2h
I actually think everyone’s a star has done more for my mental health than years of therapy x
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I actually think everyone’s a star has done more for my mental health than years of therapy x
Live For The Pain
✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦
✧ pairing: bta ashton irwin x reader
✧ summary: going to the party was a mistake. yet when a handsome stranger gives you everything you had been looking for— validation, attention, gratification— it’s kind of hard to keep believing it was. maybe it’s fate.
✧ warnings: love bombing, language, talks of religion, exhibitionism, fingering, dirty talk.
✧ word count: 6.4k
✧ title: shameless — the weeknd
✧ author’s note:hi. did you miss me?
so i missed all of you so BAD!!! i know i owe an explanation, i did drop off the face of the earth for… 3 months? i would say i have a good explanation— typical fanfic writer trauma dump, yk? — but i don’t. the truth is that im just a girl, and i met someone who gave me the most intense 3 months of my life and basically i lost my damn MIND. anyways that someone is gone, so i’m again, losing my damn mind. so i figured, what a batter way to express my feelings than to write about them? everyone loves a good situationship (reading about it, NOT experiencing it!!) so i decided to revisit the beginning of my most infamous one. MAGGIE AND ASHTON!!! YAY!!! unless no one cares.
i’m thinking about making situationship sos a series until i get over this person, cause i have a LOTTTT of material to use (i even used some of his texts in this lol… boots on the ground journalism, am i right?). send in some requests, or hell, maybe personal experiences you want to romanticize. we’re all in the trenches together guys!!!
all rambling aside i’m sorry for disappearing. i do plan on coming back regularly, and also picking up Pulse again. i hope you enjoy, even if it’s a little shit since i’m so rusty.
moral of the story guys, don’t let your world shrink down to ONE person. especially one who made it clear they would never stay. be safe out there yall!!!!
sorry for the trauma dump, love you!!
-bee
Copyright © 2026 undersugarnights. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
There is glitter on your fingers.
You try not to be too annoyed, watching as the specks flick in and out of reality with the ever-changing light. The bass is just loud enough, thrumming pleasantly beneath your skin. It’s the kind of night that you know is exactly what you needed.
The bodies that litter the venue are bright, covered in glitter on their own right, intoxicated beyond belief. It’s right where you want to be– and the excitement that runs through you hits you like a chill.
Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you make your way over to the bar.
Life has been monotonous in the most painful way. Shoots, juice cleanses, beauty routines, and being holed up in your apartment the second those things end. You have never been one to self-isolate; most of your life has been all about receiving attention you never had to fight for.
Which is exactly why the social scene in Los Angeles hit you like a punch to the gut.
There are a million of you for anyone with eyes to see, models just as perfectly crafted as you, spanning as far as the eye can see. It hurts, going from being a rare delicacy to being just another fucking girl.
Your throat tightens with the bitter realization, remembering the way it feels to be so insignificant to everyone else, making you regret the decision to come out in the first place.
Tonight is the night you’re going to prove that insecurity wrong. Tonight, the city of Los Angeles is going to realize the kind of gem that they have at their doorstep.
The click of your heels is deafening despite the loud music, and you feel the stares you’re already starting to pull. Biting back a smirk, you stop only a few inches away from the counter.
Carefully, you rest your hands atop the sticky wood, tapping your carefully manicured nails in tandem with the song blasting through the venue. You meticulously scan the menu in front of you, unimpressed by the juvenile names for the myriad of fruity cocktails.
This is some YouTuber’s party, someone you only know from a friend of a friend. There is enough people in here that nobody bothers to ask how you know the host.
A few faces you recognize, people you have only seen in passing, or mutuals on social media that have just somehow left enough of an impression for you to recognize. Regardless, you aren’t here for any of them in particular.
If you were being honest, there was no real reasoning behind this sudden public appearance. Life has just been so bleak lately, and paired with the crushing weight of feeling like a pain Jane, you knew you were in desperate need to be the center of attention.
You hear a laugh, bright, clear, genuine, and your head snaps in the direction of the commotion. The sweet sound emanates from a guy a few feet away from you, with messy blonde curls and a contagious sheepish grin.
He’s beautiful.
Your eyes quickly land on the brunette girl his arm is currently draped over. She’s beautiful, strong brows, short but standing tall enough to say otherwise, and she has every ounce of the blonde guy’s attention.
Jealousy tastes bitter, and you clench your jaw before looking away.
Just how long has it been since someone has looked at you like that? Like you were the center of their universe, of their gravity, the very thing keeping them tethered to the ground.
The girl isn’t that beautiful. So what is she doing to keep a man as angelic as him wrapped around her finger?
“What can I get for you tonight?” The bartender finally asks, stepping right in front of you, barely managing to shoot you a tired glance.
Whatever confidence you had been building vanishes into the ether.
Blinking rapidly, you force yourself to swallow the unreasonable tears that threaten to brim in your eyes. The mindless task of trying to decide what to drink had been swiftly forgotten the second you spotted that couple.
Before you could open your mouth, you feel a presence materialize beside you. The smell of bergamot intertwined with some sort of peppery spice hits your nostrils, a scent you’ve grown familiar from having smelled it on plenty of different necks.
It’s the slight warmth of clove scented smoke beneath it that makes you stop in your tracks.
He shatters the ground beneath your feet before you can form a thought. Your eyes catch on sandy curls that fall over his forehead, two bright jade eyes burning straight into yours with a mischief that sends a chill down your spine.
Your eyes fall to the strong jaw, the divot on his chin, the slight dusting of stubble that adds enough intrigue to have your heart fluttering in your chest.
His shirt is buttoned open, and your eyes catch on the silver glint of a chain resting against the base of his throat. It’s a cross.
The guy smiles, flashing you two devastating dimples and a row of perfectly straight teeth.
He looks away, not before giving you a quick wink. Your stomach flutters, your mind blanking at the sudden intrusion.
“Two vodka Red Bulls,” he orders, pausing to sigh deeply—most definitely to aid the dramatics— before continuing. “You know what I mean, so for the love of god, please don’t make me ask you for two blowjob fuels.”
The tired bartender, much to your surprise, flashes a cheeky grin. He looks between the two of you, shrugging slightly. “Don’t think you’ll need that after this, my boy.”
The man beside you snickers, resting his arms against the bar before looking over to you again. He’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body, see the slight sheen of sweat atop his cheeks.
“I saw you walk in,” the guy notes, his voice a slow drawl that makes heat lick at the base of your spine. “Watched you the entire time. Been dying to talk to you since.”
You blink, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer honesty in his tone. His lips are parted slightly, almost as if he’s rendered breathless by your attention.
Your heart skips a beat.
“Dior Sauvage?” You question, holding on to your composure for dear life. “Kinda tacky, don’t you think?”
The stranger smirks, prompting the reappearance of that debilitating dimple. His eyes fall, following the barely concealed shape of your body with a ravenous hunger. It makes you feel more exposed than being naked ever would.
“You must have a sixth sense for bad decisions, sweetheart,” he hums, clearly pleased by the fire beneath your words.
It’s all a facade, but something tells you that you can’t afford to drop it anytime soon.
“More like a knack for ‘em,” you fire back.
The stranger laughs, a deep rumble that immediately has your body responding. It’s bad, every fiber of your being awakening at once.
“Ashton,” he offers helpfully, smiling sweetly. “You are?”
You purse your lips, hesitation keeping you silent for a few beats. Something about the way he looks at you, like he’s seen you in every lifetime, like you dim the light of everyone around you.
Like you are the only thing in the room.
It makes you sick.
“Y/N,” you say.
Ashton grins, satisfied. “Y/N,” he repeats, as if tasting each syllable as it rolls off his tongue and savoring it for as long as he can. “I like that.”
You roll your eyes, tearing your gaze away from his. Your hand shakes, just barely noticeable, so you clench it into a fist and pray it’s enough to contain the unbearable energy that has started to flow between the two of you.
“Well Y/N,” he begins, and you can’t help but notice he hasn’t stopped smiling for a second since the conversation started. “Has anyone ever told you how you’ve got a smile that could light up the Hollywood sign?”
You blink, the ludicrousness of his words hitting you like a bucket of cold water. He doesn’t seem deterred by your confusion, in fact, he only seems to be relishing in it.
“Don’t ever say that again,” you frown, but you find that it doesn’t sound as genuine as you expected it. Your lips twitch, betraying your mask as you feel your heart picking up in your chest.
Holy shit. What is it with this guy?
Ashton only shrugs. “I think life is too short not to be corny, ya know?” He starts, shaking his head. “Like, who fucking cares, it makes people smile. It's like dad jokes, who really finds them funny? Nobody. But it’ll always make someone smile.”
The candor is evident, unexpected in its intensity. The rant rips from him like it has a mind of its own, and you can’t help but feel intrigued. Most of the time, when someone hits on you they only have one real goal, one real interest.
Their attention and words don’t often… deviate. Not like Ashton.
“It’s cute,” you offer, still keeping your interest at bay. He can’t know the effect he has on you just yet. “Is that how you pick up girls?”
