” 

“Y/N,” He moans softly. God, it sounds so heavenly.

“It’s funny,” You continue, letting your eyes wander, but not touching. Keeping your hands from feeling him in every way you’ve been thinking about for so long. “You talk this big game, that you call the shots. With those big shoulders and big hands, oh I’m sure you could hold me down and do whatever you’d like. And yet, you’re desperate for me to tell you what to do. How funny is that?”

With every demeaning little quip from you, Luke’s cock kicks out another spurt of pre-cum. It dribbles onto his stomach, sticky and slick. And despite your desire to watch him squirm and beg and not give in, you find yourself wondering how he tastes. 

“Y/N,” He says again, a frenzied tilt to his gravelly voice. “Please, I’m begging. Anything, do anything.”

“You sound so pretty when you beg,” You hum. “I won’t make you do it, though. Not yet, anyway. I’m dying to get your cock in my mouth.”

Luke’s face screws up, as if he’s fighting the urge to cum right there. Stomach tensed, cock flushed red and oh so hard against his stomach. He’s so beautiful. 

Carefully, you take him into your hand. He’s velvety smooth and warm, veins tensing beneath your hold. Slick at the tip, so inviting. Something akin to a squeaky, broken moan escapes him. “Yeah? You’d like that?”

“Please,” He almost slurs. “Please, Y/N. Please.”

“So polite,” You shuffle closer, warm breath fanning over the tip. You lick tentatively, keeping your eyes on him to see how he reacts. He preens instantly, a muttered yes slipping from his open mouth. “Be a good boy for me. Don’t touch.”

It feels hot in the apartment, video playing on the television drowned out by Luke’s heavy breaths and the blood pounding in your ears. The moment his tip slips past your pretty, slick lips, Luke’s absolutely gone. He’s heavy and desperate on your tongue, pulsing from the sudden heat of it, only fueling you further. Slow movements, not to overwork yourself.

Your hand rests on the base of his cock, while the other plants firmly on his hip to keep him steady. He could overpower you at any point, no doubt, but you believe firmly that he won’t. He likes this too much. Your point is proven when you witness his face crumble, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a fucking dog, desperate. 

You hum around him, letting your throat relax, keeping a consistent pace. Letting him writhe, just barely, below you.

“Y/N,” He pleads brokenly. “I– I’m– I’m not gonna–”

You withdraw from his cock with an obscene, slick pop. “Hm? What’s that?”

“I’m not gonna last long,” He says between breaths. “I swear, I’m not usually like this, I–”

“But you’re so worked up, baby,” You tilt your head, pouting your lips. “It’s alright if you’re a little quick on the trigger tonight. We’ll work on that.”

Instead of working him with your mouth, you gather a decent amount of spit and let it dribble down the length of his cock. Your hand moves slowly, so torturous, feeling every inch of him. “You know what? I’m feeling generous. If you beg me enough, I’ll let you taste me. How about that? You think you can do that?”

“Christ,” Luke mutters, his voice rising in pitch. “Fuck, Y/N. God,” His eyelashes flutter as you work him leisurely. “Please. Fuck, wanna taste you so bad. I’ll be so good, I fuckin– I swear. Won’t– won’t touch. Please, I’d– I’d be so good. So good. Please.”

He’s so debauched. Destroyed, sweat-slicked and persistent. 

“Hm, I don’t know if you want it enough.” You hum.

“I do, I swear,” Luke sounds so broken, like he’s seconds away from cracking entirely. Unable to catch his breath properly, wetness pooling at the corners of his eyes. Exactly what you’re looking for. “Y/N,” Your name sounds like a prayer falling from his mouth. “Please. Let me taste you.”

“That’s better.”

You withdraw from him entirely, and Luke can’t seem to decide if he’s upset about the lack of contact with his dick or excited about the idea of what’s to come. Regardless, you make a slow show of it, unbuttoning your pants and dragging them slowly down your legs. A lustful, yearning shade of navy blue swims in his eyes, as they zero in, hazily, on your thighs.

