Boys Donât Cry
⊠MDNI â 18+ Only âŠ
â§ paining: luke hemmings x reader
â§ summary: running into the same man who rejected âšyour demo with a lot of colorful words in rehab was the last thing you expected, especially not when you realize the beautiful mess that he is.
â§ warnings: rehab, substance abuse, mental health, love bombing, p in v, oral (f receiving), two unstable mfs, bta luke because im a whore, disgustingly needy and pathetic luke.
â§ word count: 5.7k
â§ title: no. 1 obsession â 5 seconds of summer
â§ authorâs note: itâs actually so sickening how much i love this version of luke and hes so perfect and ruined and pathetic and UGH. i had this little encounter lingering in the back of my head ever since i crated luke and his tragic love life, and itâs about time i put pen to paper.
i hope you enjoy, even if youâve never read my fic, and if by chance you do decide to check out my fic because this blurb enticed you to⊠i would sure appreciate it lol
anyways thank you to my sweet friend @souperbloom ur actually a life saver and the other half of my brain and i wouldnât have finished this without ur help lol
âš
Copyright © 2026 undersugarnights. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.
Ë˰âą*ââ·
Itâs been one week of rehab and already youâre itching to get out. Not for the first time, youâve found yourself in this similar but dreaded cycle of pretending youâre going to get better when everyone knows youâre one rejection away from ending up here again.
The routine drags, itâs always the same. Wake up, breakfast, get your meds, group therapy, individual therapy, lunch, art therapy, outside time, dinner, rec room, and bedtime. Rinse and repeat.
Youâre starting to grow a little insane.
Right now, thereâs a lull between breakfast and group therapyâ which just means youâre waiting for your turn to get your head shrunken.
Raising your hand, you rub your eye hard enough that sparks of color burst behind your lids. Yes, the days drag, yes you canât wait to get out, but sometimes the quiet moments were good enough to have your creative spark coming back to life.
Right now, youâre staring at a piece of paper with mindless lyrics scribbled in the lines with marker. Apparently, youâre not allowed pens in rehabâ they could be used as a weapon, a tool to hurt yourself and others.
Truthfully it just feels like a sack of shit.
With a loud sigh, you pull back, letting your marker fall limply on the page. Your eyes dart around, watching the people youâre set to spend the next three weeks withâ sort of, if theyâre not about to be discharged.
Then your gaze lands on him. For a second, you donât believe your eyes. He looks sadder than he does onstage and on the pictures shared around Twitter like sacred texts.
Plus heâs missing his signature lip ring.
Luke Hemmings isnât what you would call a star. Heâs part of a music duo with his best friend. The Neurotics. Theyâre the kind of band that most people donât know, but the ones that know him make it loud.
They have a couple of sleeper hits, songs that just barely tease the mainstream but never quite land.
But that isnât how you know of him.
A few months back, you sent a demo out to their manager of one of your songs. Itâs not like itâs unusual for you to do thatâ after all, people buying your songs is how you make a damn livingâ but what really stuck is that Luke Hemmings himself turned the song down.
It didnât exactly hurt, Emmy, their manager, had explained that he usually writes his songs with Ashton. Apparently he didnât take very kindly to the labelâs suggestion that they get handed a more palatable song to release as their own.
So yeah, seeing him in person is just as jarring as you could expect.
He doesnât lift his gaze, eyes trained to the floor as he trails behind one of the workers. He looks a little lost, sporting a few days worth of stubble and pale as a ghost.
Itâs no wonder he ended up in rehab of all places.
You doubt he even knows who you are, chances are he didnât even see the name attached to the demo, he probably didnât even listen to it.
Maybe you should be mad, maybe you should have some kind of apprehension towards sharing your healing space with him, but thereâs something about the aura that clings to him that halts your train of thought.
Heâs in rehab, that alone is enough of a scandal to make you reconsider making this poor guyâs life more complicated. You donât care to keep up with the forums and the gossip pages that babble about him like theyâre placed under a spell.
Luke is only nineteen but he looks older, maybe itâs the way this entire program strips you of any armor you use to hide the rot. You frown, feeling a mixture of pity and maybe even intrigue.