Ashton looks over at you, green eyes boring into yours. They burn bright beneath the lights, the playfulness vanishing almost entirely. Cocking his head to the side, he studies you for a moment.
“It’s how I strike conversations up with people that seem generally interesting,” he retaliates. “You look like you have a mind on you. Your eyes, they’re everywhere, and I want to know what they’re looking for.”
Your eyebrows rise, the bold assumption is so much more accurate than he would ever begin to guess. You are looking for something, for someone who might just make you feel like you’re the single most fascinating thing in the room.
And fuck, it seems like you actually found him
“So, Y/N/N, you gonna tell me what such a pretty girl is doing alone tonight?” he probes, leaning close enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Are you actually looking for something? Someone?”
You smack your teeth, but before you can answer, the sleepy bartender places your overflowing drinks before the two of you. You don’t bother acknowledging him, wrapping your fingers around the cup, feeling the dampness of the sweating glass.
Maybe that’ll finally get rid of the glitter on your fingers.
“I’m at a party,” you answer simply. “That’s enough of an answer.”
“We’re all at parties for reasons larger than we think,” Ashton sighs. “For example, my buddy Luke is here because he wants to show his girlfriend that he can be around alcohol and function like a normal human. Me? I just need a breather from getting thrown up on.”
You freeze, registering the words Ashton just said. Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you. “Getting thrown up on? What the hell.”
He flashes another smile, this one lingers. “Babies have sensitive stomachs. I’m too young and beautiful to smell like regurgitated milk.”
“You’re a dad?!” You exclaim, the wonder fading ever so slightly. To wash away the slight horror that was brought on by the unpleasant image of getting barfed on, you down half of your drink.
“Jesus Christ, never,” he laughs, obviously delighted by your reaction. “My best friend had a kid, and it kinda takes a village, ya know?”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relaxing at the clarification. “That’s cute. How come you’re so involved?”
Ashton shrugs. “Her partner died.”
Your blood runs cold at the pronoun. Her. It’s a girl.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, gnarly car accident,” he laments. The silence stretches for an uncomfortable minute, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on anything other than the fact that he’s so close to another woman.
“Hey now,” he snaps his fingers in front of your face, ringing your attention back to the moment. His nails are trimmed and clean, not a single hangnail in sight.
Polished.
“Don’t go quiet on me, baby,” he smiles. “I was just starting to fall in love with that scowl of yours.”
You can’t help but scoff, though your skin heats at his words. You pray that the flurry of lights is enough to hide the crimson that’s no doubt painting your cheeks right now.
“Do you keep anything to yourself?” you ask, but the breathless in your tone is anything but annoyed.
Ashton arrows his eyes, pursing his lips as he seemingly contemplates this. Then, he turns back to you. “Not exactly,” he says. “I would say sorry to drop that bomb on you, but it was going to happen eventually.”
Finally, you let your guard slip ever so slightly. A slight chuckle flies past your lips, the sheer confidence that he exudes is ridiculous, but it’s so endearing you can’t even be upset.
“Eventually?” you repeat, meeting his eyes again. They’re so intense, layers upon layers of emotions that you’ll never understand, enough life behind his eyes to set him apart from everyone else. “You sure?”
“Incredibly sure,” he leans closer, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I have a feeling we’re going to be in each other's lives for a long, long time.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re awfully confident.”
“Again,” you say, ever so slightly exasperated. “What makes you so sure?”
Ashton lets out a long breath, finally taking a sip of his drink. He downs more than you did, and you can’t help but wonder if his heart will also start skipping beats just like yours.
It’s just the caffeine and alcohol on an empty stomach. Right?
“I have a feeling this isn’t my first time meeting you,” Ashton places the cup down, bringing his attention fully back to you. “Even though I’d drop fuckin’ bank to lay eyes on you for the first time again.”
The words land directly on your heart, seizing it mid-beat. Words seem to come so easily for him, each letter dripping with irresistible charm, pulling you deep beneath the surface.
“Do you have bank to drop, Ashton?” you muse. “I have rather expensive tastes.”
He doesn’t seem deterred. “I’ll make it work,” he answers simply. “Go on stage, name drop you in front of thousands. You’ll be trending in a matter of minutes, and everyone will know who it was that stole my attention at a mediocre LA party.”
“That’s not the greatest way to woo someone,” you huff. “Promise of clout? I’ve been side stage before, nothing that’s new to me.”
He leans closer, his nose almost brushing yours. “Take a shot with me, Barbie.”
You blink. “I haven’t even finished my drink.”
“May your cup always be overflowing.”
You snicker, watching as Ashton pulls away before flagging down the same bartender and ordering two green tea shots.
You turn your attention back to Ashton, intrigued by the conundrum that he is. “Are you a man of faith, Ashton? You sound like a preacher.”
He exhales dramatically, his head lolling to the side slightly. “This is probably the part where I say some cheesy shit about not believing in god till I saw her in front of me at a party,” he muses, shaking his head. “But, no, not in the slightest.”
Your eyes flicker back down to the chain, the cross gleaming in the light. “Is that so?”
“Honestly sweetheart, god is a concept made to keep us all from reaching our full potential,” he shrugs, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Aren’t we all made in his image? I find that to be bullshit. Don’t compare me to some average Joe.”
The two shots are placed in front of you, and Ashton’s face lights up with glee. Intertwining your arms together, he takes one of the shot glasses and motions you to do the same.
The two of you throw the shots back at the same time, and you fight back the scowl that threatens to appear at the bitter taste.
When Ashton unlinks your arms, you half expect him to fully turn away from you. Instead, he grips your waist with a steady hand, pulling you close enough that your chests are pressed together, and your noses brush.
“Here’s the thing, baby,” he leans closer, his voice drowning in arrogance. “If God exists— it’s fucking me.”
His hands tighten on your waist, keeping you grounded and stuck right between him and the bar. His eyes fall, traveling down your neck and drinking in where your dress has shifted.
Your breath catches in your throat.
Then, he leans closer. His breath smells like alcohol, his lips are almost brushing yours, and you feel your knees grow weak.
“Yo, Ash!” you hear someone call, another accented voice that matches Ashton’s. He freezes, pulling away from you so fast it’s almost as if he’s vanished.
But he hasn’t, he’s standing a few feet from you, looking at the guy you noticed when you walked in. “Yeah?”
They exchange a look, and Ashton heaves a sigh before turning to face you again. “Meet me outside in about fifteen?” he asks, his expression suddenly serious.
Your mouth opens, but no words come out. He doesn’t let you speak, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.
“Don’t break my heart, Barbie,” he whispers. “I’ll be waitin’.”
He’s quickly swallowed by the crowd, leaving you behind, breathless and confused. You usually have much more control of these situations, half-heartedly entertaining the advances of an over-confident micro celebrity.
But Ashton is different.
“You gonna meet him?” the bartender perks up, catching you by surprise. You had completely forgotten he was there to witness the exhilarating meeting with Ashton.
Still, you don’t exactly appreciate having spectators. You turn on your heel, catching the man’s curious eyes. He barely looked at you twice earlier, but now that Ashton decided to claim you as his for the time being, he seems to be interested.
What a competitive asshole.
“Sorry, I don’t remember flagging you down for one of your mediocre drinks and unwanted opinions,” you say, tone clipped as you push yourself away from the bar. “Do what you’re paid to do.”
Spinning on your heel, you walk away before he can attempt to retaliate.
You have barely been here an hour, yet the idea of meeting Ashton is a thrill you hate how much you’re looking forward to feeling. It’s not like anything much more interesting is going on, seeing as half of the people you know from here probably just remember your social media handle better than your name.
So, despite your better judgement, you walk out of the venue.
—
The biting chill of the wind makes goosebumps cascade down your skin, and you fight back the urge to frown. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to do as Ashton asked, after all, who’s to say he was even truthful?
Maybe you just look like a fucking idiot, standing outside of the venue in a skimpy dress, freezing your ass off.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean back against the brick wall, watching as the cars drive past you without a second thought. No paparazzi, probably nobody worth photographing inside.
“My Barbie, looking all pretty, waiting just for me,” you hear that voice, same arrogance that taints every word. Snapping your gaze up, your eyes find two jade ones. “I’m just about the luckiest bastard in this world.”
You narrow your eyes, straightening your spine as you face him again. “You could’ve let me wait for you inside,” you hiss. “I’m freezing my ass off here. Making me stand in the cold? Really?”
Ashton waves a hand, dismissing your frustration. “I didn’t make you do anything, Y/N,” he shrugs, stepping closer, once again crowding you against the wall. There’s a line cigarette tucked behind his ear, you notice.
It’s fully black.
The leather of his jacket is cool against your already chilled skin, but when his arms wrap around your waist, the temperature is the least of your worries.
“I can get you warm again,” he promises. “I’ll make it up to you, you know I will. By the time this is over, you’ll forget you were even cold in the first place.”
“I’m not sure what you think ‘this’ is,” you huff, poking at his chest with your finger. “I hardly know you.”
Ashton lets out a sound of mock indignation, pulling back in horror. “Where are my manners?” he shakes his head, continuing with the ruse. “I’m Ashton Irwin, baby. Drummer for the sickest band in the world. Ya ever heard of The Neurotics?”