Your underwear join your pants soon after. “Alright baby, go ahead and lay down for me.”

Resisting the urge to coo in praise when he does exactly as you say, you drink him in one more time before doing as promised. Luke looks thoroughly wrecked, put through the wringer and he hasn’t been given the chance to cum yet. You wonder if he’ll get off to tasting you, but that thought doesn’t last long because you know he will. 

He’s flushed in shades of red, patterned across his pale skin, not easily seen from far away. The blooms look like flowers of all shapes and sizes, and your fingertips graze over his chest and neck. Luke tilts his head up to give access, silent permission, before letting his eyes fall shut when your hand tangles in his sweat-slicked hair. “You want me?” You ask.

“Yes,” Poor boy sounds so used, pent up and ready to burst at any second. Like a gust of wind could float through the apartment and he’d spill all over himself. “God, yes.”

The couch isn’t the biggest but you’re able to get comfortable, settling your thighs on either side of Luke’s head. The heat radiating from his body is delicious, warming you thoroughly. You tug carefully on his hair to draw his eyes open. They flicker to your heat first, then meet yours.

“Don’t touch,” You remind him again, but gentler this time. You can tell his mind is hazy, thoughts likely jumbled and not making a lick of sense. He nods, blinking slowly, tempted to find your heat again. “You’ll get the okay when I’m done, alright?”

Luke nods again. You swear there’s a small dribble of drool in the corner of his mouth.

“Go ahead, sweetheart.” You adjust yourself accordingly and Luke doesn’t waste a fraction of a second before his tongue swipes across your cunt, warm and wet, humming in satisfaction at the taste that greets him. You can hear him shuffling beneath you, restraining himself from touching his neglected cock, wishing to clamp his hands around your thighs.

He mouths at you like a man starved, lacking finesse but showing off his greediness, his willingness to please. You can’t judge him too harshly, for you’ve scrambled his brain a good bit. You have time to teach him properly. If he’s interested, that is.

A moan claws its way up your throat with every flick of his tongue, nips of his teeth, his desire to prove he’s worthy enough to have his head between your thighs right now. It’s adorable, you think. 

Your fingers tighten in his hair, slowing his frantic movements to guide him, allowing your hips to rock ever so slightly, the friction delicious and eliciting moan after moan from your chest. Perhaps you’re in the same boat as Luke, so pent up so quickly, for your stomach begins to coil with a sharp, electric heat and you know it won’t be long now.

Your toes curl, hips finding their own way, chasing every movement of Luke’s tongue and teeth and lips and everything they’re after. His eyes are wet, mouth hot, and the rubber band finally snaps.

It isn’t intentional but your grip on Luke’s hair is almost lethal, hips forcing downward, the friction of his nose nudging your clit the final nail in the coffin. You let go, allowing your moans and whines and shuddering sighs to fill the apartment alongside the slick sound of Luke’s overeager mouth, receiving your release with pleasure-ridden hums.

“You can touch,” Your brain feels like static, warped and numb. But there’s no movement beneath you, no yearning to get himself off. Instead, Luke’s arms clasp around your thighs and draw you impossibly closer like a madman.

Then, a broken, muffled moan against your heat, vibrating and thrumming beneath your skin. Fingers sinking into your thighs, locking you in place. The overstimulation of Luke’s tongue against you is overwhelming, but you don’t mind it. Not for the sake of what you’re considering the best night of your life.

You lift your hips, pulling at Luke’s hair to detach his greedy mouth, his lips slick with your release, eyes distant and watery and a softer blue.

A glance behind you proves he had gotten off to tasting you. Pearly white ropes decorate his heaving chest and stomach. 

