✧ pairing: luke hemmings x reader. mentions of ashton x reader.
✧ summary: there’s only so much heartbreak a person can handle, and after ashton breaks your heart for the millionth time, you take matters into your own hands.
✧ warnings: unprotected sex, creampies, luke has a jacobs ladder, dubious consent, implied drug use, revenge sex, mentions of self harm scars, hidden agenda, nudes, y/n is a bit of a psycho, ashton and luke are kinda shitty people.
✧ word count: 8.4k
✧ title: rotten apple — alice in chains.
✧ author’s note: welcome to the world of pearl and the neurotics. this luke is part of one of my fanfics, bite the apple, it’s up on wattpad. this might be my favorite one-shot to date, and i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i LOVED writing it.
this IS cannon to the universe too! just wait and see :)
read part 2, feeding on my restless soul here here :3
anyways. hope you guys enjoy, and as always turn on my post notifications so you never miss when i post something new.
When you arrive at the party, the only thing on your mind is seeing him.
Ashton.
You took an Uber here, mostly because you’re already imagining leaving with him—just like you usually do. That’s how these nights tend to end.
But Ashton? He’s never been a stranger to switching plans last minute.
Chewing on your bottom lip, you flip your hair over your shoulder and step inside the venue. The mix of smells is almost overwhelming, though achingly familiar—cheap and expensive perfume, sweat, and weed.
The lights are dim, purple and blue lasers slicing through the dark just enough for you to vaguely make out who’s standing in front of you. Influencers, mostly. Some models, like you. People with the right faces, the right connections.
It doesn’t matter who you are or why you’re here—not to them, not even to you. The only thing that matters is whether or not they end up hanging off Ashton’s arm by the end of the night.
You scan the crowd, searching for a familiar mop of jet-black curls, fingernail picking at your carefully manicured cuticles—a habit you’ve never quite managed to kick. The room’s full of familiar-enough faces. People you’ve worked with. Friends. Not-friends. Girls you’re almost certain have fucked Ashton at least once.
It isn’t unusual anymore, the attention Ashton and Luke get. The Neurotics are gaining traction in the mainstream, finally stepping out of their quiet little alternative shell.
Not in sound—God no, the music’s still sharp and snarling.
But now? People are actually listening.
Thankfully, you spot him quickly. He’s leaned back against a wall, drink in hand, an unlit cigarette perched behind his ear, mid-conversation with his producer.
You lift your chin, square your shoulders, adjust your dress. You woke up in his bed just yesterday morning, so he can’t pretend to be that indifferent tonight. Right?
Then again, Ashton’s as unpredictable as the weather—shifting by the second.
Stopping a few feet in front of him, you clear your throat and cross your arms over your chest, barely sparing a glance at the guy he was just engrossed in.
“You know,” you start, trying to pack as much nonchalance into your voice as you can, “a heads-up that you’d be showing up without me would’ve been nice.”
Ashton’s head snaps in your direction, green eyes locking on yours, eyebrows lifting in surprise. He takes a sip of his drink, a smirk already tugging at his lips.
“Didn’t realize we made plans,” he says with a shrug, smiling like you’re not two seconds away from losing it completely. He really does have a way with words—a way to piss you off like no one else can.
You clench your jaw, shifting your weight as your gaze flicks to the guy beside him. “So,” you say, matching Ashton’s infuriatingly casual tone, “are you gonna keep being rude, or introduce me to your friend?”
Ashton pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing just slightly as he peels himself off the wall. “Sure,” he sighs. “Max, this is Y/N—Luke and I’s friend.”
Your breath catches.
It’s the way he says friend—the tiniest hitch in his voice, so subtle it flies right over Max’s head, but sharp enough to slice clean through your chest. You blink rapidly, trying to collect whatever scraps of composure you can find.
Max turns to you, far too drunk to notice the tension strangling the air. “Nice to meet you,” he slurs, easy and oblivious.
You offer him a half-hearted smile—fake as hell, but who cares. Ashton’s already looking smug. He always does when he’s playing this game.
Just a friend.
As if he wasn’t giggling into your neck two nights ago, high off cheap wine and sitcoms, his arm around your waist like it belonged there.
Just friends. Right.
“Can I talk to you?” you grit out, low enough to keep things private, close enough to make your anger unmistakable. You don’t care if Max hears. Let him.
You’re starting to reach your limit.
And Ashton? He’s starting to push it.
“Aren’t you talking to me right now?” he asks, dimples flashing like your irritation is the funniest thing that’s happened to him all day.
