caramel

I kiss you goodnight

[lovelikelandslide]

caramel. she/they. 18

cake lane. minors do not interact. rpf nsfw dd blog.

BEFORE YOU INTERACT

Asks are open, feel free to send ideas, or just come talk to me about your fav! writing for: ☆ 5SOS (x reader, ship) REQS: open 4 suggestions masterlist

[decemberr-morning]

do you ever think about awsten kneeling and offering luke a rose in his mouth and luke smiling and shaking his head during the skh 2018 or no

[lovelikelandslide]

dj luke did some unimaginable things to me holy

sooo maybe fic/hcs (nsfw or sfw) on that topic?? maybe mixed with a little fluff with a hangover the next morning and cuddles and allat

hope you have a nice day <3

sfw n nsfw dj luke hcs

a/n: ohhh believe anon he changed my life (for better or for worse I still don't know)

𐔌 Luke is ridiculously clingy when he’s hungover, he'll just start burrowing into your chest and refusing to let you get up. He’ll complain about his headache while you play with his hair, occasionally tightening his arms around you whenever you try to move, like you'll somehow make it better.

𐔌 He always checks where you are when he’s performing. Doesn’t even matter how crowded the place is. He’ll be halfway through the set, glance towards you and immediately look a little more relaxed.

𐔌 Luke likes having you sit beside him while he works, even if you’re doing absolutely nothing. Sometimes you’ll be scrolling on your phone for an hour, and he'll randomly hand you one side of his headphones and be like “Listen to this.” because he wants your opinion and wants you to feel included.

𐔌 Shower sex after a sweaty night at the club is basically a non-negotiable for him. He hates going straight to bed when he’s still got all that leftover buzz in him, so somehow you always end up in the bathroom with him. He’ll have you backed against the tiles, the steam fogging up the mirror as you both try to keep your voices down.

𐔌 He knows you’re obsessed with his hands, so after every gig he pulls you into his lap and fingers you slow and deep while he talks about the set, his ringed fingers stretching you open while his thumb works your clit. He keeps his voice low and casual like he’s not knuckles deep in your cunt.

[lovelikelandslide]

para socially missing the writers I follow like they’re my boyfs & gfs

sorry I have neglected you all!! I will lock in soon

[lovelikelandslide]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 5000 likes!

this is actually crazyy gaah ty

[atthedivebar]

i wish i could be luke or calum’s controversially younger gf sighhhhh a girl can dream i guess

[lovelikelandslide]

after show michael fluff!! i lost the ask but someone requested this a while ago

Michael collapsed onto the hotel bed almost immediately. You couldn't really blame him, though. You'd just watched him give one of the best shows of his life. It'd been incredible, really. Even now, barely an hour later, you were still buzzing with the leftover adrenaline from it. You couldn't even imagine what it must've felt like for him, coming down from a high like that.

You followed him into the room, though you still had to get ready for bed first.

Michael pushed himself up slightly, propping his weight on his elbows as he watched you move around the room. He was exhausted—it lingered in his eyes—but it did nothing to dull the lazy grin tugging at his lips while you slipped out of your clothes and changed into your pajamas, an old shirt of his that hung loosely on your frame.

"Would you hurry up and get over here already?" he practically begged, stretching an arm toward you in a dramatic attempt to pull you closer from across the room.

You laughed softly, giving his outstretched hand a gentle squeeze while your other hand worked to unclasp one of your hoops and set it on the nightstand.

"Can't you wait five minutes?" you teased, glancing over your shoulder.

"Nope," he answered without a hint of hesitation.

"Michael—"

"Need you. Now."

The words came out so pitifully that you couldn't help but smile.

"You're unbelievable."

"Mmhm."

Despite his complaints, he looked perfectly content where he was, sprawled across the mattress with one arm hanging over the side. Still, resisting him had never really been one of your strengths. You shook your head with a quiet laugh as you finished up and climbed into bed beside him.

The second you settled down, Michael practically attached himself to you. One arm wrapped around your waist while his head immediately found its place against your chest.

Your heart fluttered. For someone so much larger than you, he somehow managed to curl into your side in a way that made him seem impossibly small.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room settled into a comfortable silence, filled only by the steady hum of the air conditioner, the muffled sounds of the city below, and Michael's slow, even breathing. It seemed like all the tension he'd been carrying around since before the show had finally melted away beneath your touch as your fingers threaded through his crimson hair.

A beat passed.

"You were amazing tonight."

Michael let out a low groan.

"I don't want to hear about tonight anymore."

You laughed softly.

"Why? You were excited about tonight."

"I've had enough. I just wanna be with you and talk about you."

You smiled, though your mind drifted back to the concert anyway.

You'd spent most of the night watching him from the VIP section, and even now you could still picture it all so clearly. How deafening the crowd had been. How every time he stepped toward the edge of his side of the stage another wave of screams rolled through the arena. People knew every word. Every single lyric of his solo, hell. Half the time, Michael barely even had to sing because the audience did it for him. They knew it all by heart.

When you told him that, he only shrugged, scrunching his nose in what looked suspiciously like embarrassment.

"They're always loud."

"Don't be humble. They're not always that loud, babe."

Michael tilted his head, finally looking up at you.

"How would you know?"

"I think I've been to enough of your shows."

"Not enough, though."

"You're right."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Michael's lips. He lifted his head just enough to look at you, his dark eyes soft with exhaustion. For a moment, he simply stared, like there was something about you he'd never get tired of looking at.

Then he leaned forward, brushing his nose gently against yours.

"My girl," he murmured, the words barely making it out, more sleepy mumble than anything else.

A quiet laugh escaped you, but before you could say anything back, he buried his face against your chest again and tightened his arms around your waist.

"Michael," you whispered fondly, combing your fingers through his hair.

He only hummed in response.

Everything felt warm and still. Curled against you, Michael's breathing grew slower and more even, his body relaxing further with every passing minute until sleep finally claimed him.

You continued to absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His grip loosened just slightly as sleep settled over him, though he never let you go.

Before long, your own eyes began to grow heavy too and wrapped in the comfort of his arms, you drifted off beside him.

[lovelikelandslide]

what do we think about a small town cowboy luke fic……

I'M FW THIS HARD

[lovelikelandslide]

Been thinking about this one lately if anyone wants to drop plot ideas...

[prayersgotothesky]

Age-gap Luke

𑣲 pairing: eas!lukehemmings x afab!reader

𑣲 warnings: smut (oral m receiving), daddy kink, pet names (baby, kitty, sweetheart), jealousy + Insecurity, slight angst (?), eas era luke, 5sos as a local band, alcohol and smoking.

𑣲 wc: 3.5k

𑣲 a/n: I kinda took this prompt and ran with it LOL, so I hope you like it! Thanks for the request anon <3. I wrote this a little differently, it’s kinda like the age gap cal fic but more involved, so I hope the formating or style isn’t too weird. Thanks for reading!

You met him in a bar. A shitty hole in the wall that always had a residual stink, dim lighting— so dim you had to squint your eyes to see the drink, or face, in front of you— and far too many bodies. However, aside from the mold on the walls and sticky floorboards, the establishment always had the best live music. Usually just small local bands, but they really knew how to rock.

Now, you wouldn’t consider yourself a groupie, but it wasn’t rare that you would hang around long after the set and feign an air of nonchalance to coax one of the members your way. They’d ask if you liked the set? Your favorite song? Drummers or guitarists? Was I your favorite? Then another member would butt in: No, I was her favorite, she threw me the eyes.

You just wanted free drinks and a good lay, and musicians were just your type.

Until you met one in particular. He had dark brown hair, though it looked dyed that way. Maybe it was once black. Later you found that was the truth, and it's naturally blonde.

Your feet scuffed against the sidewalk, steps disorganized and head pounding. Maybe that last shot was a mistake. You sighed, pausing to rather frantically dig your phone from your purse. More bodies poured out from the bar, voices loud but muffled, blending in with the fog on the street. Your feet betrayed you, apparently deciding you needed to make room for the people; the hasty movement sent you crashing into what felt like a brick wall upon impact. However, once you were forced to linger from the lead occupying your brain you felt the warmth creep in. And heard the slightly patronizing laugh.