The worker drones onâ probably about the scheduleâ and you watch steadily from your place in the corner. The marker and paper are long abandoned, as well as any creative incentive you had before.
This is much more interesting.
Luke nods along, chewing on the corner of his lip. He seems a little startled at first, and you think itâs because heâs probably not used to the lack of metal on his face. You canât help but feel for him there, this damn facility owes you for all the repiercing youâre gonna have to do once youâre out.
You canât help but lean forward on the table, curiosity winning and taking root. Heâs pretty, a tortured soul as far as the eye can see, and maybe heâs just like you.
Finally, Luke is left to his own devices. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, almost like a teenager on their first day of high school assessing where to sit, most definitely deciding they hate everyone.
Your eyes flit back to your paper, and you force yourself to not glance up again. He needs to come to you on his own, and if youâre right about him, he will.
Nerves light up beneath your skin, and itâs almost better than doing a line. It takes everything in your power to keep your eyes trained on your messy scrawl, the one standing bright and crimson against the dull paper.
Everything in this damn place is dull.
You feel him before you hear him, that static in the air that raises the hair on the back of your neck. Your heart skips a few beats, and usually you wouldnât be so nervous about talking to another patient, but heâs the closest thing to your everyday life you have here and no one here has any idea.
Luke takes a seat a few feet away from you, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. He has his guard up, and that will only make it more difficult on everyone.
âYou gotta relax,â is the first thing you have said since last night's therapy, and your voice is raw enough to prove it. Talking here feels redundant, so you save it for therapy. âNobody here is going to strap you down and subject you to electroshock therapy.â
He stiffens, blinking owlishly as if seemingly remembering he exists in other peopleâs perceptions, too. He turns his wide blue eyes to you, and itâs almost impossible not to melt.
âI thought that was outlawed,â Luke says dumbly.
âIt was,â you agree, unimpressed. âSo why do you act like itâs going to happen?â
He blushesâ genuinely blushes. The crimson that spreads on the apple of his cheeks makes your chest tight, and he looks so sweet, so unlike that entitled rockstar you thought he would be.
âFirst day jitters,â he shrugs. âNot really used to being around addicts so sad⊠usually theyâre on break from tour and hopping between models.â
You snort, caught off guard by his honesty and humor. Heâs unusually endearing for a rockstar, but you donât mind it at all.
âY/N,â you offer, biting the back of your marker.
âLuke,â he says.
His name carries weight, at least for you. Still, the way he says it, so removed, almost ashamed, piques your curiosity. Leaning forward, you let some bitterness slip.
âI know,â you drawl. âYou rejected my song.â
Luke freezes, recognition flickering over his features. Itâs almost amusing how he pales so quickly. You want to feel bad, but watching him squirm is the most fun youâve had since getting shoved into this place.
âOh,â he breathes out. âIâIâm really sorry.â
You burst out laughing, hand coming up to cover your mouth. Luke still seems a little startled, but the way his pupils dilate at the sound of your amusement has your breath catching.
âYou diva out a lot?â you ask, moving closer to Luke. He seems to relax a little, maybe itâs because he knows youâre not madâ at least not anymoreâ or maybe itâs something else.
The proximity is intoxicating.
His eyes narrow playfully. âI donât really try to, no,â he laughs, a hearty sound in this miserable place. âI dunno, Iâm sorry. Music is important to me, I just didnât want to slap my voice over someone elseâs work.â
He sounds so sincere that you feel your heart melt a little in your chest. Suddenly youâre overcome with a need to know everything that goes on in his brain, how everything clicks into place.
âItâs how I make a living,â you explain. âHow I pay for this wonderful five star hotel.â
Luke snorts, pulling his sleeves over his hands. Your eyes instinctively trail the movement, catching the delicate and graceful length of his fingers.
âThey took my fucking lip ring,â he grumbles. âLike, what the hell am I gonna do with that? Boof it?â
You wrinkle your nose in distaste. âYouâll use to chip away at the walls to escape,â you muse, suddenly chasing every flicker of amusement.
Luke seems a little breathless, a pink blush lingering on his skin. Heâs smiling, and itâs just as soft as everything else about him. There is a strange sort of familiarity that clings to the air between you, the kind that makes your brain go haywire with possibilities.