You return your gaze back to him. His eyes have fluttered shut. “You did so good,” You tell him, words almost blurring together from the post-orgasm haze. Your knees cry in agony from the awkward position on the couch, and you relent, climbing off of him and collapsing into a heap of sweaty limbs on the floor. “So good, Luke.”

It feels like an eternity passes, your hearing slowly recuperating and fixating on the video still playing on the television at a low volume. You find the remote and switch it off.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, then, aside from the small stream of moonlight poking through the curtain behind the couch. Enough to make out Luke, still breathing heavily, laying flat. 

“You okay?” You ask quietly.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Luke says into the shadows.

“Luke–” He isn’t thinking clearly. He’s riding the aftershocks of his orgasm, is all. 

“Don’t worry about it now, Y/N,” He says. “We have so much shit to talk about but I’d rather do it tomorrow.”

Your anxiety rears its ugly head. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then?” You don’t get the chance to even attempt to stand before Luke’s hand clasps around your wrist.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He asks, no heat behind his words. 

“To my room, to sleep?”

“Hell no,” Luke scoffs, a light laugh following. “You’re staying in my room tonight, Y/N. And after we talk, I’m getting my mouth on you again.”

You don’t have the energy to quip back at him, to make a joke. Instead, you nod, leaving your abandoned clothes in favor of following Luke to his room. The thought of your dinner still wrapped up on the floor doesn't even cross your mind.

You weren’t supposed to be home tonight but fuck, if getting cut from work leads to nights like this, you may just have to quit your job.

[kaleidoscopecth]

babe did you get sent the prompts you asked? I want to read what you have to write 😭

yeah. i’ve been stupidly busy in my personal life and i have barely had any time to write. i have like 3k words of a part 2 for wwylm, three other different works that ive started but haven’t finished 😭

i’m sorry for the sudden hiatus, i miss writing here

[kaleidoscopecth]

Well my imagination stopped with just the pure fluff at the wedding but i'm all in for some smut, even better if its fluffy smut kisses and caresses and words of love cutie pies you know

I LOVE SOME CUTSEY “i’m still in love with you” SMUT OHHH CHILLLL

[kaleidoscopecth]

u know who i am give me my cuck cake

IM FUCKING SCREAMING FHDHBEY cuck cake my beloved, it’s just that it’s so much harder to write a cuck/bull dynamic than i originally anticipated. i don’t love the humiliation aspect of it so im in a slight slump 😭

(this is my pookie btw everyone say hi)

[kaleidoscopecth]

why won’t you love me pt 2 anyone? 😳

warning: incoming kale poll. you’ve been warned.

[kaleidoscopecth]

Hii so I have this idea for sooo long, don’t have many details, just imagined reader being Luke/Michael/Ashton sister and being in a relationship with calum before they became famous, breaking up for whatever reason but keeping in touch being friends and all that but nothing serious but then reconnecting at her brothers wedding and dancing together and calum being in awe with her just some sweet fluff lovely declaration of love or something like that I just need that so bad

i’m curious, do you want smut or just the fluff? or perhaps some fluffy reunion smut?

[kaleidoscopecth]

Puh leaseeeee write some cake or poly!sos. begging youuuu! It's a drought out here

it really is isn’t it 😔

i have posted some poly lashton! idk if you’ve read it, it’s the “in the night i dream of you (two)” and i definitely do plan to get around to writing more poly!sos

[kaleidoscopecth]

hi. i have so many drafts but im stuck on all of them (4 to be exact 😭) send in some requests maybe ill be able to use them in those drafts!!!

[kaleidoscopecth]

deal - cl16 (53/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

Warnings: 18+ (fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex), actually, no plot, just porn

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: thank you all for being so patient with me. I love you. feedback is appreciated!

Charles heartbeats slowly and steadily under your cheek as his chest rises and falls. His arm is securely wrapped around your middle, his large hand resting on your ribs, pressing you against his warm body. His other hand is on your thigh, which is draped over his hip. You are lying in bed on New Year's morning as if you were entwined with each other, not an inch of space between you, and yet you would like to be even closer to him. 