“Can I help you?” The voice was husky and weirdly familiar.

Your eyes shot open and you hauled your form back, fixing your eyes upon the broad man above you. Holy shit, it was the fucking vocalist.

You spent the last hour ogling at him from the bar, while he and his band commanded every body in the crowd.

“…no,” you replied dumbly, finding it hard to do more than stare.

He smirked and you took a beat to look around sheepishly, noticing the alley beside the building he must’ve been walking out from when you slammed into him.

“I’m sorry,” your tongue felt heavy, was flirting always this hard? “I didn’t mean to bump into you… uhm, your set was, like, so good. All originals?”

His eyebrows raised slightly and his grin never faltered. His accent was prominent and his voice deepened from use.

“Cute, but you need’a watch where you're going.”

Your face couldn’t have gotten any more red, but it certainly tried. And the way he laughed after pissed you off a bit, actually.

He made no effort to move. Did you imagine the way he crowded your space even more?

“How old are you, anyway?” He asked.

“Old enough.”

“Is that the truth?”

You stayed silent, only blinking and crossing your arms. You’ll admit, it was a juvenile, whiny huff you let out.

He narrowed his eyes as they looked you up and down languidly.

His pink, plumpy lips drew in a sigh and on the exhale words began to slip out, only to be interrupted by a louder voice. You and the taller man both turned toward the source simultaneously, you having to peak around his form. It was one of his band members, ushering him along with a wave of the hand and calling, “mate, enough flirting, we’re leavin’.” He was shorter than the man in front of you and had arms the size of tree trunks.

The brunette threw up a hand in return and turned to leave you without a spare word. Until, while you were staring at his vast back and watching him disappear, you heard, “And yes, we only play our own shit. We’re playing again next Friday.”

That very next Friday you took an hour extra to get ready.

You made sure to be, instead of at the bar, right at the front of the crowd… fuck, when he walked out, you wanted him so bad it hurt. He had eyeliner smudged all over his eyes— even more than the first night you saw him— fingers clad with silver rings, and a red leather jacket. Your jaw hung slack.

It was during the second song that he made eye contact with you. His baby blue eyes flashed almost white with the dark makeup circling them and the stage lights. He looked unreal, a vision with a bead of sweat running down his temple and perfect ringlets hanging over his forehead. Then his knees bent into a squat and he was right in front of you, microphone pressed to soft lips.

Oh, baby, can you sympathise?

And he fucking winked, smug bastard.

It wasn’t until after the show he paid you any attention again. You were practically starving for it.

You were perched at the bar with a pleasant buzz and an achy core. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, his voice, his looming presence on stage, his skilled fingers playing over his guitar. Those fingers then ghosted over your back as he came into view beside you, stealing the air from your lungs and making you jump. He chuckled lightly, “boo.”

“Hi,” you said. Idiot.

“Hey. You waited.” It wasn’t a question.

Your cheeks flushed pink. Maybe he would believe it was just hot in there. You wanted to be cool.

“I’m getting a drink,” you tried to speak pointedly.

He hummed, amused, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You blinked.

A broad smirk overtook his features and he waved down the bartender, the man striding over easily.

“You can put hers on mine,” he told the man, referring to your tab. “And I’ll take whatever you wanna give me.”

The bartender nodded and smiled, clearly knowing him personally, “gotcha, man.”

“You didn't have to do that,” you told him, sipping the last of your drink.

He ignored you, “you looked good down there.”

You had to reel the corners of your mouth back in quickly, almost breaking out into a full, elated grin.

Keeping your cool, “and you looked good up there.”

You watched him blink in quick succession at the compliment, a small crack in his armor. He looked genuinely flattered, and you couldn’t help an unrestrained smile, feeling a bit more confident.

The bartender returned with the man’s drink, sliding it across the bar with a grin.

He took the first gulp, wincing slightly after.

“You're gonna get me in trouble.”

…

Shortly after he finished his drink, he was stringing you along, his large hand engulfing yours, and leading you backstage. He pulled you into a hallway just off from where you entered the stage, crew members voices bellowing and the noise from the bar all loud and still very much present. But all that mattered was each other, the want was visceral.

It was hardly secure. Out of the corner of your eye you could see people filing on and off the stage, carrying equipment and cleaning up.

Nevertheless, he used the force of his body to push you into the wall. His hips threw your own backward and one hand fell beside your head, the other holding a bruising grip on your waist. Your gaze pointed up and the last thing you saw before his wet lips claimed your own was his light eyes fluttering shut over a haze of lust and gloss.

It was rough immediately, you each fighting to both quicken the pace and keep up with the others fervour. You tasted his spit, the bite of alcohol and sweetness underlying. His velvety tongue worked swirls around your own, slow and deliberate.

You whined and took everything he gave you without any inhibitions. You wanted his approval, his attention, his energy, all of it to be yours. Until, you heard a noise close enough to shake your resolve. You pulled back, the man gasping in little breaths. Turning your head you saw, a couple yards away, one of his band members at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the stage. It was the same one from the other night with tree trunks for arms.

“Who is that?” You panted. He groaned, impatiently pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth as you spoke, “drummer,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I know that, who?”

He pecked the other side, willing your attention back to his mouth, anger flaring.

“Why? You want his tongue down your throat too?”

Seeing this premature possession made you so horny, wanting to find all his sensitive buttons and dig your fingers into them.

“Maybe.”

“That right?” He cooed, the underlying tone of condescension shot waves of heat straight to your core. But something that drowned out your need: you were embarrassed to admit you asked because you wanted to know more about him. Wanted to know his friends. That made you think, “I don’t know your name.”

He seemed a bit taken aback, face faltering for a split second. Immediately, you felt silly, obviously he didn’t care about details. This was a good time for him. Something stand alone, ephemeral. And normally it would’ve been for you too, but then you looked at his pretty face and the thought of this being the last night you saw him made your stomach burn and twist uncomfortably.

He must’ve noticed your glassy eyes or the way your face contorted with unease. His mask seemed to slip.

His eyes softened into an expression you hadn’t seen before.

“You’ll have time to learn it,” and he smiled a personal smile that made you need him more than the heat of the moment ever could.

୨ৎ

His name was Luke. Luke Hemmings.

You figured that out the night of your first kiss. After he smiled a personal smile and then began to kiss you again. Delicate, tender kisses. Eventually, you giggled and asked him, “shouldn’t you be helping?”

You both turned your head to watch as more equipment was carried off stage. The man with tree arms still stood there, only now he was on his phone, tapping away ferociously.

Just as Luke went to reply, “nah, they got it, I’m busy,” the man tucked his phone into his pocket and spoke over him in an amused voice, “yeah, he should be. Suckin’ face time is over… wait, aren’t you the girl from last week? That shoved Luke?”

Okay, maybe he was standing a lot closer than you and Luke both realized.

“I did not shove him!” You gasped. Luke let out a wheezy laugh.

The man snorted, outstretching a hand. You took it and you both shared a quick, soft handshake.

“Hi, I’m Ashton.”

That night ended with you helping Luke and his band load all their shit into the back of a big van. You enjoyed every second of it, though. Musicians were just your type.

About a month later you all but moved in, laundry intertwined with his, his shower and bedsheets smelling floral and sweet, the key to his house having a copy designated for your key ring.

୨ৎ

Some days, after long shifts at your waitressing job, you’d feel too exhausted to go to his gigs. Instead you’d call it early, showering, putting on one of his huge t-shirts.

You’d kiss him goodbye, telling him to have a good show, having to trust him in his solitude.

There were times he’d come home before you fell asleep and you’d quietly pad out of his bedroom with socked feet, meeting him in the living room wordlessly. In an act usually formed of pure jealousy, you knew girls were throwing themselves at him every chance they got, you'd walk up to him and press your hand to his chest, walking him backward until his calves hit the sofa. He collapsed with a thud, offering no protest as he was typically drunk or stoned. And you fell to your knees.

“Baby?” His voice was always groggy at night, especially after a gig.

The clinking of his belt rang through the desolate, silent house.

When you pulled his dick out it was soft and flushed a nice shade of pink.