You blink, unimpressed. The name does sound familiar, much to your dismay. You probably heard something about them in passing, maybe even a song, but your brain doesn’t immediately conjure up an answer.
“You’re just some guy in a leather jacket.”
Ashton smirks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m God.”
You don’t bother dignifying such a statement with a reply. Instead, you scoff, but the effect Ashton’s words I’m have on you is undeniable.
“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but the lack of conviction in your tone only makes Ashton’s smirk deepen.
His calloused fingers find your chin, forcing your gaze to lock with yours. The chill that had been clinging to you before disappears, replaced by the unbearable heat of having him so close to you.
“I’m whatever you want me to be, Barbie,” he muses, delighted by the effect he has on you.
The space between you is basically nonexistent, sharing the same air, same breath, same excitement for the inevitable. Ashton pulls away slightly, just as your body starts leaning closer to his subconsciously.
You try not to acknowledge the slight disappointment you feel at that, watching curiously as he reaches for the cigarette behind his ear.
“You smoke?” You ask, desperate to hear another one of his quips. He’s addictive.
Ashton places the cigarette between his lips, glancing up at you through his lashes. “Nah,” he mutters, voice muffled as he pats his pockets for a light. “Just when I’m drunk enough, I suppose. These are Luke’s.”
There is that name again— Luke. You file it away, noticing the importance he tends to give it.
“Your friend, the one you abandoned me for?” You tease, standing straighter.
Ashton huffs out a laugh, bringing the lighter and sparking his cigarette. The strong, smoky scent of cloves engulfs your senses, surprisingly pleasant. You try not to smoke, being all too aware of the yellowing teeth and dry skin, but this feels like something you can’t pass up on.
“Never that,” he answers, placing a hand over his heart. Smoke curls around his every word. “But that’s my brother. Duty calls sometimes.”
You nod slowly, taking the black cigarette from between Ashton’s finger and taking a cautious pull. You’re not exactly new to smoking, having had a few questionable habits back in high school.
Your eyes catch on the mauve stain on the butt of the cigarette, remnants of your lipstick.
Ashton finds it too, pupils dilating hungrily.
“Same duty as raising a child that isn’t yours?” you ask. Everything he gives is enough to entice you, but never enough to fully figure out.
“Asking so many questions for someone who just wants to kiss me,” he cocks his head, taking another long drag of his cigarette.
Narrowing your eyes, you shake your head. He isn’t wrong, your sight has been trained on his lips all night, too plump and pink to be fair. His have been on yours just as much.
“I don’t want to kiss you,” you say. “You can’t just go around assuming that, Ashton.”
“Fuck, I love it when you say my name,” his voice drops, breathless to emphasize the effect you have on him. “What do I need to do to hear it again?”
His face is close again, hand coming to cup your cheek. The touch is surprisingly tender, but it makes your entire body come alive.
“Kiss you, maybe?” He continues, the smile never melting off his face. “You might get mad at me, but I bet it’ll probably be hot.”
Rolling your eyes, you place your hand over his chest. His skin is warm and alive beneath your palm. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”
There’s a brief flicker of surprise on his face, but it quickly vanishes when the words seem to settle in.
“Guess so.”
He doesn’t waste a second, ducking his head until his lips are pressed against yours. You inhale sharply, surprised by the softness of his lips, the pressure that seems so sure and steady.
Your hands come up, wrapping around his neck. The kiss deepens as Ashton’s tongue darts out to tease at your bottom lip. He moves with the same confidence and arrogance you have come to expect from him, but it still makes your knees feel weak.
The cold brick wall hits your back, and you gasp into Ashton’s mouth. He takes this opportunity to finally slip his tongue past your lips, licking into your mouth with quiet fervor.
It feels like ecstasy, the large calloused hands holding on to your waist, roaming your exposed back greedily as he pulls you closer, undoing you perfectly with every movement of his lips.
Your hands come up to tangle in the sandy curls, soft beneath your finger tips. When you tug slightly, Ashton lets out a pleased hum, hands dropping to your waist.
His lips travel a sure path from your mouth down to your jaw, leaving a trail of fire burning in its wake. You throw your head back, feeling as Ashton nips at your pulse point.
The lights or the city blur when you open your eyes, for a moment you had almost forgotten you were in public. Still, the intensity of Ashton’s kisses makes you forget to worry about it.
His hands are traveling down your body slowly, no doubt watching your reactions carefully, searching for a greenlight he knows you’ll give him. When you don’t protest the path they’ve taken, he smirks against your skin, returning back to your lips as his hands find what they were looking for.
He squeezes your ass firmly, enough that you gasp, but just as he probably expected, you don’t complain. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, the sharp pain making you moan into his mouth.
“You sound so pretty,” Ashton mutters in between kisses, breathless. “Fuck, I can’t wait to see how loud you’ll get for me. Isn’t that right, Barbie?”
You freeze. The idea of going home with him did cross your mind, but it was more of a fleeting thought than an actual conviction. Ashton pulls away slightly, letting you catch your breath as your foreheads rest against each other’s.
“I just met you,” you answer breathlessly, lips still swollen from the make-out. “You can’t possibly be that confident.”
“I am,” he answers, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, then your cheek, your nose, and finally— your forehead. “I told you, I think we’re going to be in each other’s lives for a while. I think today is just the start of it all, and I’m about to be the luckiest motherfucker I’ve ever met.”
You’re breathing heavily, the implication of the words making your head swim. “What, we’re gonna be best friends?”
He grins, that devilish flash of teeth that you’ve been catching glimpses of all night. “Exactly that,” he agrees. “Best friends forever. Besties. We might even get matching locket necklaces from Claire’s.”
“And you want to see me naked?”
He nods. “I think anyone who gets to see you naked is lucky,” he starts. “And I just so happen to be the luckiest one tonight.”
Your cheeks heat, and you roll your eyes in an effort to lighten the tone of the conversation. “That’s an interesting definition of ‘best friends’ you got there.”
Ashton looks at you for a beat, nodding slightly before reaching for his phone. You watch as he pulls up the phone app, the keypad staring at you like a taunt.
“Give me your number,” he instructs, placing the device between your hands. “I’ll show you just how much of a best friend I can be.”
Despite your better judgement, you do as he says, handing his phone back without a word. He screenshots the number, closing the phone.
He never gives you his.
“Now what do you say about getting an uber and ditching this lame ass party?” he asks, the same playful attitude from before coming back full force.
You purse your lips. “You gonna make it worth my time, Irwin?”
“Always, I’ll be your shoulder to cry on,” he smirks. “Or to put your legs on. I’ll be the bestest friend you’ll ever have.”
—
Getting into the car was a blur.
Between the kisses and the wandering hands, you had no idea when Ashton managed to even order the Uber. Not that it matters much anymore, sitting in the back seat of some car, with his lips attached to your neck.
Your eyes are half-lidded, and you bite your lip to contain any sounds that might escape before you let them. His palms are rough but warm on your skin, his teeth scraping against your neck enough to make you shiver.
The blood beneath your skin is boiling hot, the pressure building at the base of your spine makes it impossible to think of anything but the steady touch of the man beside you.
The driver hasn’t looked back once, which you’re thankful for. Your hand cups the back of Ashton’s neck, nails scratching slightly at his scalp. He isn’t close enough, no matter how much of you he’s touching, it never feels close enough.
His hand rests on your inner thigh, your dress riding up eagerly high. Ashton breathes heavily against your neck, a clear sign of his own desperation.
“You’re so attractive it hurts,” he mutters between pants. Your heart skips a few beats, feeling as his hand rises higher and higher. “You gonna let me make you feel good, Barbie? Make a mess of that pretty face of yours?”
You screw your eyes shut, feeling as Ashton’s clever fingers brush against the damp spot in your panties. “Ashton,” you warn, shooting a panicked look towards the driver.
His eyes are trained on the road, entirely oblivious to the depravity going on in his back seat.
“Shh,” he whispers, licking along the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna be good for me, right? Let me make a mess out of you right here while you sit all pretty and quiet.”
You let out a small whimper, and your heart seizes. Still, no reaction from the driver.
You feel Ashton push the fabric aside, and the heat of his fingers as they brush against your entrance. You’re wet, you swear you can hear it over the steady hum of the music.
“You’re so wet for me, Y/N,” he whispers, mischief clinging to every word. The pad of his finger traces over your clit, just enough pressure to have your body freezing on the spot. “This pussy is already all mine, isn’t it?”
Slowly, he starts to rub circles, each making electricity shoot down your spine. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and your body leans into the sensation.
“Fuck,” the word slips past your lips without permission, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s quiet enough that you can tell yourself nobody heard it.
Ashton’s free hand comes up to your face, sealing over your lips as he places a gentle kiss to your cheekbone. “Be quiet, Barbie,” he whispers tauntingly. “Wouldn’t want to get caught.”
As if to punctuate his words, his fingers slip inside you. The stretch is delicious, and you feel it everywhere. Inhaling sharply, your hand shoots out to grab his forearm, nails digging into the leather of his jacket.