It's not the first time you've woken up next to him, but today it feels different. It feels like a dream that should never end. Like the comforting warmth of a fireplace that warms you up when snow is falling outside. Like the first rays of sunshine after a long winter. 

His fingers twitch at your side, gently pressing into your skin as Charles nods off, burying his face in his hair. You breathe out quietly. 

Two weeks ago, he was still sleeping on the couch because you were strangers. You had even locked yourself in the bedroom, worried that his intentions might not be the best. The first time you shared the bed was because of your back pain and his drinking – a makeshift solution to avoid the argument that was flaring up, which ended with neither of you being able to sleep without the other from then on. It was only ten days ago that you first touched him, when he held you that night after Raphael came to see you. 

And now you lie here in his arms, skin to skin, nestled together. Your muscles feel deliciously stiff as you press against him. Your fingertips dance lightly over his naked chest, not to wake him, but simply to feel his closeness. 

You can hardly imagine not being by his side for even one more day, being separated from him, not being his. Charles has taken you in, set you ablaze, so that you burn brightly for him. And when every one of his kisses, every one of his touches feels like last night, you burn with the strength of a thousand suns. For him. 

You gently brush your lips over his skin before carefully removing yourself from his embrace. His hands slide off your body and fall with a thud on the sheets as you sit up and look at him. His hair is a mess, some strands falling into his forehead while others stand up from his head. His long eyelashes twitch gently against his cheekbones and his mouth is slightly open.

This is real. The person who let you move in with him without expecting anything in return. The person who didn't hesitate to introduce you to both his friends and family. The person who would move mountains to protect you. 

Slowly you slide off your bed, tiptoe quietly across the room to fish Charles' shirt off the floor, and head for the door. Behind you you hear a rustling and as you turn around to see if you might have woken Charles after all, a smile creeps across your face. In his sleep, he has shifted to where you were lying, cuddled up against him. His face is pressed against your pillow and he takes a deep breath before letting out a sigh and falling back asleep. 

You close the bedroom door behind you, letting it fall quietly into the lock, before you slide your arms through the sleeves of his shirt so that it hangs off your shoulders. You walk barefoot into the kitchen, buttoning a few buttons with your fingers, where you make yourself a coffee first before gathering a few ingredients for breakfast. 

Maybe you should have taken a shower after having sex last night, but you don't want to wash Charles off of you. His touch, his scent, him. You absentmindedly sniff the shirt while mixing flour with sugar and baking powder before adding milk and eggs. 

It feels like an everyday occurrence, as if you were standing in this kitchen every morning, dressed only in Charles's shirt, preparing breakfast for the man you love. Everything seems so familiar to you, as if you hadn't only been living in this apartment for ten days, this place that was given to you as a refuge so that you would be protected. 

A place whose doors Charles opened for you. Your home. Your home. The thought of living here permanently with the Monegasque, sharing a bed and loving him with all your heart sends a warm shiver down your spine. 

Never in your entire life have you loved anyone as much as you love him. 

You scoop the dough into the hot pan on the stove with a ladle, where it immediately starts to sizzle. You skillfully turn the pancake as soon as it comes off the bottom and fry it until it is done, then place it on a plate. The smell of baking wafts through the apartment, creeping under closed doors, so you're not surprised when Charles stands in the doorway a few pancakes later, wearing his boxer briefs and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

“Good morning,” you smile and turn the last pancake before you lean on the countertop with your hands next to the stove. 

Charles lets his arms drop and crosses the room in big steps until he reaches you. He stands directly behind you, puts his big hands on your hips and leans against you. “Why did you get up?” He asks, his lips brushing your neck. “I missed you in bed.”

You tilt your head a bit to give him more space. “I thought I could make you breakfast,” you reply, reaching for the spatula and flipping the pancake. As you press against him, you feel his erection against your lower back.