He’d throw his head back, the proud column of his neck exposed and milky in the moonlight that poured in through the window. It was the only light, except maybe if you left the bedroom lamp on and its glow made its way through the crack in the door.

Your tongue jutted out first, rubbing balmy saliva over his tip. After you decided it was properly slick, you opened your mouth wide and fit him almost to the base, sucking deeply and squeezing with your throat. You liked blowing him when he was still soft, he felt like silk around your tongue and you’re able to perceive the way his weight fills out inside your mouth. If he was really wasted you’d have to work harder for it, cupping his balls and choking with how deep you take him.

Your insecurity swam underneath the surface of your skin. When you looked up at him and saw the pleasure coating his features, making him even more attractive, it almost pissed you off because everyone got to see that face, probably desire him. Probably wanna have him the way you have him now. Maybe they had him the way you had him now, and you’d never know. Those notions would spur you into bobbing your head faster and taking in less air, falling lightheaded. You pulled off his now hard cock, strings of saliva connecting it to your lips. Your need for reassurance screamed, “do you think any other girl could suck your dick like me, daddy?”

He gasped deep in his chest, thighs trembling subtly, “no, fuck, no kitty, they couldn’t.”

“Make me believe it,” you mewled.

“No girl,” his breath shook, “could ever make me feel the way you do, kitty.”

It made you grin happily. Even more so when he brought his giant hand down and placed it on your head, running his lengthy fingers through your strands and scratching your scalp softly. On these nights he never pushed. He didn’t use his hold to command your mouth, he just let your feelings turn to consumption and ravage him. You stroked his big cock when you had to breathe, inhaling through your nose and blinking up at him.

When he came you always made sure it was down your throat, hoping that maybe if his essence was buried inside you he’d never want to be with anyone else. He’d nurture the seed here, inside you, and his bones would desire you so badly they threatened to jump out of his skin if he wasn’t around you. A bond. Maybe.

But other times when he came home, dick already swollen from thoughts of you, you’d already be in a fitful sleep. You stirred after he merely shook your shoulder and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered. You sat up on the side of the bed sluggishly. And before you could even reply he’d already be working your shirt over your head in a messy, drunken flash of groping hands and little apologies falling from his lips. He offered sloppy kisses that you sleepily yet eagerly reciprocated, his shoulders hunched forward in order to reach your lips and his hands were on either side of your face, squishing your cheeks affectionately.

The way his bulge was pressing against the teeth of his zipper was painful; he winced working his jeans down and boxers down simultaneously. The chill of the room bit at your newly exposed nipples, peaking the buds before he rolled them in between his fingertips and under the pads of his thumbs.

You opened your jaw obediently, just waiting until he finally shoved his cock past your lips.

“Jesus Christ,” he drawled.

It never took long, except sometimes he’d draw it out by running his leaky tip over your lips, soft cheeks, and tongue, or have to focus extra hard on keeping his balance (if that happened you’d anchor your hands to his hips and aid the drive of his dick down your throat). But usually he’d impatiently and brutishly enter your warm mouth and immediately start his hounding. Your ankles were crossed, hands on either side of your thighs, gripping the mattress.

“M’sorry, mm— ah,” he pushed his hips forward, making you gag, “for waking you up, just need it…”

A wet spot formed on your panties.

One of his large hands was holding your hair up in a ponytail and the other was on the back of your neck, hauling your face forward to match his thrusts. When he came you didn’t miss a drop, making sure your nose was nestled into his soft blonde pubes at the base. You swallowed the pearly ropes down gratefully, massaging it all from his balls with your fingers.

You always slept well after, in his arms. His presence silenced the noise in your head. He was so warm, the heat rolled off of him in waves. Whether that was natural or just reflecting the lingering burn in his belly from the drinks, you didn’t know. He was warm on a regular night as well, so you assumed it was a bit of both.

During the mornings after, you’d pull him into the shower and scrub away the sweat from his limbs, then he’d hold you until the water ran cold, humming and swaying you in his arms.

୨ৎ

One day his eyes were shut and his face was pointed toward the sun. You both were sitting on his balcony, high. A blunt sat in the dirty ashtray and your mouth felt dry.

"You ever gonna put that back in?” you asked Luke.

Your feet were strung over his lap; you used your socked foot to indicate the scar under his lip, toes skimming his skin. Your leg fell again and he splayed a hand over your calf.

His stubble and long eyelashes seemed to shine in the light. Watching him so intently made your body feel as though it was gonna melt into the sofa beneath you.

He huffed, slightly amused, ultimately shaking his head and responding through chuckles, “such’a child.”

“But I bet it’d feel so good on my lips when we kiss… did you ever used to pull it in between your teeth, maybe when you’d get nervous or frustrated? It'd be so hot, Lu,” you spoke softly.

“No, no, you're not gonna whine your way into this one, baby.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You can at least answer my question.”

He thought for a second, tapping his fingers rhythmically over your shin then starting to massage your foot between his hands. “Yea, I did, from what I can remember. It was a long time ago.”

“That’s sweet. Really nothing I can do to convince you?” you pout.

“Nope.”

“You’re no fun.”

୨ৎ

Sometimes, late at night, he’d play his guitar on the squishy couch with your head laying in his lap. His fingers would strum over the strings right behind your ears. His knee bounced almost imperceptibly against your cheek. You could feel the vibrations of every cord inside the folds of your brain, so close and deep and yours. They sounded like promises. They swore he’d be yours forever. They swore nothing else mattered but the make up of your souls, yours and his intertwined. Your age and growing and position in life all didn’t matter. Just your atoms. Who you both were. But when his fingers grew tired and indolent, the numbing sound would stop and every concern flooded back to the surface like bile. The thought of being used. Considering what he did on the nights when you were enveloped in his sheets and he was out. Images of disappointed faces. The idea of him leaving, the worst was the prospect that it might be inevitable. Sometimes a tear would spill from the corner of your eye. He’d hear you sniff, no matter how faint, and sit the instrument down beside him, scooping you up in his long arms. His warmth would engulf you, sometimes being enough to ward off your penetrative thoughts. Sometimes not. Sometimes you’d just cry harder and tuck your face into his sweet neck and paint it with your tears. He never asked what was wrong, because he knew; he just stroked warm hands over your back and rocked you side to side. Luke would call you his baby. His sweet, sensitive baby.

୨ৎ

[lovelikelandslide]

WHO UP ?? WHO WANNA DISCUSS DJ LUKE

[m5ra-sos]

When you casually have a d/s relationship with your bandmate

[lovelikelandslide]

subby youngblood era calum hcs!!

nsfw sub youngblood era calum hcs

a/n: hi interact with me im so bored :B

𐔌 Calum is incredibly cocky in public, always smirking at you and teasing you like he owns the entire fucking world. But the second it's just the two of you, all that goes away. He'd give up the entire world for you without a second thought—just say the word.

𐔌 He secretly gets off on you using his credit card. He genuinely loves it, there's something about watching you casually pull out his credit card, knowing you're spending his money without a second thought, that so gets to him.

𐔌 The sound of him eating you out is the only thing he wants to hear, but the absolute peak for him is when you take control. The moment you wrap your fingers in his curls and force his face hard against your cunt, grinding your weight into his nose and lips with no care whatsoever, too focused on your own bliss, that makes him go completely feral. Being used sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to his cock.

𐔌 He loves the way you use his size against him. When you push at his chest, he goes back without a fight, even though he could always easily resist he just doesn't. He’ll sit there, legs spread, big hands resting on his thighs, letting you climb into his lap and take whatever you want. The contrast of your frame against his makes him throb—he’s way stronger but none of that matters when you tell him to stay still.

𐔌 Calum loves the ache he feels when you deny him. When you edge him for what feels like hours—stroking his thick cock slowly, stopping every time his hips twitch. He stays obedient, silent with his jaw clenched. He could easily take what he wants, but he won’t. Not until you say he can. And when you finally let him come, it’s with a grateful groan that sounds nothing like the man the rest of the world gets to see.