He curls his fingers expertly, and stars dance across your vision. His lips pepper kisses along all the exposed skin he can manage to get access to, tongue tracing a dizzying path.
“So fucking pretty,” he hums, thumb finding your clit, beginning to work in tandem with his other fingers. “That feel good?”
Your legs shake, and you do everything in your power to keep them open. Your eyes dart back to the driver, the oblivious man still focused on the road.
Your eyes flutter shut as Ashton picks up the pace, rubbing your clit with just enough pressure that you melt into the bliss.
Shifting your head to the side, you look at Ashton. His green eyes are wide, but they’re cocky. He doesn’t tear his eyes away, staring deep into your soul— almost as if he can read every thought that races in your mind.
Another curl of his fingers, and the sound is so filthy that you can’t help but gasp. It’s muffled by Ashton’s hand, which is still splayed over your lips, but the bliss is so strong that you can’t bring yourself to care if someone sees.
If he keeps going like this, you might just let him fuck you in front of the whole world for the sake of being claimed by him.
“Atta girl,” he mutters, pleased. “Taking me so well. Letting me play with this pretty little pussy. It’s all mine, isn’t it?”
You nod, entirely too eager. Your self-respect has vanished, but truthfully you can’t find it in yourself to care.
Heat begins to build in the pit of your belly, a fire so strong you’re sure you will set the entire car ablaze. Your hand finally lets go of Ashton’s bicep, tangling instead on those soft sandy curls. He moans, a quiet little sound that has you clenching around his fingers.
“You gonna come for me, Y/N?” his breathing is ragged in your ear, but you nod.
You glance down, catching sight of his fingers as they slip in and out of you. They glimmer with you, covered in every ounce of your desire. The sight is filthy, but you can’t tear your eyes away.
Ashton keeps fucking you with his fingers, pace never faltering. The heat only grows, spreading further across your body as you coil tight with the looming release.
You let out a small whimper, his thumb still tracing circles around your clit. You’re so close your vision swims— every pull of his skilled digits has your legs shaking.
“You take my fingers so fucking good,” he praises, nipping your earlobe. “You’re gonna take my cock even better.”
He’s knuckle-deep, coaxing what you’re sure is going to be an Earth-shattering orgasm out of you. You feel something press against you, the tell-tale sign of Ashton’s own need for you.
Carefully, you untangle your hand from his curls, letting it cover his clothed cock. He’s so fucking hard, large from what you can feel, and the idea that he’ll be buried inside you is enough to have you teetering the edge.
The pressure is building, and you can’t keep fighting it anymore. Your legs shake, and your breathing grows heavier. Ashton lets out soft little moans, each one directly in your ear.
“Come for me.”
You break at his words, a gasp tearing from your throat as your body tenses with the force of your release. Your legs shake, and stars dance across your vision.
Ashton doesn’t stop his ministrations until he’s sure you’ve ridden out every wave, and you collapse against his chest. Finally, he withdraws his fingers, shooting a curious look at the driver.
His hands are tense on the wheel.
Ashton smirks, looking down at you with those jade eyes. The mess you left behind on his fingers would be embarrassing, but his face lights up at the realization.
Holding your gaze, he brings his sticky fingers up to his mouth, tongue darting out to clean them. He lets out a pleased hum, and your words die in your throat.
“Tastes just as good as I’d imagined,” he comments.
“Fuck,” you whisper, leaning back against the seat to try and regain your composure.
The car starts to slow down, and you don’t really recognize the area. It must be Ashton’s house, you figure, and when the car finally comes to a stop, your suspicion is confirmed when Ashton mumbles a something to the driver you can’t quite catch.
Turning to you, he runs a hand through his hair. “See you around, Barbie,” he winks. “Get home safe.”
Your eyes widen. What?
“Ashton, wait—“
You barley get to finish your sentence before the door flies open and Ashton steps out of the Uber. The door closes with a slam, and in your shock you can’t even bring yourself to say anything.
Ashton stands on the curb, looking all too pleased with himself as he leaves you with a final salute.
“Excuse me?” the driver asks, cutting right through your shock. “Uh, what is your address? The gentleman paid in advance for you.”
You frown, anger boiling beneath your skin. He never even gave you his fucking number. For all you know, he doesn’t even live where he was dropped off.
Maybe he’s going to see that best friend of his, after all.
Your throat tightens, but you will not cry. You barely know the guy. Sure, he fingered you in an Uber and made you come harder than anyone ever has before.
So what?
You mutter your address, anger clinging to every word, and you speed off into the night.
You’re suddenly too aware of the stickiness left between your thighs, the night that you thought was promised fully slipping from between your fingers. So much for feeling fucking special.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean against the window. You took Ashton’s seat when he left, which is still warm from him.
At least you know you didn’t conjure him up out of pure loneliness.
Your phone buzzes, making you jump as it startles you out of your haze. Glancing down at it like it will explode in any second, you pick it up.
It’s a message from an unknown number.
i can still smell you on my fingers.
You blush, more out of anger than anything else. You don’t bother dignifying that with a response, throwing your phone down angrily beside you.
Ashton Irwin can go fuck himself for all you care.
Then the phone vibrates again, but you try to ignore it. The pull of curiosity is strong, so strong that it only takes a couple of seconds before you’re darting to grab your phone, the screen lighting the darkness around you.
i have a feeling i’m gonna be in your life a long, long time barbie. get home safe.
Yeah. Fuck that guy.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
idk maybe my brain’s fucked or whatever but I truly believe that muke clemmings happened at some point
I’ve never had a bf before, don’t have friends near me at ALL.
rockstars real question am I a loner?
close friends ✮✮ a luke hemmings x reader fanfic
chapter two: expectations
also available on ao3 & wattpad
taglist: @lovecarsgoingvroom, @ashwasneverhere, @logans-sweet-cherry-pie, @lovesickcaitx, @uhmmjayla, @K1w13nby, @Loki101, @celestialxdragon06, @calumstarotcard, @happy-nico, @iheartnostalgia & @tbfaptbfae (comment or message me if you would like to be added!)
chapter two’s content/trigger warnings: bullying, verbal abuse, power imbalance, and brief mentions of past toxic relationship
word count: 5,087
a/n: sorry for the late upload!! i'd been trying to format the text message part across ao3, wattpad, and here all last night and today. anyways, chapter 2 out now!! read, comment, and reblog! thank you so much for all your love for chapter 1 — I really appreciate it! stay tuned for chapter 3 coming either on or before next thursday! <3
You arrived at the office forty-five minutes early the next morning, which was either a testament to your work ethic or evidence that you'd barely slept. You'd spent the night in a hotel room that was better than any you’d ever been in, yet you'd still managed to lie awake until 3 a.m., replaying the hallway conversation with Luke on an endless loop in your head.
I'm going to watch you. Every. Single. Fucking. Day.
You'd told yourself it was fine. You'd told yourself he was just an asshole, and you'd dealt with assholes before. You'd dated one for five years. You knew how to survive someone who wanted to make you feel small.
But Bobby had never looked at you the way Luke had. Bobby had been a slow erosion, a series of small cuts that added up over time until you couldn't remember what it felt like to be whole. Luke, on the other hand, was a blade to the throat, immediate and sharp.
If you screw up, if you let your little fangirl fantasy get in the way of doing your job, I'm going to make sure you're gone faster than you can say 'I'm sorry.'
You pressed your palms to your eyes and breathed. In. Out. In. Out.
You were going to be fine.
You had to be.
HQ was already buzzing when you walked in — the kind of controlled chaos that came with tour prep. There were clipboards everywhere, half-drunk coffees, and overlapping voices trying to solve problems that had yet to manifest. You stood in the doorway, clutching your tote bag.
"Y/N!" A voice called out from across the room. You turned to see a woman in her mid-thirties approaching, a binder tucked under her arm and a phone pressed to her ear. She was tall and sharp-edged, with dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail and the kind of posture that suggested she'd never once slouched in her life. She ended her call with a clipped "I'll call you back" and fixed you with a look that was assessing but not unkind.
"Mara Bennett," she said, extending a hand. "I'm your boss. Everything you need to know about how this tour runs goes through me first. Everything you don't know? Also goes through me first. Understood?"
You shook her hand. "Y/N L/N. Understood."
"Good." She turned on her heel and started walking, clearly expecting you to follow. "You're early, which is a good sign. This tour is going to be a monster, and I need people who show up before they're asked. The band is a nightmare. They're not bad people, they're just talented and famous and have been told yes for the last decade. You'll learn to manage them. Or you'll burn out. Those are the only two options."
You hurried to keep up with her. "I've managed difficult personalities before."
"I'm sure you have." Mara didn't look back. "But you haven't managed them. There's a difference between a difficult boss and a difficult Luke Hemmings. He's not just particular — he's observant. He notices things. And he has opinions about everything."
You felt something cold settle in your chest. "I've already met him."
"Then you know what I'm talking about." Mara stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. Inside was a small conference room with a table covered in papers and a whiteboard covered in what looked like a complex web of arrows and deadlines.
"Welcome to the war room," she laughed, gesturing vaguely at the chaos. "This is where the tour comes together. Every decision, every crisis, every last-minute panic — it will get dealt here before we’re off."