“Mon amour,” he whispers, letting one of his hands move forward from your hip, where it disappears under your shirt. His fingers dance over your stomach in gentle, circular movements, a little way up, until they close around your chest. ”Thank you for making me breakfast.” His other hand also slides forward, but he pushes it south and you almost drop the spatula when his fingers pause briefly where the hem of your underwear should be, before they find your clit and gently rub. He waits until you put the pancake on the plate before continuing. “And I'm not talking about the pancakes.”

Without waiting for you to put the spatula aside, he pulls you towards him, away from the worktop. His lips find your neck, kissing and sucking while his fingers play with you. Without thinking about it, you part your thighs a little, arching towards him, wanting more. His teeth graze your pulse point as his thumb and index finger pinch your nipple. 

“Put the damn spatula away so I can finally eat my breakfast,” he whispers in your ear, and you obediently follow his command. Your knees go weak as he continues to rub your clit, slowly and gently but just right. You reach out to him, let your hands move to the back of his neck to press him against you. ”Good girl.”

He pulls away from you, but only to turn around and kiss you, taking your breath away. His tongue slips between your lips, taking over your mouth, while his fingers greedily reach for you, your hips, your tits, your ass. 

He sets you on fire – and you burn passionately. 

Falling all over each other, you stumble to the couch. With a skillful kick, Charles moves the coffee table aside and gently pushes you onto the couch before kneeling on the floor in front of you. He puts his hands on your knees, runs his thumbs over them and gently pushes them apart.

Arousal pools in your stomach and you can feel the slickness of you coating your thighs.

„Come on, mon amour“, he groans as he catches a glimpse of your bare pussy. His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the cushion. He drapes your legs over his shoulders. „There you go“, he whispers, kissing your inner thigh once. „My favorite meal.“

He dives right in, lips closing around your bud and sucking hard. His hands lie flat on your stomach, holding you in place as you squirm, hands tangling in his hair, needing him closer. 

The moment his mouth is on you, you shatter. A sharp gasp leaves your lips, back arching off the couch as heat floods your body. He doesn’t ease you into it, doesn’t tease – it seems like he’s already desperate, already lost in you as he presses his tongue deep and slow, like he's starving for you.

„Charles“, you moan, bucking your hips to meet his mouth. Your fingers grip his hair hard, but it only spurs him on. 

His warm hands glide to your thighs as you try to close them, prying them back open, keeping you exactly where he wants you. He groans against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble, your breath hitch in your throat. 

„Fuck“, you choke out, barely able to breathe, barely able to even think. 

But he doesn’t let up. He drags his tongue over you, again and again, relentless, like he’s savoring you, like he’s memorizing every sound you make, every tiny shudder. When your hips jerk against his mouth, he growls, tightening his grip and pressing deeper, until all you can do is whimper and take the pleasure he oh so nicely gives you. 

You tug at his hair, pulling him closer, half trying to push him away from the overwhelming pleasure, but he doesn’t give you a choice. He just chuckles against you, dark and hungry, before diving back in, determined to wreck you completely.

Your breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, your body tense like a live wire ash is tongue works you over. He’s unrelenting, completely lost in the taste of you, his grip bruising as he keeps you spread open for him. 

You’re falling apart, clawing at his hair, his shoulders – anything to hold onto as he drags you deeper into the pleasure that’s swallowing you whole. Every flick of his tongue, every calculated movement sends you spiraling, and when he sucks at her clit just right, you cry out, thighs squeezing around his head. 

But he doesn’t stop, nor hesitate. If anything, he growls against you, splitting you back open, holding you down with an almost hurting grip as he buries himself between your thighs again. His tongue moves faster now, messier, more desperate, like he needs you to break, needs to feel you shatter for him. 