[outerspacexcarryon]

anything with nerd bf luke and ill owe you my lifeeee 🥹. i missed your acc so much

nerd!luke helps his girlfriend set up a myspace requested by: anon! genre: fluff, blurb, luke x reader word count: 540 words! cw: none! author’s note: i’m so glad i got a request oh my god !!!! yay !!!! yayay!!! confetti confetti balloons !!!

luke’s parents have always been strict with him. it started in childhood when they realized the exceptional intelligence he showed surpassed that of his peers. seeing potential in this trait, they filled his schedule with tutoring and left no room for socialization or for frivolous things like girlfriends. but luke managed to get lucky, despite his limited exposure to girls.

having a girlfriend was new and exciting— and he wanted to feel this way as much as possible, which meant spending as much time with you as you allowed him to. but luke’s parents didn’t like his newfound habit of going out every night. for all his mother knew, he could be slumped over in an alley somewhere. 

both of you knew that luke would never in a million years disobey his parents. so, the two of you were forced to resort to other means of communication.

“sooo… what’s the point of me having this? can’t we just call each other like a normal couple?” you stretch lazily on your mattress, head tilted to the side just enough to see your boyfriend sitting at your desk. 

luke sits up straight in your desk chair, “because i wanna be able to talk to you after 9pm.” when he notices your confusion, he lowers his gaze in embarrassment and elaborates in a awkward tone. “...m’ supposed to give up my phone before bed. i’ve been doing it since i was 12.”

a chuckle escapes you almost mockingly. standing up, you stoop over the boy to press a kiss to his nose. “you’re not a kid anymore, i’m sure it’ll be fine if you keep it with you for an extra hour.” you can see his confidence waver behind his eyes, so you correct yourself. “it’s cute that you still do it though. very obedient of you.”

he leans into your touch, placing his hands on your hips and tugging you down onto his lap. with your legs resting across his, he turns the both of you to face the computer. “here, look..” he directs your attention to the screen where a blank profile awaits your customization. “you can make it look however you want if you know the proper coding.”

“ohhh right!... the coding..” you nod in a desperate attempt to not seem stupid, but the pause after your words tells him that you haven’t got a clue what he’s talking about— not that luke judged you for it. he knew that it wasn’t a common skill everyone learned, and he took pleasure in helping you in any way he could. 

repressing a smile, he hovers his fingers over the keyboard. “do you want me to write it for you?”

“ohthankgod, yes, please help..” you huff out a sigh of relief instantly. if he’d left you to code it by yourself, it would’ve taken a lot longer to embellish. “for a second i thought you were gonna leave me to make it on my own.”

luke buries his face in the crook of your neck, “well that wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly of me. i’d never make you lift a finger.” he sits up straighter and focuses back on the computer. “alright, now what color do you want your background to be?”

[lovelikelandslide]

I love this nerd me is very happy rn

[lovelikelandslide]

Cause All these Bodies are Hoping to get Addicted to sound

warnings: threesome, established friendship, exploring sexuality, jealousy, pining, emotional vulnerability, FORCED PROXIMITY IF U MAY

word count: 4,340 words

pairing: michael clifford/luke hemmings/calum hood

a/n: ok so obviously inspired by the just kiss moment from this current tour, however I decided to set them on the joshua tree. why you may ask? BECAUSE I CAN.

WARNING! RPF CONTENT DONT LIKE DONT READ

Today was one of those days where Luke was just not feeling it, those days had been increasing lately. Maybe it was because they were on the final leg of the album, and that might have started getting them lazy, maybe there was something that made you slack off when the finish line was just visible, made it easier to put things off. Still, here they were anyway, supposed to be polishing the last few tracks and making the necessary changes, and Luke had spent the last hour scrolling aimlessly on his phone, the screen lighting up his face in the slightly dim studio.

It wasn’t like they came to the studio every single day, either. Sometimes, they’d just stay at the house and do literally anything but work, which had been the point of being out here in the first place. But today they were supposed to actually get shit done, and instead they had spent the last two hours just fucking around, half-working, distracted by the distance from home and the fact that Ashton wasn’t here to keep them on track.

Ashton had been the one keeping them on schedule, the self-appointed “vibe guy.” Luke often thought he was the glue of the group, maybe even the core of it. When he was around, things just flowed so well, but he had woken up earlier, saying he felt like shit, probably coming down with something, and had stayed holed up in his room all day. Calum had knocked on his door that morning, just to check, and Ashton had mumbled something about sleeping it off. They’d left him alone after that.

So it was just the three of them. Luke, Michael, and Calum. That was, unfortunately, a current problem for Luke.

The past few weeks had been weird in a way he couldn’t quite name. Michael and Calum had somehow gotten closer than ever, closer than Luke had realized was possible even for them. They’d always been tight, obviously, like the rest of the band, but something about being out here had pulled them even tighter, and Luke couldn’t stop noticing.

He watched them now from his chair near the console, the big couch across the room holding both of them like it was molded for this exact moment, Calum’s head resting on Michael’s shoulder, their legs tangled together, easy and familiar, while they scrolled through something on Calum’s phone and laughed softly at whatever they were looking at. 

Every time Michael’s hand drifted to Calum’s thigh, or Calum leaned in a little closer, that newly familiar sour taste rose in the back of Luke’s throat again.

He told himself it wasn’t a bad thing—they were his best friends. They were allowed to be close. But still, he hated it. Hated how left out it made him feel and hated how he kept catching himself watching them, wondering why it bothered him so much when there was nothing wrong with it.

His phone buzzed against his palms, the vibration strong enough to pull him out of whatever stupid spiral he'd managed to trap himself in.

Ash: you guys actually working or just pretending to

Luke let out a breath through his nose, in reliefm atleast Ashton could distract him for a minute.

Luke: Not even pretending

Ash: figures

Ash: don't let mikey convince u watching youtube counts as productivity

Luke: How are you feeling?

Luke snorted quietly to himself, shaking his head as he locked his phone. That, at least, sounded about right. If Ashton had been here, he'd probably be halfway through giving Michael a lecture about getting back to work while Michael dramatically insisted that whatever rabbit hole he'd fallen into was somehow "research."

He set his phone down beside him and rubbed at his face for a second, hoping it'd shake him out of whatever mood he'd been in all afternoon, or more so, all this time. It didn't.

Before he really thought about it, his eyes drifted across the room again.

Michael was saying something Luke couldn't quite make out from where he sat. Calum rolled his eyes, muttered something back, and gave him a shove with his shoulder. Michael barely reacted beyond shoving him right back, never even taking his eyes off the phone this time.

Luke looked away almost as quickly as he'd looked over. They'd always been like that. Honestly, all of them had.

Fifteen years of being practically attached at the hip had a way of getting rid of any weirdness about personal space. They'd shared hotel rooms, couches, bunks, hoodies, headphones, food, drinks, girlfriends—half the time they didn't even think before grabbing something that belonged to someone else. None of it had ever meant anything.

So why the fuck was his brain deciding to make something out of it now?

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, annoyed at himself more than anyone else, and pushed himself a little farther back into the chair.

The studio itself was quiet except for the low hum of the equipment and the occasional burst of laughter from their direction. 

Luke shifted in his chair, the cracked leather creaking under him. He initially thought it was just the isolation getting to him, they were out in the desert, not completely far from civilization, but far enough that the quiet could start messing with your head, coming from LA at least. 

LA... He missed home, and he was adamantly counting down the days so they could all return to their routines, never having to see the ongoing phenomenon that his bandmates had again. 

His phone buzzed again.

Ash: still shitty

Ash: miss me?

Luke: Yeah

Luke: Hold on tight cowboy

The string of thoughts that was currently running through his mind felt dumb and pointless. Ashton's text made him stand up, streched his arms over his head until his back cracked. He needed to move, needed to do something other than sit there and fry his brain off. 

He walked over to the mini-fridge and grabbed a beer. He popped it open with more force than necessary, only realizing it when the sound echoed through the room. He physically cringed at how loud it was.

He tried maintaining his cool still. “Want one?” he asked, not looking at them.

“Nah, we’re good,” Michael said, his voice relaxed.

Luke took a long sip, the cold liquid sliding down his throat, which didn’t help the heat creeping up the back of his neck. He walked over and leaned against the counter of the control table, watching them over the rim of his can. Calum had shifted, his head now in Michael’s lap, his long legs stretched out along the couch. Michael’s fingers were in Calum’s hair, absentmindedly playing with the strands, and the sight made Luke’s chest tighten.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Jesus, just kiss already,” Luke muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. The second they left his mouth, panic set in. 