Maybe heâs just like you.
âWhat brings you in?â you ask, because you canât help the curiosity that nags at your brain. Youâre not supposed to ask this to anyone, youâre not supposed to be making friends, either.
Rehab is full of shit anyway.
âOverdose,â he explains plainly, shrugging like heâs recounting what he had for breakfast. âMy manager put me in here. Think itâs time I get my shit together.â
You hum. âWhat else?â
Luke blows out a puff of hair. âAt the hospital they diagnosed me,â he continues. âBorderline personality disorder. How about that?â
âAw, babyâs first diagnosis,â you coo, and Luke playfully rolls his eyes at you. âMe too. Though Iâve lived with it a little longer.â
He tilts his head. âDoes the name help?â
You snort. âNot in the slightest,â you mutter. âIt makes me feel crazier. But hey, at least you know how to find your community.â
Before Luke can reply, someoneâs already calling for group therapy, herding the patients down the corridor to the salon where they usually meet. Heâs already looking at you, side eyes searching for instruction.
Groaning, you push yourself off the chair, looking back at Luke. âCâmon,â you say. âTime to sit and hear everyone trauma dumping for an hour.â
He gets up and the two of you make your way over to the group. You feel his hand brush against yours, an electric sort of contact that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
You hug your notebook close to your chest, biting your lip to keep your smile at bay.
You and Luke take a seat, and heâs so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Eventually, everyone gets situated and the therapist comes in.
Sheâs a nice lady, her name is Artie, always smelling like roses and speaking like a self-help book that youâve grown to loathe. She gets everyone started by greeting them, talking in a cadence entirely too bright for the place.
Luke is zoning out, his blue eyes glazing over as Artie drones on about twelve steps and accountability, and honestly, youâre more concerned with watching Luke.
His fingers twitch in his lap.
Carefully you uncap your marker, slowly enough that nobody hears the click. You do the same when ripping the paper.
You think youâll be able to keep in your pants for 30 days?
You know well enough the things that are said about Luke, the whispers between breathless giggles from girls who think fucking rockstars is a personality trait. The Neurotics are not known for being angel boys, after all.
Carefully, you nudge your hand against Lukeâs, hard enough to draw his attention. You push the paper onto his hand, and he catches with nimble fingers. His eyes stay trained ahead until heâs unfolding the note in his lap.
He laughs quietly under his breath, smirking slightly as he shakes his head in disbelief. When he turns his head to you, you know exactly what heâs thinking.
You canât hide your smug look as you lean a little closer. âItâs not allowed,â you whisper. âBad for morale, encourages toxic behaviors or whatever.â
âIs that really the worst vice to have in this place?â he mutters back, eyes flickering down to your lips and sending heat down your spine. âBecauseââ
âY/N,â Artie clears her throat, drawing your attention back to the meeting. Annoyance sparks beneath your skin, but you meet her eyes anyway. âThis isââ she looks down at her chart, flipping a page before she looks up again, ââLukeâs first day. Remember weâre here to work on ourselves.â
You bite your tongue, a sudden wave of possessiveness surging through you. Choking it down, you stay stubbornly quiet.
âWell now that weâre on you, Luke,â Artie sighs. âWhy donât you tell us a little about yourself?â
He stiffens, almost like a deer caught in the headlights. His eyes meet yours, and thereâs a glint in them you havenât seen before, a sort of heat that matches your own.
Thatâs enough indication for you to know that youâre in trouble.
Luke drones on a half assed story that you know isnât real, he seems like the type to never take his own wellbeing seriously, and you love that. Carefully, you scribble something down on another torn piece of paper.
Meet me in the laundry room after lights out.
â
You have only been at the facility for only a week, but you already managed to figure out the way the staff works in a matter of hours.
The laundry room is mainly empty at his hour, which is exactly why you told Luke to meet you here. This is the place where you stay writing for hours, graced by the sliver of moonlight that slips past the window and somehow manages to light most of the room.
Itâs nice to have some privacy sometimes.