You’re floating now, moaning his name between gasps o fair, hands fisting in his hair, in the cushion of the couch you watched his favorite movie on. Charles slides one hand up your stomach, pressing down gently, anchoring you in place as you writhe, as you tremble, as you drown under the weight of it all. 

You cry out as he groans against you – deep and hungry, like he’s the one getting wrecked by this. That sound alone sends you over the edge, your body locking up, back arching. A broken, helpless sob leaves your lips as lightnings of pleasure crash over you. 

Your body is trembling when he finally lifts his head, lips slick, eyes dark with something almost primal. You barely have a moment to catch your breath before he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your inner thigh, his fingers tracing lazy circles where his mouth just was. 

It’s like the confessions of last night made the both of you insatiable.

You shudder, overstimulated, but he doesn’t pull away. When you pry your eyes open and look down at him, he almost seems fascinated by the way you twitch beneath his touch, the way your breath still catches in your throat. 

„I’m still hungry“, he murmurs, fingers slowly gliding from your bundle of nerves between your folds, collecting your juices and his saliva, and then pressing into you, just a little, testing, teasing. 

You barely have time to process his words before he slides one digit inside, slow and deliberate, the stretch making your body tighten around him. A breathy whine leaves your lips and Charles groans in response, like the feel of you alone is enough to undo him. 

His thumb brushes over your clit in a way that makes your hips jerk once more, and he grins – practically smug now – as he curls his finger just right, sending a fresh wave of heat flooding through you. 

As your heels dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, he almost chuckles. „Relax“, he whispers, pressing a kiss to her clit as he moves again, his pace unhurried and devastating. „I’m not going anywhere.“

He adds another finger, sliding deeper this time, dragging you right back to the edge, determined to pul you under his spell all over again. Your breath stutters as he pushes in, slow and purposeful, like he’s savoring every reaction you give him. His fingers curl, pressing just right against the spot that makes you see stars, and you whimper, back arching to meet his fingers. 

You can feel his eyes on you, watching you completely transfixed, but you couldn’t care less. His free hand glides up your body, tracing the curve of your waist before settling on your stomach. His palm presses down, just enough to make you feel everything – the depth, the pressure, the way he’s completely in control. 

As your body rears up from the unexpected feeling and your nails dig into his shoulder, his tongue flicks your clit once.

„There it is“, he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction as you clench around him. He strokes deep again, a deliberate rhythm, tongue darting out to softly lick your swollen nub. 

You try to form words, but all that comes out of your mouth is a breathy, broken sound, something between a gasp and his name. That only makes him groan, his hand pressing down on your stomach once more as he drags his fingers out slowly, then sinks them back in, making sure you feel every fucking inch. 

Your hands are restless – gripping at the couch, at him, unsure wether to pull him closer or push him away from the overwhelming pleasure. But he won’t let you go anywhere. He leans closer, his lips brushing against your thigh, kissing the soft skin before leaving a bite mark. 

„Give me another, baby“, he coaxes, voice dark and full of promise. His pace quickens just slightly, his thumb circling in time with the deep, relentless strokes of his fingers. „I know you can.“

And with the way he’s working his fingers inside you, delicously and leisurely, you know he’s right. He’s going to pull you apart again, drag you into another dizzying climax, and he’s definitely not stopping until you’re a wreck for him. 

You can’t focus on anything except the warmth of his touch, the way his fingers move in sync with your racing heartbeat. Every stroke, every shift, has you gasping, your body tightening, caught in the delicate balance between pleasure and need and pain. 

His thumb traces circles, soft but persistend, pulling you deeper into the moment, coaxing you closer tot he brink. Each time you think you might break, he holds you there, teasing, waiting, letting the tension build until it feels like you’re suspended in time, lost in the sensation. 

Your fingers clutch at his hair, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as you feel yourself unravel. You’re so close, but every time you think you might shatter into million pieces, he pulls back just enough to make you ache with longing. 