He quickly tried to play it off, rolling his eyes jokingly and adding, “Jeez, guys, haha.” like he hadn’t just said what he was thinking out loud.

Michael looked up, eyebrows raised, a slow grin spreading across his face. Calum’s head lifted too, his expression was more curious than surprised. 

“What?” Michael asked, tilting his head.

“What?” Luke mirrored him, in a desperate attempt to pretend he hadn't heard the words that came out of his own mouth.

Luke’s face grew hotter, and he quickly retracted. “Nothing. Forget it.”

But Michael was already leaning forward, his grin turning sharp. “No, no, say it again.”

Luke shifted his weight on the edge of the table, suddenly very aware of how quiet it had gotten. “I said… just kiss already. You two are basically on top of each other.”

Calum snorted, and Michael gasped in mock offense. Then Michael's hand shot out, he hesitated for a second, but eventually grabbed Calum's chin, and planted an exaggerated, loud, obnoxious kiss right on his lips—a cartoon smooch, with all theatrics.

"MWAAAH." Michael announced, pulling back with a shit-eating grin. "There. Happy?" Calum just rolled his eyes, wiping the back of his hand over his lips.

Luke couldn’t help but stare dumbfounded, his brain short-circuited. He had expected a denial or a laugh, not… whatever that was. It was a joke, or at least that's what he thought so. But the sight of it—Michael’s hand on Calum’s jaw, the way their lips had pressed together, even if it had been only for a second, it sent a strange, electric jolt straight down his spine. He realized how he hadn't said a word and forced out of himself a little-too-loud laugh.

“Yeah, hilarious,” Luke said, taking another swig of his beer to hide his face.

But Michael wasn’t done with him, at least not any time soon. He was still looking at Luke with a certain determination that had flourished mere seconds ago. “Yeah? You look a little flustered, Hemmo.”

Calum, who hadn’t interrupted their exchange, watched them with an amused expression and slowly sat up. “You know,” he said, his voice low and measured, “if you wanted to see a real one, you could’ve just asked more nicely.”

Luke’s breath caught. “I…” He started, but he couldn’t even get a full sentence out, instead, his grip on the table tightened.

Michael stood up from the couch, closing the distance between them in four slow steps. He stopped right in front of Luke, so close that he could see the faint stubble along his soft jawline, and the flecks of gold in his celadon eyes. 

“Well?” Michael murmured, his voice dropping as his gaze flickered between Luke’s eyes and lips. “You gonna ask?”

Luke’s heart was hammering dangerously against his ribs inside his chest, it was a frantic drumbeat he was sure they could both hear. He looked past Michael to where Calum remained still on the couch, watching them intently. He gave Luke an encouraging look at what he could decipher.

Luke swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I don’t… I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he managed to get out, his voice barely above a whisper. His mind was still trying to catch up, trying to figure out how the hell they’d gone from him making a stupid comment to this.

Michael studied him for a moment, then shrugged, casual. “I noticed you watching. Figured you might be into it.”

His Adam's apple bobbed. “You… noticed me watching?”

Michael nodded once, he was trying not to make a big deal out of it. “Yeah. You’ve been getting this look on your face lately whenever you’re alone with us. Like you’re pissed off at us but trying not to be. Didn’t take much to figure out the cause.”

“I don’t—” Luke started, then stopped. He let out a shaky breath and shook his head. “This is weird. You’re my friends. Both of you. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

Well, he reflected briefly in his head, it wasn’t like they hadn’t messed around with each other before, but that had been years ago, back when they were still figuring themselves out, and were practically high on hormones. Not to mention that it was the perfect age for experimenting.

Michael’s mouth twitched, not quite into a grin this time. “We don’t have to figure it all out right now. But you said it. ‘Just kiss already. ‘”

“So maybe stop pretending you don’t want to see what could happen next.” His mouth brushed Luke’s ear for a brief moment before retracting to his original position.

Luke’s stomach flipped. Every instinct inside of him screamed that this was a terrible idea, that he was about to ruin whatever both of them had going on, or worse, their friendship altogether, but his head had long since stopped calling the shots, and now his body had a mind of its own.

Michael caught the hesitation flickering across Luke's face, but the need beneath it was clear. He decided not to make him carry the weight of the moment alone, so he took the lead. Luke's hand was still clinging to the edge of the table, and Michael brushed his fingertips over the back of it before letting them glide slowly up Luke's forearm, a soft touch. Luke's gaze dropped to where their skin met, his breath catching.

When he looked back up, Michael had already closed the distance between them. They were merely inches apart now, and their gazes locked, Luke's lips already parted as his breathing had turned uneven. Michael searched his eyes one last time, then gently closed the remaining space between them and finally kissed him.

Michael’s lips pressed to his while Luke’s hand found Michael’s lower back without thinking, fingers pressing in and pulling him closer until Michael’s knee slid between Luke’s legs. The pressure of it made his hips twitch forward, the friction itself was barely anything, but it was enough to make Luke’s cock twitch harder in his jeans. His mind was a mess—these were his best friends, and here he was kissing one of them while the other watched—but the thought of it only made the heat in his stomach burn hotter. He kissed back, mouth opening under Michael’s, as a shaky moan slipped out of him.

Behind them, the couch creaked. Calum had finally stood, moving across to them. He stopped at Luke’s other side, close enough that Luke could feel the warmth radiating off him. Calum’s hand settled on Luke’s waist, his steady thumb stroking just under the hem of his shirt. “Let us take care of you.” Calum said quietly, voice low against his ear, while he kept focused on his skin.

Calum leaned in and kissed the side of his neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make Luke shiver, and the rocking from Michael's knee kept going, and it was starting to get to Luke. Moans kept slipping from his throat.

“Y’sound so good.” Calum murmured against his skin. 

The praise did something to Luke—twisted something tight in his stomach while making his cock throb harder. He’d heard filthy words before, but never from Calum, never while being pinned between both of them like this; it made his head spin.

Michael pulled back from the kiss just enough to look down, his gaze hot and intent. His hand, which had been gripping Luke’s hip, slid around to the front. His palm pressed flat against the hard, undeniable line of Luke’s erection straining against his jeans.

“Look at you,” Michael murmured, his voice a rough scrape of sound. “So fucking hard already. Just from us kissing you.” His fingers traced the length of him through the denim, a slow, torturous drag that made Luke’s hips jerk forward with a choked gasp.

Calum’s mouth was still on his neck, sucking a bruise into the skin there, but his hands were moving too. He popped the button of Luke’s jeans, the snap obscenely loud in the quiet room. The rasp of the zipper followed, a sound that seemed to go straight to Luke’s core.

He then pushed his jeans and boxers down his thighs. The cool air hit his flushed, aching cock, and Luke whimpered, a sound of pure, exposed vulnerability.

Calum’s hand wrapped around him first. His grip was firm and calloused. He gave Luke one long, slow stroke from root to tip, his thumb swiping over the wetness beading at the head.

“Fuck, Cal.” Luke gasped out, his head falling back. It was too much. It was everything.

“He’s beautiful like this,” Calum said, his voice low, and Luke realized he wasn’t talking to him, but to Michael. “So responsive.”

“I know,” Michael breathed, his eyes glued to the sight of Calum’s hand on Luke. He looked mesmerized, his own arousal evident in the tight line of his jaw, the flush on his neck. “Let me.”

Michael’s hand slid down to join Calum’s. Not to take over, but to join. His fingers brushed alongside Calum’s, their grips aligning, their rhythms syncing. It was two hands wrapped around him, two of his best friends working him in unison.

The sensation was indescribable. The double pressure, the slight difference in their grips, the shared intent—it overwhelmed Luke’s senses completely. He was panting a little punched-out moans falling from his lips with every stroke.

“Like this,” Michael murmured, his lips against Luke’s temple. He guided their hands, showing Calum a particular wrist twist on the upstroke that made Luke cry out, his knees buckling. “See how he likes that? Listen.”