Ashton is always like this—giving you everything one second, yanking it away the next, then laughing when you dare to get upset.
He said it was casual.
But God, there’s never been anything casual about the two of you.
“Cut the shit with me, Fletcher,” you snap. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Ashton lets out a low whistle, sets his drink down on a nearby table, and shoots Max an apologetic look. “Fine,” he says, raising both hands like he’s surrendering to a joke only he finds funny.
Without so much as a glance at Max, you grab Ashton by the wrist and drag him through the crowd. Past perfume clouds and camera flashes and people pretending not to watch.
He hasn’t done anything worse than usual tonight, not really—but after nearly a year of this endless back-and-forth, the push and pull is starting to wear you down. And tonight? It stings a little deeper.
You don’t stop until you find a somewhat secluded corner, tucked just far enough away from the music and the noise. The second you halt, you whip around and face him.
“What’s your problem?” you demand, jabbing your finger into his chest hard enough to make him shift back. “What did I ever do to you that makes you so embarrassed to be seen with me?”
Ashton catches your wrist mid-jab, holding it firm. “Jesus, Y/N,” he breathes, eyes narrowing. “What’s my problem? Mine? Do you even hear yourself right now?”
You blink, stunned at how fast he twisted it. How effortlessly he flips the whole damn thing back on you.
“Of course I hear myself,” you snap, yanking your hand free and cradling it against your chest, the fight beginning to drain out of you like air from a punctured lung.
Ashton has a way of making you feel small—through words, through looks, through subtle little dismissals. He knows exactly what will gut you and exactly what will send you soaring. It makes arguing with him feel impossible. Because nothing ever seems to get to him.
Nothing except Luke.
Ashton and Luke are inseparable—have been for years, even before you met them. Luke is… troubled, from what you’ve seen. Never fully grounded. Always floating on some unreachable high or sinking into the heavy depths of his own mind.
Ashton’s saved him more times than you can count. And that’s just in the past year.
So far, the only person who ever gets an actual emotional reaction from Ashton is Luke. Luke gets his attention. His affection. His time. All the things Ashton only gives you behind a closed door.
And the worst part? Luke deserves it.
He’s the sweetest, softest person you’ve ever met—so heartbreakingly fucked up, and still somehow always the first to offer his whole chest to the world. Including you.
Still, you can’t help it. You wish Ashton wasn’t so selfish with his heart. That maybe, just maybe, there was room for you in it too.
“I don’t know why you act like me begging to be acknowledged is such a chore,” you say, your voice quieter now, your weight shifting uncomfortably under the heat of his gaze. His stare cuts straight through your bravado like it was paper-thin to begin with.
“Y/N…” Ashton starts, low, like he’s already tired of the conversation. “I do acknowledge you. But I don’t know what you want from me. You know what this is.”
Your head snaps up, your mouth curving into a wounded frown you didn’t mean to let show.
You swore you wouldn’t cry over Ashton Irwin again—not tonight.
“Do I?” you challenge, your voice cracking, embarrassingly fragile. “You call me. You text me. You tell me you miss me when you’re on tour. You sing to me. You hold me while I sleep. You cry in my fucking arms— And I’m just supposed to be okay with casual?”
Ashton exhales sharply through his nose, stepping back like he needs the distance just to keep himself together. His shoulders are drawn tight, jaw clenched with the effort it takes not to scream.
“I give you what I can,” he bites out. “And you act like you’re not throwing yourself at Luke every damn time I don’t come running.”
A startled laugh bursts out of you—bitter and breathless. Tears spill freely now, tracking down your cheeks as you giggle, shaking your head like you’ve finally gone completely insane.
“No,” you gasp. “No, that is so not what that is.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ashton snaps, closing the space between you in two long strides. He grabs your arms, holding you in place like the truth won’t hit as hard if you’re steady.
“I don’t know how else to say it,” he hisses. “I can’t do a relationship. I can’t give you what you want.”
“Then stop taking what you want,” you sob, yanking yourself free. “Stop expecting me to act like this—feel like this—if you can’t even do the bare minimum of loving me.”
For once, Ashton falters. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Nothing comes out. Instead, his posture caves inward—shoulders slumping, jaw softening—as he runs a trembling hand through his dark curls.
“I don’t want to do this tonight, Y/N,” he mutters at last, his hand dropping to the back of his neck, fingers digging into the tension like he’s trying to hold everything else in place.