Charles looks up at you, his gaze full of something unspoken, something primal. „I love you“, he reminds you. „Let go for me, mon amour“, he murmurs, his voice low, barely a whisper, but when he presses down onto your stomach once more, it hits you like a tidal wave. 

You don’t even know when it happens – how you cross that threshold – but suddenly you’re there, body tensing, every muscle locked as the pleasure inside you explodes in a rush of heat and sensation. It’s everything, everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve been waiting for.

Charles doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you breathe as he guides you through the wave, his movements steady, consistent until the last tremor fades and you’re left breathless on the couch, your juices covering your thighs and dripping down onto the cushion, utterly undone.

The air between you feels charged, thick with the weight of everything that’s been building the last few weeks. The room, once filled with nothing but the sound of your quick breaths, is now a quiet space where nothing matters but the both of you. Charles gets up from his knees and sits down beside you on the couch, pulling you close. His hands are gentle but insistend, as if he’s afraid to lose this – this connection you’ve found, this depth you’ve discovered together. 

Your heart is still racing, the aftershocks of pleasure lingering in your body, but now all you can focus on is the way Charles looks at you, the way his eyes hold a tenderness that’s almost too much. His thumbs brushes over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. 

„I’ve got you“, he promises, his voice steady, grounding you in the moment. There’s no rush, no frantic urgency. You’re both here, in this space, where time doesn’t matter. It’s just the two of you, tangled together in a way that feels completely natural, like you’re always meant to be this close. 

He leans in, pressing his lips softly to yours. The kiss is tender, slow and full of meaning. It’s not the kind of kiss that demands anything. It’s simply a reminder that this is real, that this isn’t just about the heat between the both of you – it’s about trust, about opening up to each other in a way that goes beyond the physical. 

Charles‘ hand slides down your side, and you can feel the weight of his touch – the way he holds you like you’re fragile, like you’re everything to him. You reach for him, fingers tracing the familiar lines of his skin, pulling him closer to you. 

„I love you, too“, you breathe against his lips, pushing yourself against him with the leftover strength you have. Your hands wander over his chest, needing to feel him after those two earth-shattering orgasms he just gave you. 

His hands grab you and pull you onto his lap, your sweaty back against his chest. His mouth latches onto the soft skin of your neck, leaving marks in its wake as you melt into his embrace. His fingers reach for your thighs, pressing gently into the flesh, massaging you softly. 

„You know how much I love you, right?“, he whispers, voice low and dark. 

You nod weakly and shift slightly, only now realizing that he discarded his boxer briefs some time ago. You grind against his hard cock. „I know.“

„Good“, he replies, hands gripping you and lifting you up, before sinking you down on him. You cry out at the stretch, the overstimulation, the pleasure he already gives you from pushing deeper, inch by agonizing inch. „Because I’m going to fuck you like I don’t.“

[kaleidoscopecth]

would anyone be interested in me writing for f1 too?

[kaleidoscopecth]

Best friend to lovers with calum?

FUNNY YOU SHOULD SAY!!! i started a draft for something lik this a while back… dare i say it’s a sequel to why won’t you love me… teehee.

i can’t promise it’ll be out soon because i’m slowly trying to dip my toes back into writing, and as of rn i have too many good ideas that i’m more invested in exploring but i PROMISE i will deliver on this as soon as i can 🙏🙏

[kaleidoscopecth]

NEED a pt.2 of something for the pain 🫶🏻

AHHHH i might! i don’t have much inspiration for that particular universe ATM so any more requests/suggestions to what you might like to see would be helpful!!!

[kaleidoscopecth]

I DID IT YALL

what if i do a fourth wing x 5sos blurb… set in the fourth wing world but as a one shot smut with one of the guys… just kidding, i won’t…. unless?

[kaleidoscopecth]

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

[kaleidoscopecth]

WAR IS OVER WE’VE MISSED YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NOT MORE FHAN IVE MISSED YOU!!!! MUAH MUAH MUAH