Luke was beyond words. He was a live wire of sensation, strung tight between their bodies. The weeks of bitter jealousy were incinerated in this furnace of shared touch, replaced by a staggering sense of belonging. This was what he’d been aching for. Not to watch, but to be the focus. To be theirs.

“So good for us,” Calum growled, his own breath coming in ragged gusts against Luke’s neck. Luke could feel the hard press of Calum’s erection against his back, and the knowledge that he was doing this to Calum too, that he was pulling these sounds from him, made the coil in his gut wind impossibly tighter.

“Gonna come,” Luke warned, the words a strained, desperate plea. “I’m gonna—right now, please—”

“Yeah, come on,” Michael urged, his voice a hot, commanding whisper. “Let go. Show us.”

Calum’s hips pushed forward into the touch, and Luke could feel how badly he was straining. 

Luke came with a shattered, broken cry that tore from the depths of his chest. His hot release pulsed over their joined hand and as his body convulsed between them. They held him through it, their strokes prolonging yet making easier the waves of pleasure until he was oversensitive and trembling, only being held upright only by their bodies.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of Luke’s ragged, sobbing breaths in  a spent and blissfully blank.

Slowly, his own awareness returned. The newfound stickiness on his stomach, on their clasped hands. He blinked his eyes open, dazed.

Calum had brought his fingers close, examining the stickiness, and Michael caught his wrist before he could pull away. “Let me.” Michael said, voice low, and brought his hand up to his mouth. He licked a slow stripe across his palm, tongue warm and deliberate, cleaning off every trace of Lyke with a quiet hum.

Luke’s breath caught. “Jesus.” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re actually doing that.”

Michael looked up at him through his lashes, lips still brushing Luke’s palm. “Taste good.” he said simply, stealing a glance at Calum before returning to Luke. “Don’t you like the sight of it?”

Luke swallowed, throat dry. “No, I do.” he admitted.

A low hum of approval vibrated against his palm before Michael continued to trace the silhouette of Calum's fingers with his tongue meticulously. Luke watched transfixed, as the tip of Calum's index finger disappeared closed around Michael's lips, sucking gently before he released it with a soft, wet pop.

“Fuck.” Luke breathed again, nothing more than a ragged exhale.

Michael, who was still leaning heavily against Luke’s side, chuckled. “Told you he’s thorough.”

Calum gave a slight nod and tucked himself away with a wince, he was hard, the shape was way too obvious through his jeans. Michael noticed. His gaze dropped, then lifted to Luke’s face in a silent question.

Luke swallowed. The weeks of sour jealousy had burned away, replaced by something heavier and hotter. A new urge, he wanted to give back what he’d taken.

He turned in the narrow space, facing Calum now. Calum’s eyes were dark but soft, the same look he got when he desired something. Luke’s hands found the button of Calum’s jeans before his brain could argue. The metal was warm.

Calum’s breath hitched. “Luke—”

“Shut up.” Luke said, he didn’t mean for it to come out unkind, but it was… just urgent. He shoved denim and already wet underwear off. Calum’s cock sprang free, flushed and already leaking. Luke wrapped his hand around the base and felt it twitch.

He dropped to his knees on the worn studio rug. The fibers were rough against his bare skin. Michael moved in behind him, one hand settling on the back of Luke’s neck, thumb stroking the short hairs there.

Luke leaned in and licked a slow stripe from root to tip. Calum’s hand flew to Luke’s hair, not pushing, just holding. The taste was salt and skin and Calum.

Michael’s fingers tightened on his nape. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Get him wet.”

Luke opened his mouth and took Calum in hollowing his cheeks on the first downward slide. Calum’s thighs trembled. While Luke tried to set a rhythm, he was, certainly out of practice, still he tried to make it the most enjoyable for both, using his hand he worked what his mouth couldn’t reach, and every broken sound Calum made went straight through him.

Luke wondered if Michael could tell how badly he’d wanted this, maybe, beside the obvious, his body language had been betraying him, what if he had been acting like a needy bitch subconciously? and how long he’d been pretending he didn’t. 

Every time Calum’s hips twitched forward, Luke felt a small, vicious satisfaction that he was the one pulling those sounds out of him, he felt incredibly proud. He wanted to be good at this, and he wanted Calum and Michael to remember it. He also wanted Michael to watch and be turnt too. He liked that he finally wasn’t on the outside anymore, he wanted to be part of this often—no homo though.

Michael stayed right there, his calloused hand never leaving Luke’s neck, the other already working his own jeans open. The slick sound of Michael stroking himself while he watched Luke suck Calum off filled the rest of quiet space. Luke could feel how Michael’s eyes burned on him, hot and heavy, and it made him take Calum deeper until his nose brushed the soft hair at the base.

“Fuck—Luke—” Calum’s voice cracked. His fingers flexed in Luke’s hair. “Your mouth, god—”

Michael’s breathing had gone ragged. Luke could hear the wet slide of his fist, the occasional bitten-off curse. Knowing Michael was getting off on the sight made something hot curl low in Luke’s stomach.

He pulled off just long enough to breathe, spit connecting his lip to the flushed head. “Want you to come,” he said, voice hoarse, looking up. “Want to taste it.”

Calum groaned. “Luke stop dirty talki—fuck, I’m close—”

Michael’s hand left Luke’s neck to grip himself harder, strokes turning fast. “Do it,” he urged. “Come down his throat.”

Luke took Calum back in and sucked hard. Calum came with a broken sound, pulsing hot across Luke’s tongue. Luke swallowed it all. Michael followed seconds later with a low curse, his release spilling over his own fist.

Luke pulled off slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and Calum’s hand slid from Luke’s hair to his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheekbone.

They stayed like that for a few moments—Luke resting on his knees between them, the three of them catching their breath in the studio while the desert heat pressed against the windows.

Inside Luke’s head, everything was still spinning. He could taste Calum on his tongue, could feel the ghost of Michael’s hand on the back of his neck, could hear the way both of them had sounded when they came. Weeks of watching them from across the room, weeks of that sour twist in his chest every time Michael’s hand drifted to Calum’s thigh or Calum leaned in too close—it was all gone. Replaced by this. By the solid weight of Calum’s hand on his jaw and Michael’s quiet breathing behind him and the knowledge that he wasn’t as lost anymore.

He’d spent so long convincing himself that he was just making something out of it, that he was just left out, just missing the easy way they moved around each other, their usual shared bromance. It was silly, because it had never been that simple. Somewhere along the way, wanting what they had had turned into wanting to be part of it. It had been this. Wanting to be between them instead of watching from afar. Wanting to feel Calum’s cock twitch against his tongue and hear Michael’s low, approving sounds while he stroked himself to the sight. Wanting to be the reason they both came apart.

Luke swallowed again, his throat still tight from swallowing Calum down. His own cock was half-hard again, spent but interested, and the realization that he could want more, that they could give him more, made his stomach flip. He looked up at Calum, then turned his head to look at Michael, and found both of them watching him with the same soft, wrecked expression.

“You good?” Calum asked, as he reached and offered him a water bottle that had been abandoned from before.

Luke nodded. His voice came out rough reaching for it. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Calum’s hand stayed on his jaw, his thumb stroked slow. “You know, this.. thing we have, we don’t even know ourselves what it is” he said, echoing Michael’s earlier words. “But we’re here. If you want this. Be part of it.”

Luke’s chest tightened. He did want this. He was so down bad it scared him a little, but not enough to make him pull away. Not enough to make him go back to watching from across the room.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Calum’s hip, breathing in the scent of him, letting the solid presence of both of them anchor him. Michael’s hand stayed on the back of his neck. For the first time in weeks Luke felt like he could actually breathe, free from his own made up misery.

This was what he’d been aching for. To be here and to be theirs.