She handed you the binder — thick, heavy, and stuffed with tabbed dividers and printed schedules.
"That's everything you need to know about the tour," Mara said. "Travel itineraries, setlists, VIP packages, posting schedules, media appearances, content rules, sponsorship obligations, and a complete list of everyone you'll be working with. Study it. Memorize it. If you have questions, ask me. If you don't have questions, ask me anyway, because I promise you're missing something."
You nodded, already feeling overwhelmed by the weight of the binder in your hands. "Got it."
"Good." Mara checked her watch. "We have a full day ahead. The band will be here in an hour, and I need you up to speed before then. Follow me."
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The rest of the morning was a blur of introductions and information. Mara walked you through the chain of command with military precision — who reported to whom, who had final approval on what, and the unspoken hierarchy that kept the whole operation running. She was kind about it, but there was no mistaking the message: you answered to her first and everyone else second.
At some point, she deposited you in a small office with a computer and a stack of login credentials and told you to wait for Eli.
Eli Reyes arrived twenty minutes later, a tablet in one hand and a coffee in the other. He was in his late twenties, with dark curls and a friendly smile that immediately put you at ease.
"Y/N, right?" He set down his coffee and extended his hand. "I'm Eli. I handle all the content and photography. Which means I'm basically your partner in crime for the next year."
You shook his hand, relieved to finally meet someone who didn't seem like they were about to bite your head off. "Nice to meet you. Mara said you'd walk me through the content calendar?"
"Among other things." He pulled up a chair and sat down, gesturing for you to open your laptop. "Let me show you what we're working with."
The analytics dashboard was staggering. Millions of followers across every platform. Engagement rates that would make most brands weep with envy. A single post reaching more people in five minutes than you had managed in five months.
"The scale is a lot, I know," Eli said, watching your face. "But the good news is, you're not doing this alone. We have a whole team. You're just the one who has to make sure the band actually posts what we tell them to."
"And if they don't?"
Eli laughed. "Then we panic and come up with a backup plan. Standard procedure."
He walked you through the existing content calendar — a sprawling document of planned posts, captions, photo shoots, and TikTok trends. It was meticulously organized, color-coded, and slightly terrifying in its scope.
"This is your bible now," Eli said with a smile. "Everything we post goes through here. If it's not on the calendar, it doesn't exist. Unless the band posts something without telling us, which honestly happens about three times a week, in which case we scramble to catch up and pretend we planned it all along."
You nodded, already adding the calendar to your mental list of things to memorize. "Got it. Anything else I should know?"
"Just one thing." Eli leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "If Luke gives you notes on a caption, just nod and say 'Great idea, Luke!' It's easier than fighting him. Trust me."
You felt your jaw tighten at the mention of his name. "Noted."
Nate Calloway was next — a broad-shouldered man in his early thirties with a clipboard and the kind of no-nonsense energy that made you immediately straighten your posture.
"I'm the production manager," he said, by way of introduction. "I handle the logistics. Everything from stage setup to venue coordination to stage setup…etcetera, etcetera. If something goes wrong on tour, it's usually my problem to fix."
He launched into a rapid-fire overview of the tour's logistics — venue capacities, load-in times, travel schedules, and equipment requirements. It was a lot of information, and you struggled to keep up, but you nodded along, taking mental notes and trying not to look as overwhelmed as you felt.
"The Olivia internship was smaller, right?" Nate asked, glancing at you.
"I mean, for me, yeah. I didn’t do much outside of TikToks," you admitted. "This is... a lot."
"It is." He didn't sugarcoat it. "But you'll get the hang of it. Just pay attention, ask questions, and don't be afraid to admit when you don't know something. That's how people get hurt on tour — pretending they know what they're doing when they don't."
You nodded, grateful for the honesty. "I'll keep that in mind."
Jules Park was last — a petite, pink-haired woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper sense of style. She was the band's wardrobe stylist, and she briefed you on the upcoming shoot schedule for tour merch, promotional content, and other related events.
"I need you to coordinate with me on posting times," she said, her tone brisk but not unfriendly. "If I send you photos from a shoot, I need them posted within twenty-four hours. The band's fans are rabid — they'll notice if we're late."
"Twenty-four hours," you repeated. "Got it."
Jules gave you a quick smile. "You'll be fine. Just don't let Luke intimidate you."
You laughed, but it came out hollow. "Too late for that."
Jules's expression flickered with something that might have been sympathy. "Yeah. He does that."
It felt like forever before Ally found you that day.
She appeared in your office doorway around ten-thirty, a handful of gum and a conspiratorial grin.
"Hey," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "You look like you need a break. And coffee. And possibly a therapist."
You looked up from the binder, which you'd been trying to memorize for the past hour. "That obvious?"
"Girl, you've been staring at that same page for fifteen minutes." Ally walked in and dropped a piece of gum on your desk. "I've been watching you from the hallway. You look like you're about to cry, and I'm not about to let that happen on your first real day."
You took the gum — watermelon, your favorite — grateful for the gesture. "Thanks. I'm just... overwhelmed."
"Totally normal." Ally pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing her legs. "Listen, I've been doing this for a few years now. I know how crazy it can get. But you're not alone, okay? If you need someone to complain to, or gossip with, or just sit in silence with while you try to figure out what the hell you're doing—I'm your girl."
You felt something loosen in your chest. "Thank you. Really."
"Don't mention it." Ally grinned. "Now, you want the real tea on the band? Or are you too professional for that?"
You thought about it for approximately half a second. "Spill."
Ally leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Okay. Ashton is a secret romantic. Like, he'll pretend he's all chill about love, but he's literally the most sentimental person I've ever met. He cried watching The Notebook on the bus last tour. Calum…Calum acts all nonchalant, but he cares about everyone and everything. Like, literally. He’s the type of guy who remembers everyone's birthdays and dietary restrictions. Michael is chaos incarnate, but he's actually the most emotionally intelligent of all of them. No joke. And Luke—"
She paused, and you felt your stomach tighten.
"Luke is complicated," Ally finished. "He's not mean, exactly. He's just... guarded. He's been through a lot, and he doesn't let people in easily. But if you get past the walls, he's actually really kind."
You thought about the hallway. You thought about the coldness in his eyes. You thought about the sharpness of his words. You thought about the way he looked at you like you were nothing.
"That doesn't sound like kindness to me," you said quietly.
Ally's expression flickered. "I know. But I promise, there's more to him than what you saw yesterday. He's just... scared, I think. Of getting close to people. Of getting hurt."
You didn't know what to say to that. You didn't know if you wanted to.
Ally seemed to sense your discomfort. She stood up, brushing off her jeans. "Anyway. I'm here if you need me. And if Luke gives you shit, just remember — he's all bark, no bite. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
Ally grinned. "Mostly."
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By mid-afternoon, you'd settled into a rhythm. You were sitting on the couch inside the band room with your laptop open, working on a caption for a photo Eli had just sent you. It was a shot of the band from rehearsal — Ashton and Calum laughing at Michael as he tells a joke while Luke looks off to the side, his expression unreadable.
You'd stared at it for too long before you started writing.
Counting down the days until the “everyone's a star tour”! Who's ready to evolve? ⭐️🩷
It was cute. It included two references to 5SOS’s new album. It seemed completely fine.
You hit post and moved on to the next thing.
And then your phone buzzed.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS That caption is fucking boring.
You stared at the message. It was from his personal number — you'd gotten it for work purposes, for emergencies, and for pictures that “needed” his approval. You hadn't expected him to use it for this.
You what's wrong with it?
Luke Hemmings 5SOS Sounds like a generic brand account.
You it's a caption for a rehearsal photo. what do you want me to say?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS Something that sounds like a human wrote it, maybe. It’s like you pulled up ChatGPT and asked it to generate 10 5SOS related captions for a post. I thought you were qualified for this job. Didn’t know qualified candidates had to use ChatGPT for everything.
You set your phone down and took a breath. You wouldn’t even consider it a breath, honestly; It was more of a disgruntled sigh.
He's testing you, you told yourself. Don't let him win.
You i graduated 5th grade English, thank you very much. i know how to write two sentences.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS Says the girl that refuses to capitalize her text messages.
It took everything in you not to throw your phone across the bus. You thought about blocking him, a simple solution to stop this tantrum right in its tracks. You knew, however, that blocking your boss was not a good idea, no matter how annoying and childish he was acting over an Instagram caption.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS When did you graduate 5th grade anyway?
You 2014.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS Awww, how cute. I was touring multiple continents while you were learning multiplication.
You do you want a medal?
Luke Hemmings 5SOS I’ll take it if you have it. Maybe you can post it on the Instagram. Or maybe make a TikTok of me with it.
You let out a groan.
You write a caption yourself if you don't like it.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS You're the social media manager. Maybe do your job instead of doomscrolling and online shopping. Are you too busy searching for vintage 5SOS merch or something? Looking to find more patches for your tote bag?? 😹
Oh god. This man was absolutely insufferable.
You but yet you're the one complaining. write a new one and i’ll be happy to post it.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS Fine. "Busy evolving. If you don't like it, that's a you problem."