Itâs not romantic, itâs not erotic, but the pins and needles still swim beneath your skin. Youâre biting your nails, a habit you swore you dropped years ago but somehow the prospect of being alone with Luke brings it back out of retirement.
Itâs been too long since youâve been touched, and you canât explain why your brain seems to have fixated on Luke the way it did. Maybe itâs his pretty pink lips, the dreamy eyes just haunted enough to make anyone swoon, or the messy dark blonde hair you just know would feel like heaven beneath your fingers.
But you know itâs none of that.
Finding someone so similar to you feels like a gift the universe handed you after a load of bullshit. If he showsâ you donât know how that will make you feel.
The dopamine rush at the thought is enough of a hint.
Maybe itâs the fact that if he shows, youâll finally get his approval. The rejection of the song hurt, it sent you into a week long bender and a spiral of thoughts youâd kill to never have again.
Itâs difficult not to take it so personally when someone who bleeds emotion through melodies seemingly sneered at your work.
Luke doesnât seem like an asshole, not the way you imagined, at least. His talent is plentiful, but the ego is lackluster.
Still, if he caves in, if he feels that strange connection that has been plaguing you since he first spoke, it would heal that little part of you that lost it after the song was scrapped.
Taking a steadying breath, you hop on top of one of the drying machines, humming a melody under your breath. It doesnât have a body, just a feeling.
Just a vague impression of Luke.
You hear the soft patter of footsteps against the floor and freeze, holding your breath as a reflex. Itâs not that this place is a prison, exactly, itâs just run like one. You understand that itâs safety, that on paper everything that is being done to prioritize healing.
But what happens when you donât want to heal?
Luke steps into the laundry room, and the confusion on his face is as clear as day. He looks a little lost, a little nervous, like the adrenaline of slipping out of his room was finally starting to fade away.
âHey,â you call, voice barely above a whisper.
His head snaps to you, and relief washes over his features. He walks up to you, toying with the sleeves of his hoodie. The lack of strings makes you want to roll your eyes.
âHey,â he smiles. âHow did you figure out about this place?â
You shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. âSometimes a girl just needs some privacy,â you say, smirking slightly.
Lukeâs pupils dilate a little at the implication, and he swallows thickly. âYouâre crazy,â he huffs, but itâs affectionate. Youâve been insulted with the word enough times to tell the difference.
âYou followed me here,â you poke his chest, reveling in the soft chuckle that escapes him.
âYou asked me here,â he counters.
They both fall silent, but thereâs no real awkwardness behind it. Heâs looking at you like heâs memorizing your features, drinking you in hungrily.
It makes your heart stutter.
âIsnât it crazy how we both ended up here?â you muse, partially to give you a second to breathe beneath his gaze.
Luke purses his lips, weighing your words. âEh, in general, sure,â he says, stepping between her legs. You can see the dusting of hair across his jaw, enough to make you shiver with the phantom sensation of it against your thigh.
âBut I like to think thereâs a reason why you happened to be here on my first ever rehab stint.â
You furrow your brows. âI donât think thatâs giving what you want it to give.â
Luke leans closer, breath ghosting over your lips, his nose brushing against yours. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, and you hold your breath in anticipation.
His hand cups the back of your neck and brings your lips together, and immediately you let out a breathless sigh against his mouth. His lips are a little rough but they move seamlessly with yours.
Your hands come up to his shoulders, traveling across the broad expanse as he kisses you deeper, tongue teasing yours. Itâs a little intoxicating, the way he kisses, following your every movement like a starved man.
Lukeâs hands find a home on your waist, pulling you tighter against him as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
He groans into your mouth when you nip on his lower lip, fingers digging into his shoulders like you can crawl into him at a moment's notice.
You roll your hips, barely grazing the hardness thatâs beginning to grow apparent between you, months worth of mindless want bubbling out.
Your hands graze his waistbandâ then thereâs a deafening bang echoing across the room.
âFuck!â You yelp
The two of you spring apart, heart racing in your chestâ this time from fear instead of want. Lukeâs arms tighten around you, and your eyes dart around the room, scanning for the intruder.
Luke lets out a breathless laugh, and youâre incredulous. His head falls forward onto your shoulder, breath warm against your collarbone as his hands gently squeeze your hips.