“I’m not sober enough to untangle what I feel—or don’t feel, or might feel. I don’t even know anymore. And I sure as hell can’t explain it to you right now. Just… let me take you home. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
“Fuck you,” you spit, voice shaking with fury. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Not now. Not ever again.”
Before he can respond, you spin on your heel and storm off, breath stuttering in your chest.
You bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking completely, pushing through the crowd as the bass swells, drowning out the angry murmurs of people you shove past.
You’re almost to the door when you slam face-first into someone’s chest—solid, warm, familiar. Arms instinctively reach out to steady you.
You blink up through watery lashes.
It’s Luke, and he looks just as startled as you.
“Y/N?” he croaks, brows drawing together. “What’s wrong?”
You let out a frustrated huff, throwing your head back as you fought off yet another round of tears—this time, angry ones.
“I’m so sick of being Ashton’s emotional support whore,” you blurt, the words ripping from your throat before you can stop them, raw and loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. Whatever. Let them. It’s not like anyone gives a shit. Ashton was probably balls-deep in someone else already.
So who’s to say you couldn’t be fucking someone else, too?
“Jesus, okay,” Luke mutters, licking his lips, eyes darting around the venue like he’s checking for hidden cameras. Then he reaches out and takes your hand in his—warm, steady, grounding. Without a word, he starts guiding you through the crowd, using his broad frame to carve a path, shielding you like it’s instinct.
The crowd thins as you near the exit, and for a moment, you feel stupid.
Coming all the way here just to scream at your situationship for five minutes and leave crying?
So much for keeping it together.
Luke pushes the door open. The cool night air hits your tear-streaked face like a slap. You drop to the curb and bury your face in your arms, heart pounding like it still hasn’t caught up with the emotional whiplash.
You hear Luke sit beside you, the subtle shuffle of denim and sneakers as he fidgets, trying to figure out what to say.
“I’m so fucking sick of him,” you mumble between sniffles, voice thick and shaky. You sound just as pathetic as you feel.
“What’d he do this time?” Luke asks, bumping your shoulder gently.
You lift your head, turning to face him with puffy eyes and a broken sigh. “He’s just… him. Treats me like I’m his whole world, loses his mind if some other guy so much as breathes near me—and then turns around and humiliates me. Makes me feel insane for feeling things.”
“Well,” Luke says dryly, “you are a psycho.”
You glare at him and kick his shoe. “It’s not helping,” you mutter. “I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind, Lu.”
Luke is quiet for a moment, leaning back on his palms as he stares out at the empty road in front of you. You glance over, taking a second to really look at him—the straight slope of his nose, the way a few curls cling to his forehead with sweat, the glint of his chains resting against his chest.
There are shadows under his eyes, slightly bloodshot, and a few days’ worth of stubble along his jaw. He looks like a mess— A gorgeous one.
“You’re not losing your mind, Y/N/N,” Luke says softly—so gently it almost makes you cry all over again. “Ashton can make anyone feel insane. It’s, like, his specialty.”
You don’t answer.
Luke takes that as permission to keep going.
“Ashton loves pretending he has his shit together. And yeah, from the outside, it looks like he does. I mean, next to me, anyone looks like they’ve got life figured out.”
That earns him a soft, tired chuckle. Luke’s always been self-deprecating. It’s practically his second language.
“But,” he adds, after a pause. “He doesn’t know shit. Not about love, anyway. For what it’s worth…” he exhales, “I think he does love you. He’s just doing a horrible fucking job of showing it.”
The tears have finally stopped, leaving behind only one thing: your burning desire to hurt Ashton as much as he’s hurt you.
“Can I be honest?” you blurt out, shifting to face Luke fully. His blue eyes are wide, locked on you with that intense kind of stillness he only reserves for when he really wants to hear you.
He nods.
“I don’t know what this is. You and me,” you admit, voice low, shaky. “You’re so nice to me. You let me cry to you about Ashton, overshare every tragic little detail of my life, flirt with you—and you flirt back. But then you turn around and reassure me about his feelings.”
Luke grins, that devilish, cheeky grin that could ruin a girl with just one flash. “I’m just here for emotional support,” he says. “You hear me rant about all the people in my life. I think it’s a balance.”
You narrow your eyes. “Correction,” you say, dryly. “I listen to you rant about all the girls you fall in love with for one night and ghost by morning.”
Luke freezes. A blush spreads across his cheeks and creeps all the way up to the tips of his ears. The night breeze catches his curls, tousling them into soft disarray, and for a second he looks… adorable.
Deadly, but adorable.