You stared at the message. It was the most Luke Hemmings thing you'd ever read — defensive, dramatic, and kind of beautiful in its refusal to apologize for anything.
You that is genuinely the worst caption ever.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS It’s authentic.
You it’s going to start fights in the comments.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS Good. Get the analytics up or whatever.
You i’m not posting that.
Luke Hemmings 5SOS Then use the dumb one you wrote and stop complaining.
You set your phone down, your jaw tight. He was impossible. Absolutely, completely impossible.
Yet, you found yourself smiling. Ever so slightly. Just enough to be annoyed at yourself for it.
Calum was sitting across the room, doodling in a journal with the kind of focus that suggested he was either writing something important or just really committed to avoiding work. He looked up, catching your expression.
"You good over there?" he asked. "You were making some pretty intense faces at your phone."
"Luke," you said, the name coming out like a curse.
Calum laughed. "Did he complain about a caption?"
"How did you know?"
"Because he always complains about captions." Calum shrugged, going back to his journal. "He thinks he's some sort of Instagram tortured poet. It's his latest thing. He'll get over it eventually."
You hoped so. You really, truly hoped so.
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You were still in the band room hours later, editing a TikTok you'd put together for the band's account. It was a simple trend — the "we are [] years old, but we were once [] years old" format — and you'd paired it with a cute throwback photo of 5SOS from their One Direction tour days in 2013.
The fans online loved it. The engagement was climbing, the comments were flooding in with heart emojis and nostalgic praises. For just a moment, you'd let yourself feel a small flicker of pride.
That flicker was extinguished the moment Luke walked in.
He was alone — no phone, no coffee, or anything else to distract him from whatever had apparently put him in a mood. He was wearing a black hoodie, his hair a little messy, and his eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that made your stomach drop before he even spoke.
"Did you post that video?" he asked. His voice was flat, but there was something sharper lingering underneath.
"Um," you said, your brain scrambling. "The TikTok? Yeah, I posted it a few minutes ago. It's doing really well, actually—"
"I didn't approve that."
You blinked. "What?"
"That video." Luke moved closer, his steps deliberate. "I didn't approve it. You don't post things without approval. That's literally the first rule of this job."
"It's a throwback photo," you said, your voice rising slightly. "It's been posted before. It's on the content calendar. Eli—"
"I don't care what Eli said." Luke's voice was still flat, but there was more heat behind it now. "I didn't approve it. You didn't ask me. You didn't give me a heads-up. You just posted it, like you have any idea what you're doing."
You didn't understand. He'd posted throwback photos before. The whole band had. It wasn't like you'd done something crazy.
"The photo is from 2013. It's not controversial. It's a cute, nostalgic post that the fans are loving—"
"I don't give a shit about the fans!" Luke threw his hands up in the air, his eyes blazing. "I care about the fact that you think you can just do whatever you want without consulting anyone! You've been here for two days, two fucking days, and you're already acting like you own the place."
"That's not—"
"Do you have any idea how much work goes into maintaining a public image?" Luke's voice was rising now, sharp and cutting. "How many people have to sign off on every single thing that goes out? You think you can just post whatever you want because you're the social media manager? You think that gives you the right to control how we're perceived?"
“I just-”
“No, Y/N. Just shut the fuck up. Genuinely. Shut the fuck up. I was fucking sixteen in 2013. I was a fucking CHILD. I was wearing clothes I hated and hair I didn't want and you just — you just posted that without even asking me!”
"Luke—" Calum started, but Luke cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"No. She needs to hear this." He turned back to you, and his eyes were cold. "You're a fan. You've been a fan since you were a kid. Guess what? I don't care. You don't get to treat this job like a backstage pass to your childhood fantasy. You don't get to post things without approval because you think you know what's best. You don't get to pretend that you're one of us just because you've been watching us for fifteen years."
His words hit you like a physical blow.
"I'm not pretending to be anything," you managed, your voice shaking. "I'm just doing my job."
"Your job." Luke laughed cruelly. "Your job is to do what you're told. Not to make decisions. Not to post things without asking. You're here to execute the plan, not create it. You do what you're told, when you're told. And if you can't handle that, maybe you should go back to Massachusetts and find a job that's more your speed."
You felt the tears prickling at your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. You hated that he could get to you this quickly, this easily. You hated that he was right about some of it — you had posted without approval, even if you hadn't known you needed it.
But you also hated the way he was looking at you. Like you were nothing. Like you'd never be anything.
"Mate," Calum said, his voice low and firm. "You don't gotta be an asshole about it."
Luke didn't even glance at him. "Stay out of this."
"Don't tell me to stay out of it." Calum stood up, his journal forgotten on the couch. "She's doing her job. She's been here for two days, and she's already putting out good content. You don't get to scream at her because you're in a mood."
"Did I ask for your opinion?" Luke's voice was ice.
"I don't care if you asked or not." Calum stepped between you, his expression hard. "You're out of line, and you know it."
Luke stared at him for a long moment. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides. For a second, you thought he might actually take a swing at Calum.
And then he turned to you, and his eyes were cold.
"You want to know what I think?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I think you're a liability. I think you got this job because you were the easiest hire, not because you're qualified. Your problem is you don't think. You don't consider other people besides yourself. You’ve just stumbled through this like it's some kind of fan convention and we're the exhibits. Like our lives — our real, human lives — are just content for you to curate. You're not a professional. You're just some fanatical tourist who got lucky. You don’t deserve this."
You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The tears were falling now, hot and humiliating, and you couldn't stop them.
"Luke, that's enough," Calum said, his voice tight.
Luke didn't acknowledge him. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable, and said, "Do your fucking job. Not your fantasy. And don't post anything else without approval."
Then he turned and walked out, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
You stood there for a moment, frozen, the tears streaming down your face. And then you couldn't take it anymore. You grabbed your bag and ran, despite Calum yelling for you to come back.
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You didn't stop running until you were outside, the California sun beating down on your face. You slid down against the side of the building, your chest heaving, the sobs coming in ugly, gasping waves.
You're a liability.
You're just a fan.
You're not one of us.
You don’t deserve this.
He was wrong. He had to be wrong. You'd worked your ass off to get this job. You'd earned it. You'd proven yourself at the Olivia internship, and you'd done the work, and you'd—
But what if he was right?
You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. But the tears kept coming, and the sobs kept coming, and you couldn't make it stop.
You didn't hear the footsteps approaching until a voice said, "Hey. Hey, are you okay?"
You looked up to find Michael and Ashton standing in front of you, their expressions a mixture of concern and confusion. They were both holding drink cups — clearly returning from some kind of errand — and they looked like they had no idea what to do with a crying girl outside their building.
"I'm fine," you managed, your voice cracking. "I'm fine. I just — I need a minute."
"You don't look fine," Michael said gently. He crouched down, his eyes soft with concern. "What happened?"
You shook your head, unable to speak. The tears were still coming, and you felt like you'd never be able to stop them.
Ashton dropped down beside his bandmate, his voice low and steady. "Hey. It's okay. We got you. You’re okay."
Michael handed his drink to Ashton and pulled you into a quick, awkward hug. It wasn't much — just a brief squeeze — but it was enough to break something open inside you.
"I don't know what I'm doing," you choked out. "I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why I thought I could do this."
"Hey, no," Michael said, pulling back to look at you. "You're doing great. You’re fucking amazing. You've been here for two days, and you've already posted like three things that went viral. That's insane."
"You don't get it," you said, wiping your eyes. "I keep messing up. I keep doing things wrong. I thought I was ready for this, but I'm just…I'm just making everything worse."
"Making what worse?" Ashton asked, his voice gentle. "The tour hasn't even started yet. You're still learning."
"I should already know this stuff." You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to stop the tears. "I should have asked before posting. I knew better. I did know better. I just — I just got excited, and I didn't think, and now everyone's going to think I'm incompetent."
Michael shook his head. "No one thinks you're incompetent. You made one mistake. That's literally how learning works."
"It doesn't feel like one mistake," you said quietly. "It feels like I'm proving everyone right. Like I don't belong here."
Ashton reached out and squeezed your shoulder. "Listen to me. You got this job because you're good at it. Not because of luck, not because of who you know. Because you have the skills. That's it. That's the only reason."
"Then why does it feel like I'm failing?" you asked, your voice breaking.
"Because you care," Michael said simply. "That's not a bad thing. It means you actually give a shit. And that's more than half the people who work in this industry can say."
You looked at him, your vision still blurred with tears. "How do you do it? How do you handle the pressure? The constant feeling that you're one mistake away from everything falling apart?"
Ashton and Michael exchanged a look.
"We don't,” Michael said, his eyes kind and smile kinder. “We just pretend really well."
Ashton laughed softly. "He's not wrong. We've all had moments where we felt like we didn't belong. Where we thought we were going to screw everything up. It's part of the job."
"But you're famous," you said, your voice small. "You're supposed to have it figured out."
"We're supposed to have a lot of things figured out," Michael said. "Doesn't mean we do."
You let out a shaky breath. "I just wanted to do a good job. I wanted to prove I could handle this."