âShitâ Iâm sorry,â he stammers through a laugh, cheeks burning a bright crimson. âKinda forgot where I was for a bit, accidentally kicked the dryer.â
Your heart still wonât settle, and fear sits uncomfortably in your stomach. The moment is ruined, that much is clear. Youâre still clutching at his shoulder, but for an entirely different reason, breathing heavily as you will your brain to calm down.
âJesus, youâre jumpy,â Luke grins, amusement lighting up his eyes. âJust relax, baby.â
You glare at him, and because your brain is too muddled with residual fear, you donât let yourself linger on the pet name that fell past his lips so easily.
âAre you serious?â you hiss. âThis is supposed to be my escape, I donât want to kill that and my chances of getting laid all in one go.â
Luke raises an eyebrow, smiling wickedly. âOh, so thatâs what this is?â he asks. âI thought we were here to catch up on some Sunday chores.â
Now itâs your turn to blush, and Luke is still smirking when he leans his head against your shoulder again. You're a little stiff, aching to touch him but not quite sure how.
Tentatively, you raise your hand, letting your fingers skim along his hair, holding your breath to gauge his response. When he doesnât stop you, thatâs when you let them tangle.
His hair really is as soft as you imagined, which is impressive considering the shampoo they give out here doesnât work magic on anyone.
When your nails scratch at his scalp, Luke lets out a ragged moan. You freeze, the noise lighting every neuron in your body on fire as your mind replays the sound.
Oh.
âYouâre soââ your breath catches, and suddenly everything isnât funny anymore. Youâre so aware of the places your bodies touch, skin brushing against each other, and the sudden realization that you want to hear that sound again strikes you like a bolt of lightning.
Never in a million years did you imagine Luke would be whimpering from getting his hair played with.
âY/N,â he whispers. âI know youâre still scared, but fuck. I canât think with you like this.â
You swallow. âLike what?â
âTouching me,â he lets his lips brush against the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, causing you to shiver. âSitting there like you donât know what you do to me.â
With sudden determination, your fingers tighten in his hair enough to yank his face to yours. The blue is almost entirely swallowed by the black of his pupils.
Then youâre kissing again, a mess of teeth, spit, and tongues. He moans into your mouth when you tug at his hair, his hands slip beneath your shirt to touch your bare skin.
The callouses drag against you, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You can feel the heat rising in your body, the ache that starts to bloom between your thighs.
Lukeâs lips travel from yours to your jaw, making their way down to the sensitive parts of your neck. He nips at your pulse point, dragging a moan out of you thatâs loud enough to make him still.
âYou gotta be quiet,â he groans, just as affected by your noises as you are by his.
He pulls back, hands running up and down your thighs. Despite the fabric of your sweatpants, you can feel the heat of him as he creeps up to your waistband.
You lift your hips, letting him drag your pants and underwear off with a torturous pace. Your stomach clenches in anticipation, but he doesnât let it faster because heâs kissing you again.
Now the heat is really evident, your own hands slipping beneath his hoodie to feel at the soft planes of his stomach. He tenses when you run your nails down his navel, breath hitching.
âWanna taste you, baby,â he gasps between kisses, desperation bleeding from his words. âPlease, just let me taste you. I swearâ Iâll make you feel so good. I need you on my tongue, Y/N, please.â
A sudden wave of self-consciousness hits you, and your lips still against his for a beat. He squeezes your hips reassuringly, and itâs like you just remembered youâre bare from the waist down.
Still, you nod, partly because you catch the way his lips swelled from kissing and suddenly the rush to your head kills any lingering self doubt. He looks fucked out, and you havenât even touched him.
He drops to his knees without ceremony, pulling you closer until youâre on the edge of the dryer. His eyes are level with your core, thighs bracketing his head.
Luke licks his lips, bringing his fingers up to his mouth before placing them on your clit. He starts to rub slow circles, enough pressure to have your brain growing fuzzy around the edges.
âFuck,â he whispers, and itâs low a bough that you know it wasnât something he meant for you to hear. Still, the awe in his voice is evident before heâs diving towards you.