[lovelikelandslide]

I'm kinda new to 5sos so I was just wondering what the controversy with Ash is?

let's just say he was behaving inappropriately with fans way younger than him (all 18-plus but still) in all the ways you could possibly imagine. I don't really wanna go into detail here because this is not what this account is for, but you can find all the info in the 5sossnark subreddit

It's up to you to believe, of course, but if this was just a hoax, I don't think that 10+ people would give months of their lives to "ruin his career"

[lovelikelandslide]

just a little heads up, due to the recent controversy regarding Ashton I'm stepping away from writing him for a while. I just don't feel personally comfortable hope u understand

[lovelikelandslide]

You're the one

warnings: pegging, strapon, oral, praise kink, tenderness, emotional intimacy, domestic, very sweet overall

word count: 3,420 words

pairing: luke hemmings/reader

a/n: they don't have to prep him ok? this is my fanfic, I decide to not write all that now take it off my hands!! ALSO LOST THE ASK:(

WARNING! RPF CONTENT DONT LIKE DONT READ

“Are you nervous?” you asked, toying with the strap-on in your hand, taunting him by wiggling it side to side in front of his face.

Luke’s nose scrunched, but he took the toy from you anyway. He turned it over in his hands, gave it a curious once-over, then looked back at you with a small smile. “I think I’m having an appropriate reaction?”

The two of you were sitting side-by-side on Luke’s bed, the mattress soft and a little rumpled beneath you. The late evening light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, painting the room in a golden glow. Luke was naked, his skin warm and a little flushed already.

You stood, peeling your panties down your thighs. Luke's hands found your waist, helping you with your top and bra, but he couldn't help trailing his fingers over your skin, eagerly. You giggled, swatting at him. "Ah ah, stop it."

You grabbed the harness from the cardboard box beside the bed—some corny sex shop name printed on the top of it—and stepped into it, adjusting the straps until it sat tight in all the right places. Luke watched, his eyes filling with curiosity. 

When you fastened the pink translucent dildo into place, he let out a low whistle. "Hottie."

"Glad you still think I look good with a dick attached." You stood in front of where he sat, the strap standing at attention between the two of you.

He smirked, reaching out to stroke it, his fingers tracing the length. "Dick or not, you're still fine."

Him like this, naked with his hand wrapped around something strapped to you, sent butterflies to your stomach. You'd planned this, talked about it, but seeing it actually come to reality was a whole other thing. His blue eyes, soft and trusting, turned you on more than you had expected.

…

The idea came up one night when you were staying over at his place. You were a couple of drinks in—more than a couple, actually—and had landed on watching some random kink documentary you’d picked because it looked interesting enough to fall asleep to. Luke was sprawled on the couch, his head heavy in your lap while you idly ran your fingers through his dark curls. The TV cast a faint blue glow over the room, and some narrator with a very serious voice was talking about trust, control, and female domination.

Luke had been half-paying attention for the last twenty minutes. Every so often, he'd make a thoughtful little hum, but you couldn't tell if it was directed at the documentary or because your fingers had found that spot just above the nape of his neck that always made him melt.

You thought he’d fallen asleep. He’d been quiet the whole time. Until you heard a small but loud enough for you to hear. “Huh.”

“What?” you asked, twisting one of his curls around your finger.

He shrugged, the movement rustling against your thighs. “Just… I get that. The trust part. Letting someone see you like that. Letting them… take the lead that way.” He paused, then turned his head to look up at you, his cheek pressed to your leg. “Sounds kind of hot, don’t you think?”

You let your thumb trace the shell of his ear. “I mean, yeah, it is for me when you do it,” you murmured. “You’d want that?”

You looked down at him, at the way he was watching you, trying to read your reaction. “Yeah,” he said, voice a little rough. “I think I would.”

The conversation went on from there. He sat up and started bombing you with questions, his curiosity went unguarded. How would it feel like for the person wearing it? Do you think it's weird, like, psychologically? And, do you think I’d be any good at it? You answered as honestly as you could, while your own interest piqued, and a low hum of arousal started blooming in your gut.

The next morning was rough. You woke up on his couch with a dry mouth and a headache pressing behind your eyes. Luke was in the kitchen, moving around quietly while the familiar aroma of coffee filled the apartment. You sat up slowly, rubbing your face, and after a few moments, the memory of the night before drifted back in pieces—the documentary, the conversation, his voice saying Yeah, I think I would.

Later that morning, the sunlight filtered through the half-open blinds in Luke’s kitchen. You’d both showered and changed—The worst of the hangover had eased into a manageable fog, helped along by the second round of coffee and the plate of toast he’d made you without asking.

You were both leaning against opposite counters, the easy quiet between you comfortable but weighted. Luke was scrolling absently through his phone, but you could tell he wasn’t really reading anything. His thumb just kept moving.

“So,” you started, voice still a little rough from sleep. “Last night.”

Luke’s thumb paused on the screen. He looked up, and there was a flicker of something, recognition with a touch of embarrassment—before he set the phone down face down on the counter. “Yeah.”

You turned your mug slowly between your palms, buying a second. “You remember what we talked about?”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes on the floor between you, then nodded once. “The strap thing. Yeah. I remember.”

You took a careful sip of your coffee, letting the warmth sit on your tongue before swallowing. “You were pretty drunk.”

“So were you,” Luke stated, not defensive.

“I was,” you agreed. You leaned back against the counter, watching his face. “I just… wanted to check. If that was something you actually wanted, or if it was just the alcohol talking.”

Luke exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh. 

He picked up his own mug again, turning it the same way you had, like the motion helped him think. “I remember saying it.” he said slowly. “And it didn’t feel like a joke when I said it. But I was hammered, so…” He trailed off, then glanced up at you. “Do you think it’s weird?”

“No.” you said, and meant it. Why would it be? “I don’t think it’s weird. I just wanted to make sure that if it’s something you’d actually like, I'm up for it. That’s all.”

He nodded. The apartment felt very still and charged at the same time, not with tension but with something that had been gone untalked about.

Luke was quiet for another long moment, staring into his coffee like the answer was somewhere in the bottom of the mug. Then he looked up at you, blue eyes clearer than they’d been all morning.

“I mean… I do want to.” he admitted, voice low but steady. “For real. Not just because I was drunk. I’ve thought about it before, actually. Not exactly like that, but it’s a way.” He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks faintly pink. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up sober, and the documentary you chose last night made it easier to say out loud.”

You thought about that night and the follow-up conversation so much the very next day, after spending an embarrassing amount of time with at least twenty tabs open, bouncing between conversation threads, old forum posts, and reviews from people who took writing about sex toys extremely seriously, you eventually collected enough information to order all the necessary tools online.

You told him about it, and for the next few days, neither of you brought it up much. Now and then, one of you would make an offhand joke about the mysterious package making its way across the country, probably, but for the most part, it stayed unspoken, quietly sitting in the back of both of your minds.

All until your phone buzzed with a shipping notification. Delivered.

You stared at the screen for a second before smiling to yourself.

…

"Yeah?" you murmured, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back onto the mattress.

You climbed over him, your knees sinking into the bed on either side of his hips. You crawled up until the strap-on was almost level with his face, the tip hovering just inches from his lips. You grabbed the base and taunted him by rubbing the tip against his mouth.

“Wanna suck it, baby?”

Luke’s blue eyes flicked up to meet yours, the black curls around his forehead already starting to stick from the warmth of your bodies. He looked at you, almost shy for a second, then the corner of his mouth twitched. His tongue came out tentatively, giving the tip a soft kitten lick. The second time, he did it slower, before his lips parted and he let you ease the head past them.

You adjusted your hips so the angle stayed comfortable, letting him set the pace at first. He took it inch by inch, cheeks hollowing a little, eyes watering just enough to catch the light. 

“You’re doing so good, angel.” you murmured, running your palm down his chest, feeling the rapid flutter of his heartbeat under warm skin.

He pulled off with a soft pop, a thin string of spit connecting his mouth to the toy, and looked up at you with that half-grin that always made your stomach flip. “Like that?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip to wipe away the shine. “Real good. Think you can take a little more?”

Luke’s eyes flicked between your face and the strap still glistening in your hand. He nodded. “Yeah. I want to try.”

You smiled and shifted forward again, guiding the head back between his lips. This time, you didn’t stop at the first few inches. You pressed a little deeper, watching his lashes flutter as the toy slid over his tongue. He made a soft, wet sound around it, but he didn’t pull away. His hands came up to rest on your thighs, fingers tightening when you eased another inch in.

“Still okay?” you asked, voice low.