"And you will," Ashton said firmly. "You're not going to get it right every time. No one does. But you're going to learn, and you're going to get better, and in a few months, you're going to look back at today and realize how far you've come."
Michael nodded. "And if anyone gives you shit, you come find us. We'll handle it."
"That's not—"
"We know," Ashton said, cutting you off gently. "But the offer stands."
"But Luke—"
"Luke is a dick," Ashton said flatly. "We know. We've been dealing with him for fifteen years. He's got a lot of opinions, and he's not always great at expressing them in a way that doesn't make people want to punch him."
"He said I'm a liability," you whispered. "He said I'm just a fan, and that I don't belong here."
Ashton and Michael exchanged a look.
"Okay," Michael said slowly. "First of all, Luke is wrong. He's wrong a lot, actually. He just doesn't like admitting it. And second of all—" He paused, searching for the right words. "You're not a liability. You're a great hire. You've got a killer résumé, and you actually know how to do this job, which is more than we can say for most of the people they bring in."
"And Luke doesn't mean it," Ashton added. "He's dealing with his own stuff. That doesn't excuse how he treated you, but... he's not a bad person. He's just complicated."
You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. "He hates me."
"He doesn't hate you," Michael said. "He just doesn't know how to deal with you yet. There's a difference."
You didn't believe him. You couldn't. But you appreciated the effort.
"Come on," Ashton said, his voice gentle. Michael pulled you up to your feet, offering you a small back rub. "Let's get you some water. And maybe a snack. You look like you haven't eaten all day."
You wanted to argue, but you realized he was right. You hadn't eaten. You'd been too nervous to eat.
"Okay," you said quietly. "Okay."
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The rest of the day was a blur. You tried to pull yourself together, forced yourself to focus on work, managed to post a few more things without incident.
And then, at the end of the day, Mara gathered everyone for a toast.
"We've hit a milestone," she announced, holding up a glass of champagne. "Our North American tickets are officially sold out! That means we're looking at a full tour, sold-out shows, and thousands of fans every night! At the same time, there’s a lot of work ahead. A lot of expectations. But right now…" She smiled, and for the first time, you saw something warm in her expression. "Right now, we celebrate."
The room erupted in cheers. Champagne was poured, glasses were clinked, and for a moment, the tension of the day seemed to lift.
You took a glass of champagne, even though you didn't really feel like celebrating. You stood near the edge of the room, watching the chaos unfold while trying to make yourself invisible.
Luke was on the other side of the room. He'd taken a club soda instead of champagne, and when Michael raised an eyebrow at him, he waved it off with a casual, "I'm driving."
You watched him, and for a moment, your eyes met across the room. His expression was unreadable — cold, distant, impossible to parse.
You looked away first.
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"Y/N." Mara's voice pulled you from your thoughts. She was standing next to you, her glass now empty and her expression serious. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
You followed her to a quiet corner of the room, your heart pounding.
"You did nothing wrong,” Mara said, her voice low. “This isn’t a lecture. This isn’t a scolding. It’s more like…I don’t know. I'm just going to say this once, and I need you to hear me."
You nodded, your throat tight.
"This tour is worth more than either of our careers combined," Mara said, her eyes steady on yours. "The band is worth more than either of our careers combined. And if anything — anything — turns into a headline that isn't about the music, we're all replaceable. Starting with you."
You felt the words land like a punch to the chest.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Mara asked.
"Yes," you managed. "I understand."
"Good." Mara's expression softened, just slightly. "I'm not saying this to scare you. I'm saying it because I think you're talented. I think you have a lot of potential. I don't want to see you throw that away because of something stupid."
She walked away, leaving you standing in the corner, your champagne untouched.
You thought about Luke. About the coldness in his eyes. About the words he'd thrown at you like weapons.
You're a liability. You don't belong here. Do your job, not your fantasy.
You thought about Bobby. About the five years you'd spent feeling small. About the way he'd made you believe you were lucky to have him.
You thought about the coffee you'd left on your desk this morning. Untouched. Cold.
And then you thought about tomorrow.
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You left the office that night feeling hollow. You didn't have the energy to think about anything — not Luke, not Mara's warning, not the tour. You went back to your hotel room and collapsed, dreading the months ahead.
But when you arrived at your desk the next morning, something was different.
A coffee sat in the center of your workspace: a cardboard cup, the kind from the café down the street, with someone’s writing scribbled on the side in sharp, jagged letters.
You stared at it for a long moment, your heart pounding.
You hadn't ordered coffee.
You hadn't even been in the office yet.
You picked up the cup, the coffee still warm.
Massachusetts.
The handwriting on the cup was familiar. You'd seen it before — on a note in the office, on documents you’d signed when you accepted the job offer, and on the signed CD’s back at your childhood home. It was a signature that had been burned into your memory since you were seven years old.
You swallowed hard. The anger from the day before was still there, simmering beneath the surface. But underneath the anger, something else was stirring — something you didn't want to name.
You took a sip of the coffee. It was black, with just a hint of sugar. Exactly how you liked it. You set the cup down and stared at it, your mind racing.
You didn't know what it meant.
You didn't know if you wanted to find out.
But you couldn't stop thinking about it. The way the coffee tasted. The way the handwriting had looked. The way your heart had skipped a beat when you realized who had left it there.
This tour is worth more than either of our careers combined.
You picked up the cup and took another sip.
If anything turns into a headline...
You set the cup down and opened your laptop.
We're all replaceable. Starting with you.
You started working. You didn't think about Luke. You didn't think about the coffee. You told yourself you didn't.
You were lying.
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My Muse- Luke Hemmings Pt. 2
Summary: Audry has writers block, for the first time in her whole career, but who knew an afternoon with Luke Hemmings could fix that right up.
WARNING: There is a lil smut in there, nothing too crazy, but rough nonetheless
PART 2
They spent the next hour and a half with each other before Emma found herself sauntering over. She laid her arm around Audry’s shoulder and leaned into her. Audry could smell the liquor on her breath as she started talking. “Don't mean to interrupt this,” she said, motioning to the two of them, “But the girls and I are planning on hitting up a few other places. You wanna come, or could you find a ride home?” she asked before resting her head atop Audry’s.
She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Luke cut her off. “I can take you back home later if that's alright?” That sexy Australian accent she was growing very fond of cut through the murmur of the crowd like butter. Audry shook her head quickly, turning to Emma.
“Yeah Em, that's fine. Luke can take me home,” she said, biting her lip and resting her hand on top of Luke’s, which was still on her thigh. Emma just raised her eyebrows and pressed a quick kiss to her crown before walking away with a soft ‘be careful’. After watching her friend disappear, dodging people, she turned back to Luke, who just so happened to be staring right back at her. The moment her eyes met his striking blue ones, she knew tonight was going to be fun. He flagged down the bartender, ordering another round for the both of them. Of course he just had to steal a sip of Audrey's fruity cocktail before passing it along to her. She licked the rim seductively, or as seductively as she could with the light buzz still clouding her brain.
“If you wanted to come home with me, all you had to do was ask,” she said, smirking before taking another drink and winking at him. He laughed softly, leaning forward and shaking his head slowly.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble, pretty girl...” He took a swig of his beer, setting it on the bar, biting his lip. His eyes traveled down to hers, and before she could even protest, he leaned in and pressed a kiss on her lips. Her lips parted slightly when he pulled away; she could practically feel the heat rising to her face. Audry grabbed the side of his shirt, pulling him back in for another kiss; this one she was ready for. The tingle she felt when their lips met was magical; it felt like everyone else in that crowded club disappeared. Her head was fuzzy; she was numb to all other senses, and the only thing that mattered right now was the way his lips felt against hers. His right hand snaked up her neck, caressing the side of her face while his left met at her side. She still had a grip on his shirt, and she let out just the faintest moan before pulling away. “When are we getting out of here?” He whispered just loud enough for her to hear. He leaned back against the bar, finishing his beer off and handing Audrey her drink back.
“I guess when I’m done with this.” Taking the glass from Luke, she took a sip, the cold fruity liquid sending a shiver down her spine as it slid down her throat. She took advantage of the silence to look at him. The lines in his face, the occasional glint of glitter scattered on his shirt. The way he mindlessly fidgeted with the rings on his fingers, his dark hair seemingly perfectly messed up, and she had to resist the urge to reach up and mess it up some more. All she could think about was getting him home. Luke, whose hand was still resting on her thigh and feeling the fishnets underneath it, was talking to the bartender as she finished her drink. He looked back, taking the glass from her and handing it to him before bidding goodbye. Only then, when he turned around, did he let go of her leg to extend his hand out and help her down. Audry quickly grabbed onto his hand, pulling her bag back over her shoulder and letting him lead her out. They went through the back door, walking up to his bandmates.
Luke kept a hold of her hand as they approached. “We’re getting out of here. I'll see ya tomorrow,” he smirked before turning away. Audry waved as the chorus of goodbys rang from the group. Usually they would tease Luke, give him some shit about leaving with a girl, but Audry seemed sweet. She seemed different from the girls Luke would hook up with, and secretly, they were hoping this might be the chance for bad boy Luke Hemmings to settle down a little. He led her down the street to a slick black car; he opened the passenger door for her to get in, placing a soft kiss to her cheek before she ducked down. He closed the door behind her, climbing into the car himself and starting it up. Audry reached forward, turning the music up, and Luke’s hand once again found its way to her leg.