The second his tongue does its first lap around your clit, you gasp, arching your back at the sudden pleasure. He hums against you, eyes half lidded as he wraps his lips around you and sucks.
Youâre breathing hard, thighs shaking at the slew of sensations that make it difficult to think. His hands grip your thighs, keeping them open to lap at you hungrily.
âOh my god,â you mewl, in utter disbelief at the passion behind Lukeâs movements. He moans against you, tongue working you over skillfully.
Your hands scramble for purchase on the dryer, little gasps leaving your lips with every flick of his tongue. You make the mistake of glancing down, and the sight is enough to make your breath hitch.
Lukeâs hair is a mess, and you let your hands tangle in the strands. His eyes are closed, brows furrowed in concentration. The drag of his mouth, the way his plump lips wrap around your clit, the obscene sounds he pulls out of you, itâs almost too much.
Your hips rock against his face, chasing the feeling thatâs beginning to unravel low in your stomach. His hand rubs over your thighs, reassuring and sweet all at once.
Then, you feel one of his fingers start to tease at your entrance, and somehow that whisper of a contact is almost everything it takes to send you over the edge.
You push his head away, legs clamping shut as you shake with the almost. Luke blinks at you, eyes hazy, but he doesnât get a chance to protest before youâre dragging him up.
âDonât wanna come yet,â you say, thumb brushing over his slick bottom lip. Heâs breathing so hard, cheeks flushed and hair mussed, and heâs so fucking pretty it makes you want to cry.
You slip your finger past his lips, leaning forward until youâre a hair away. âTaste good, rockstar?â
His eyes flutter at your words, and he sucks at your thumb, nodding frantically. When you replace your digit with your own tongue, the lingering taste of you on his lips is dizzying.
Your hand slips past his waistband, wrapping around his thick length. Heâs so warm, and the strangled moan that he lets out when you flick your wrist is delicious in every way.
Luke pushes his pants down enough to let his cock spring free, the salivating length standing proudly as you keep pumping your hand. Your thumb catches on the tip, spreading some of the beading precum across the head.
He hisses, hands shaking where they settle on your thighs. âLet me fuck you,â he gasps. âLet me feel how tight you are. Please, Iâm so hard it hurts.â
You tighten your hand, his eyes fly open as he falls forward a bit. âF-fuck,â he whimpers, his grip tightening on you. âPlease, Iâll do anything, please baby, just let me put it in.â
The way he says âpleaseâ has you growing dizzy, your own slick slipping down your entrance just at the thought of being stretched open by him.
Having had enough of teasing, you scoot closer, rubbing his tip over your folds slow enough to have the both of you gasping.
âGonna fuck me good, rockstar?â you ask, breathless, a little cocky. âGonna make me come so hard Iâll forget you rejected my song?â
He nods, eager, desperate, groaning when you start to circle your entrance with him. Just the feeling of the head of his cock nudging you open makes your legs shake, pleasure already sinking. Youâre so sensitive.
âFuck, fuck, fuck,â he moans. âIâm gonna come and Iâm not even inside you, your pussy is so pretty baby, I need it, please just let meââ
He cuts himself off when you guide him in, and the two of you moan loud enough to make fear spark at the base of your spine. You cover your mouth with your hand, watching in awe as Luke bottoms out.
The stretch is divine, addictive, and it feels so fucking good. You shiver when he pulls away, only for him to slam back in hard enough to make the dryer shake.
Slowly he settles into a rhythm, and you wrap your legs around his waist, adding momentum to his every thrust. Youâre biting your lip to muffle the sounds that escape you, and Luke isnât faring any better.
His cock drags deliciously against your walls, hitting every perfect spot that has you biting down on his shoulder. Luke is a mess, groaning and whimpering.
Luke grips your chin, crashing his lips against yours in another filthy kiss. Neither of you have the coordination to keep it steady, lips brushing against each otherâs with every thrust.
âFuckâoh my godâfuck, you feel so good, I canâtâ I canât take it, baby, I canâtââ heâs starting to sound nonsensical against your mouth, at least he would be if you werenât just as lost in it as he is.