Luke gave a small nod, eyes glassy, and you felt the vibration of his answer around the silicone. You rocked your hips gently, letting him adjust to the deeper stretch. His throat fluttered once, and he gagged softly—once, then again—before he forced himself to relax, breathing through his nose. A thin line of spit slipped from the corner of his mouth and trailed down his chin. The sight sent a sharp pulse of heat through you.

“Fuck, baby.” you breathed, stroking his cheek with your free hand. “You look so pretty like this.”

He made another small, choked sound, eyes watering, but he didn’t back off. Instead, he tried to take you a little deeper on his own, pushing his head forward until the head of the toy nudged the back of his throat again. Another soft gag escaped him, followed by a wet, muffled moan that vibrated straight through the strap and into your cunt.

His hands came up to grip your thighs once again, fingers digging in as he held himself steady as he worked through his instinct to pull away. You could see the effort in the line of his shoulders, the way his throat worked and the bob of his Adam’s apple against the pink silicone. 

Still, he needed a little help, so you slowly built up a rhythm with him. You kept your movements slow, letting him set the pace even as you guided it.

“Look at you. So fucking pretty like this, taking it. Making such a mess.”

He whimpered, and in response, his pace picked up. It became a consistent fucking of his mouth. 

He was meeting you every time now, his hands sliding from your thighs to your hips, pulling you closer as he pushed himself onto the toy. The tip of his nose brushed your lower stomach tickled you with every surge.

When both of you finally eased back, he pulled off with a gasp, strings of spit connecting him between his lips and the silicone. His chin was shiny, his cheeks incredibly flushed, but he was smiling—proud of himself.

“Good?” you asked, thumb wiping at the mess.

He nodded, voice rough but warm. "Yeah. That was… really good." A small, breathless laugh escaped him, and the back of his hand flew to his eyes. He was a bit embarrassed. "Didn't think I'd like that part as much as I did."

You gently removed his hand, then kissed him, softly. When you pulled back, he swallowed, his blue, glassy eyes flicking up to meet yours. "I want to feel you inside of me now. Please."

You leaned down and kissed his forehead, tasting the salt of the sweat on his skin. "Of course, angel."

You shifted back, giving him room to move.

"Wait," he said, voice still rough from the gagging. "Can we- can you stay close? Spoon me or something? I need to feel your whole warmth against me."

You agreed to his request, already moving to settle in behind him, curving your body along his spine. He adjusted. He had to pull his knees up a tad, tucking himself into the curve of you. The silicone pressed against the cleft of his ass, and you felt a shiver run down on him.

"Like this?" you murmured, mouth agape as your lips brushed his shoulder.

"Yeah." he breathed. "This is comfortable."

You reached for the lube— somewhere on the floor inside the box, slicked your fingers, and reached between his legs to tease him open from behind with slow, gentle but still pressured circles on his rim, while your other hand splayed flat on his stomach to keep him steady. 

Luke let out a shaky breath, head falling back against your shoulder. His dark curls tickled your cheek. "Fuck." he whispered.

“You’re so tight, baby.” You whispered, your voice a low graze against his ear. “Just relax for me. Let me in.”

You withdrew your fingers, the sound wet and slick, and guided the head of the translucent pink dildo to his entrance. The moment the cool silicone touched his heated skin, Luke jumped slightly, his hips twitching instinctively. You only pressed your hand harder against his stomach, feeling the hard ripple of his abs.

You pushed forward, just a fraction.

Luke let out a sharp sudden gasp, his fingers dug into the mattress. He froze, his eyes wide and staring at nothing, his mouth hanging agape. You paused, letting him acclimate to the feeling of the stretch. You could feel the heat of him radiating through the strap, a pulsing warmth that made your own cunt ache with a throbbing need.

“You okay?” you breathed.

“Yeah,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper, reassuring you. “You don’t have to worry It’s just that… fuck. It’s big.”

You smiled, a thrill of control sending a surge of electricity down your spine, it wasn’t like anything you had felt before.

You pushed again, a slow, steady glide that buried another two inches inside him. Luke’s head fell back onto your shoulder, a long, low moan escaping him—ah—as his body finally began to melt around you. The friction was incredible and even through the harness, you could feel the grip of his internal muscles squeezing the dildo, practically milking it.

He turned his head, just enough to meet your eyes over his shoulder. He looked truly angelic, his lashes were clumped, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and shiny. He was so beautiful like this—vulnerable and completely yours.

His hand lifted up to cup your cheek, his fingers trembled as he searched for your mouth. You met him in a slow, lingering kiss, your lips moving against his while you kept the rhythm of your hips soft, barely rocking inside him.

“Easy.” you whispered against his lips. “I’ve got you. Just breathe for me.”

Luke’s breath hitched. “I’m okay. I’m… fuck, I’m so full. You feel so good. He then rested his forehead against yours. “Don’t stop, just keep going slow like that.”

You stayed pressed close to him, your chest to his back, your other hand moved from your side and slowly drifted lower to find his cock, wrapping around it with a loose, gentle hold, stroking him in time with the shallow thrusts of your hips.

He let out a shaky moan, his hips twitching between you. “God, that feels… you’re touching me everywhere. It’s perfect.”

You kissed the back of his neck, your lips brushing the damp curls at his nape. “You’re doing so well, taking me so beautifully.”

Luke’s hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin in a tender, absent rhythm. “I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I love you so much, I-I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like this. Never wanted to give someone everything the way I want to give it to you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a wave of warmth flooding through you. “I love you too, baby, I wanna make you feel good.” You began to move again, but with a deep rhythm this time, a pace that started picking up with faster thrusts

He was so responsive. He shuddered, a soft, broken sound escaping him. “Yes. Yes, please. I want it. I want all of you.” 

And that’s all it took from you, that little motivation, his desperate need was enough to fuel a newfound need to see him, the flickers of pleasure across his face.

“I can’t, I— I need to see you.” you breathed against his lips, your voice thick. “Turn over. Please”

He followed immediately. You withdrew from him slowly, the wet, slick sound obscenely loud in the quietness of the room. 

He settled against the pillows, his curls had become what you could only describe as a wild, dark halo. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and the now-weak golden light caught the sheen of sweat on his collarbones. You moved between his legs, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. From this angle, you could see everything—the way his cock lay against his stomach, still hard and glistening. The sight stole the breath from your lungs.

You guided the slick silicone back to him, not needing your hands now, just the roll of your hips. The head nudged against him, only after his blue eyes locked with yours, you pushed forward.

You started jerking him once again, with more pressure this time, and the moment you resumed your thrusting in him, his eyes rolled back, a guttural groan tearing from his chest. “Oh, fuck, fuck.”

"Please, I'm gonna—" he sobbed.

“Yeah, you are,” you murmured, your voice low and steady. You didn’t speed up. You kept the same measured pace, fucking him with such a focused intensity while your hand worked him with deliberate, knowing strokes.

He came with a gasping cry. His cock jumped in your hand, pulsing thickly as you worked him through it, not missing a beat, milking out every last hot stripe onto his stomach.

Inside, you kept moving through it. You felt the tight pulses of his climax that slowly gentled into aftershock clenches. That’s when you finally stilled, still buried deep inside him.

There was nothing more than the sound of your shared panting. Then a breathless, seemingly incredulous laugh bubbled out of him, and he turned his head to face you. “Holy shit.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your intense focus melting into something softer. “Yeah?”

He nodded, a tired yet happy movement. He reached up, his hand trembling slightly, and brushed a stray strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. “You’re really good at that.”

A fond laugh escaped you, too. “You’re not so bad yourself.” You slowly pulled out, and he winced with a soft, hissing breath. “Sorry, sorry.”

“‘S okay,” he mumbled, already curling toward you as you got the harness off and collapsed beside him. He immediately slung an arm over your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a contented sigh. His skin was hot and damp against yours. “I feel like I got hit by a truck, in an incredible way.”

You snorted, wrapping your arms around him, your fingers idly tracing the knobs of his spine. “That’s the goal.”

He was quiet for a moment, his breathing slowing. “We’re definitely doing that again,” he said, his words already slurred with exhaustion. “Like. Tomorrow.”

You kissed his damp temple. “We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”