They sat in silence for a little bit as Luke pulled out of the parking lot. He followed Audrey’s instruction as she pointed left before speaking. So, what do you do for a living, princess?” He asked, fiddling with the material of her tights between his fingers.
She smiled, looking over at him. “I’m a writer for a magazine.” She reached out and grabbed his hand with her own, intertwining their fingers and running her thumb against the rings on his fingers.
“Hey, that's pretty cool, like the articles for a magazine? Anything I've seen?”
Audry nodded her head, “Yeah, articles. I do a little bit of editing occasionally; it's more of a teen girl magazine, so I doubt you've come across any of my work specifically.” She laughed, looking up at him. He nodded, smiling over at her before turning back to the road. The rest of the ride was filled with comfortable conversations occasionally interrupted by Audry telling Luke where to turn. They were quickly approaching her house, a little midcentury starter home; the porch light she had left on was illuminating all of the plants she had scattered around, and the porch swing creaked a little in the wind. He shut the car off after pulling into her driveway, motioning for her to wait in the car while he went around to open the door like the gentleman he was. She took his arm and led him to the front door, unlocking it and turning on the light before bringing him inside without a second thought.
Audry kicked her boots off by the door; Luke followed suit, and they made their way through her kitchen. Opening the fridge, she threw a bottle of water at him and led him to the living room. Audry sat in the corner of her big sectional couch, patting the seat next to her. Luke flopped down and scooted close to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in. “You know what I'm starting to like about you, Audry?” he asked in a low voice, looking down at her curled into him. She hummed and furrowed her eyebrows slightly, waiting for his response. He sighed and continued on, “You’re so intriguing to me; there's like this wave of curiosity surrounding you. It’s like I just can't get enough of you already.” He finished, rubbing her left shoulder where his hand had been resting and placed a soft kiss to her hairline.
“I find you very intriguing as well, Luke. I’ve been enjoying my night with you. Hopefully we can make it a regular thing.” She laid her head on his shoulder, twisting the cap off of her water bottle and taking a sip. He hummed in agreement against her hair.
“Oh, that is definitely happening; you aren't getting away from me that easily, princess.” He chuckled and pulled her a little closer. As she looked up at him with a soft smile on her lips, their eyes met. Once again, she felt like the rest of the world disappeared and the only thing that mattered was the angelic man above her. They both leaned in at the same time, kissing passionately. Fireworks were erupting in her stomach; she allowed her hands to explore his body. She couldn't get enough; first she was touching his arm around her, then his thigh, then she sat up facing him better and her hands were on his chest, his neck. Her hands finally traveled under the hem of his shirt, and she felt goosebumps appearing under her touch.
Luke moaned into the kiss, opening his mouth and catching her tongue before pulling her onto his lap. His hands squeezed the tops of her thighs over his. Audry turned her head. Deafening the kiss, she let out a gasp as she felt him grow underneath her. Her hips involuntarily jolted, spreading the heat and wetness from her core. It was leaking out of her panties, leaving a faint damp spot over his jeans. Luke’s grip on her thighs tightened, rocking her back and forth faster on his lap while he devoured her mouth.
Audry threw her head back, moaning loudly. Luke attached his lips to her neck hungrily. His right hand stayed on her thigh while the left slowly traveled under her dress, toying with the lace on her panties. As his hand found the front, he moaned into her skin breathlessly. “Fuck baby, you’re so wet for me,” Audry whined in response, grinding down on his rock-hard bulge quicker. She frantically threw off her jacket behind her and lifted her arms while Luke slipped her dress over her head. He leaned back for just a moment to take all of her in, the way her pale skin looked in contrast to the black lace fabric of her bra and panties, her swollen red lips, her hair falling out of her ponytail, and the faintest purple spots littering her chest where his mouth had just been. She looked so beautiful. Audry didn’t waste any time getting Luke undressed either; she pulled his shirt off before he could even register what was happening. She continued moving back and forth on his lap while her fingertips danced along his toned chest.
Suddenly, as if a switch had been turned, Luke threw her onto the couch. He climbed on top of her in one swift move without even disconnecting their lips. He rubbed her wetness through her panties, feeling her shiver underneath his touch. With both hands on either side, he slid them down and sat on his knees in front of her, admiring her pretty dripping pussy. Audry’s breath hitched in her throat, feeling him that close to where she needed him. She let out a faint whine. “Please, Luke.” He looked up at her before placing a finger to her sensitive clit.
“Please what, Princess? You want me to bury my face between your thighs and make you feel really good?” He asked in a condescending tone. Before she could respond, he dove right in, bringing both of her legs over his shoulders and disappearing into her. Audry couldn’t take it anymore; a string of moans and curse words flew out of her mouth, her hands immediately flew to his hair, pushing him in further as she grinded against his face. Luke loved this, loved how confident she was in getting what she wanted. He reached forward, pushing her hips down and regaining control. He slipped two fingers into her; she arched her back, whining at the contact. Luke did not slow down; all of her noises were encouraging. The way her body shook under his tongue only turned him on more. He could feel the tension building inside of her and right before her release as she was gasping for air and begging to cum, he retracted himself. Audry whined at the loss of contact but was even more excited to see him kicking off his jeans and releasing his hard cock.
It was huge, massive actually, and even though she was a little nervous at the size, she was even more intrigued. She sat up immediately, reaching for it. It was like electricity in her hand, hot and red. She opened her mouth around just the tip, sucking gently and looking up into his blue eyes. They were filled with lust, looking down at her, and as soon as he felt her tongue on him, he threw his head back in pleasure. “Good job, babygirl.” He moaned out breathlessly as he grabbed the back of her head and forced her to take it all in. Her eyes were watering, gagging, trying to back out for air as Luke watched down at her. Little praises left his mouth, telling her how pretty she looked with her mouth full, how proud he was. He let go after a minute, but Audry didn't stop. She continued taking him all the way to the back of her throat, gagging and slobbering all over both of them.
Just when Luke had enough of that, he pulled her up by her hair, kissing her roughly, licking up all of the spit that had formed around her mouth. He pushed her back onto the couch, face down, ass up. He positioned himself behind her, rubbing between her folds, teasing her while he stroked himself. Audry whimpered, and practically begged for him to fuck her. “I need to feel you inside me, please, Luke. God, the way you're going to stretch me out, please!” And he obliged, entering her quickly, not even giving her time to adjust to his size before ramming into her over and over again. She was a blubbering mess underneath him, going brain numb; all she could focus on was the thumping of his cock against her cervix and the hot handprints he was leaving on her ass. He lifted her hips slightly, hitting the perfect angle as he felt her come undone underneath him. Audry let out a scream, her legs began to shake, and her arms had given out at that point. Once he felt her sweet juices pooling around the base of his cock, he let himself explode inside of her, filling her up to the brim.
He fell back onto her couch, pulling Audry up to his chest, their labored breathing slowing down together. “You are definitely not getting rid of me anytime soon,” Luke said, chuckling and pressing a soft kiss to the crown sat in comfortable silence for a while, catching their breath and cuddling against each other. Luke checked the time as he felt Audry yawn against him: 1:34. “I better get going and let you get some sleep, little girl,” he said, sighing and standing up.
She looked up at him, frowning slightly and standing up next to him. “You sure I’m going to see you again?” she asked shyly.
He nodded his head, pulling his shirt back over his beautifully toned chest. “Give me your number, and I’ll text you so we can go out on a proper date.” Luke handed his unlocked phone out to her and continued gathering his things while he watched her put her number in his phone. Once she gave it back to him, he brought her in for a hug, wrapping his arms around her and placing a soft kiss on her lips before walking out the door.
Once alone, Audry had quite the mess to clean up. She started the shower and gathered all of her clothes into a laundry basket. The shower was hot and full of contemplation, and the most brilliant idea hit her as she rinsed the strawberry-scented shampoo out of her hair. Not only was Luke the missing piece to her love life, but he was also about to fix her writer's block. She dried herself off, threw on a fresh pair of sweatpants, and sat at her desk, writing frantically.
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.
Soppy wfttwtaf appreciation post x
I journaled about this yesterday but since I have tumblr back I can speak about it again!!
This album means more to me than any album in the world. 5 years of it is crazy. When it came out I wasn’t envisioning another week for myself, it was meant to all end that same week. To say i’m glad it didn’t would be a lie, but since I regretfully lived to see another 5 years, I will say it has only made me more and more grateful for wfttwtaf and 5sos in general.
Hearing starting line live in April was surreal. I think I died and came back to life. I am basic in the fact that starting line is my favourite from the album (sue me, the way it builds up satisfies my brain like no other)
This album got me through the most heinous of situations. Every song is an absolute masterpiece and I am grateful to be alive at the same time as Luke Hemmings.
I can not put how I feel about this album into words. I am simply not intelligent enough to do it justice. But I know I would not have coped without this album.
Happy 5 years (and one day) to When Facing The Things We Turn Away From <3