âJust like that,â you whine. âKeep me nice and full rockstar, fuck, youâre so big. Feels so fucking good inside me.â
âTell me it feels good,â he begs. âTell me Iâm making you feel so good.â
You shiver at the neediness in his tone, arms wrapping tighter around him as pleasure begins to blind you. âMaking me feel so good,â you mumble. âStretching me out so good, fuck, youâre gonna make me come.â
He lets out a noise, strangled almost, and his hands are slipping between the two of you. His thumb finds your clit, beginning to rub tight circles that have black spots spreading across your vision.
The heat starts to boil over, faster by the second with every thrust of Lukeâs hips. You clench around him, desperate to savor every drag, every movement, just to draw out the inevitable.
âYouâre doing so good baby,â you gasp, pressing down on your lower stomach to feel the way he pushes against you. âSo fucking big. Does it feel good to be inside me baby?â
He nods, and you can barely keep your head on straight as the pleasure builds. Youâre getting closer teetering the edge of release, and then Luke leans forward and bites your neck.
You come with a cry, body convulsing against Luke as you ride out your high, waves of pleasure shaking you to the core, relaxing and contracting your muscles until your ears ring.
âFuck,â he drags the word out, licking over the spot he just sank his teeth into. âJust like thatâ given to me, let me make you feel good.â
Your body melts, and you cling to him as he chases his own high. His hips are erratic, pistoning into you with the kind of determination that makes your stomach flip.
âYouâre so tight,â he gasps. âWrapped around me like youâre gonna kill me, fuck. Tightâshit, youâre so tight, so wet, fuck, Iâm gonnaâfuckâIâm gonna comeââ
Your nails scratch at the nape of his neck, lips brushing against his skin. âCome for me,â you urge, voice hoarse from moaning. âPaint me all pretty baby.â
Luke gasps, pulling out quickly. His fist wraps around his cock, the flushed head already on the edge of bursting. He pumps fast, cursing under his breath.
Then heâs coming, white ribbons landing on your thigh, your exposed stomach. âShit, holy shit Y/N,â heâs moaning your name, barely intelligible as pleasure consumes him.
When he finally comes down, heâs cradling your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your lips. Itâs sweet, lingering, and youâre both still breathless from before.
Your legs feel weak, and when you finally part, your breath fans his lips. His own is minty, a residual from brushing his teeth before he was supposed to be in bed.
âThatâs kind of crazy,â you muse, nudging his nose with your own.
Luke pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. âWhat is?â
You smirk, watching as Luke reaches for what seems to be a pillow cover. Carefully, he wipes at the mess left in your skin, the release that clung to you like a sin. Heâs so gentle, sweet, and attentive.
âThe fact that you fucked the first girl who was nice to you at rehab,â you joke, lifting his chin so that your eyes are level.
Luke smiles faintly, caressing your arm with a featherlight touch. He looks at you, a little breathless, eyes taking in every detail.
âY/N,â he whispers. âIâm really sorry I turned down your song the way I did.â
You freeze, the sincerity in his words making your breath stutter. You canât bring yourself to say anything worthwhile, so you just wait.
âI didnât listen to it,â he confesses. âI didnât want to. I just wanted the requests to stop, so I lashed out. It worked, yeah, but it wasnât fair. Your talent doesn't need to be shadowed by my ego.â
You feel tears threaten to spill, the memory of the strongly worded rejection letter still fresh in your mind. It makes sense, the words that were written on the page didnât match the sweet boy standing between your legs.
âItâs okay,â you answer shakily. âI promise.â
He brushes his lips against yours again, a sweet little kiss that means more than the entire night put together. Carefully, he helps you back into your clothes, straightening his own in the process.
You finally slip off the dryer, unsteady on your feet from the absolute depravity of the last hour. Youâre chest to chest with Luke now, craning your neck to look at him.
Heâs so fucking tall.
âWhen we get out of here,â he starts, pressing his forehead against yours. âIâll make it up to you. Weâll write a song together."
You bite your lip. âOkay.â
Ë˰âą*ââ·
come chat in my inbox i miss you !!!
also, this is belleâs eyes youâre reading through. she dies. SORRYYY