“Okay, that’s enough out of you,” he mutters, standing up and stretching his limbs. His shirt rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of pale skin between his waistband and his hem—milky, smooth, unfair.
Your throat goes dry.
“C’mon,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m sober enough to drive you home. And clearly, you don’t wanna be here any more than I do.”
There’s a moment—just the slightest beat—where your breath catches. Your brain spins into overdrive, every broken piece snapping into place all at once.
Luke falls in love as easily as he gets scared. As easily as he hurts.
He’s selfish—you’ve seen glimpses of it, and most addicts are, in one way or another.
But he’s also Ashton’s person.
You slip your hand into his, his rough, calloused palm closing around yours as he tugs you quietly into the night.
His car isn’t far, and by the time he opens the passenger door for you, adrenaline has already started to hum beneath your skin.
The car isn’t exactly messy, but it’s lived-in—old wrappers crumpled near the gearshift, small plastic bags, a cut straw or two in the cupholder, lighters everywhere. The smell of clove and weed clings to the interior, and weirdly? It’s comforting. Almost pleasant.
You watch as Luke fumbles with his phone, waiting for the Bluetooth to connect. Only when the soft haze of a shoegaze track spills through the speakers does he finally start driving.
It’s soft, grungy, ethereal. Probably Pearl, if you know Luke like you think you do. He’s been obsessed with that band lately—especially the lead singer, June Evans.
You like to pretend it doesn’t bother you.
He’s got one leg up, seat pushed way too far back, one hand resting lazily on the wheel. The roads are empty, quiet. And even though you know the car’s packed with all the safety features Luke desperately needs—his recklessness wrapped in tech failsafes—it doesn’t matter.
He looks hot behind the wheel. Too hot. Dangerously hot.
“Do you ever get tired of being some girl’s little fixer-upper?” you ask, tossing your feet up onto the dashboard, heels long abandoned.
Luke rolls his eyes, shooting you a brief glance. “Nah. Gets me laid.”
A giggle slips past your lips before you can stop it, the sharp, throbbing pain of heartbreak softening—just for a second.
“I’m sure you can get laid without being someone’s science fair project,” you say, flashing him a cheeky grin.
Streetlights flicker past, washing Luke’s face in waves of amber and gold. You catch the tilt of his too-pretty mouth, the subtle twitch of a smirk he’s trying—and failing—not to let show.
“Are you trying to tell me you think I’m hot, Y/N?”
You shrug and reach over to turn the radio up a notch. “I’m not blind,” you reply coolly. “But also, I’ve heard all the groupie stories. That subreddit dedicated to you guys? Reading through that while drunk? Honestly a cinematic experience.”
“I also tend to overshare when I’m high,” Luke says helpfully. “Which you know. Actually, you know so much about me that if we ever stop being friends, I might have to kill you.”
You smirk. “I don’t think I’d mind your face being the last thing I see.”
Turning in your seat, you face him fully. “Though, I’m not sure I’d look good in blood. Being a scream queen was never really my calling.”
Luke shrugs. “You look good in red.”
“Proof?”
The car takes a slow turn, streets outside growing familiar as you near your apartment. Luke turns the wheel with the heel of his hand, his rings catching the light like tiny little knives.
You’ve always had a thing about his hands—long, ringed fingers, surprisingly delicate, almost artistic. Everything about Luke is pretty in that unnerving way.
Unlike Ashton, who looks like every brooding romance novel cover brought to life—
Luke looks like a faerie prince who’d trick you into dancing for eternity.
“That one shoot you asked me to pick you up from,” he says casually. “Remember that red bikini? You looked hot. Kinda get why Ashton gets so bent out of shape over you.”
And just like that— the car falls silent. Luke’s grin falters, jaw ticking slightly as if he just remembered that Ashton’s supposedly in love with you. Supposedly.
Even if you don’t always feel it.
If ever.
The sudden tension becomes too much—too real—and you scramble for a lifeline. Some distraction. Anything to drag you both back to that dangerous line you always seem to teeter on.
“But whatever the case,” you say, clearing your throat, “after doomscrolling that goddamn subreddit, I don’t think I’d fuck you.”
Luke lets out a startled laugh, shooting you a sideways glance as he parks in front of your building.
“Seriously?” he says, brows raised, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Why? What—are you scared I’d ruin you?”
You roll your eyes, pulling your legs off the dashboard, but your heart kicks up anyway. The implication in his voice burns hotter than it should.
Biting the inside of your cheek, you reply, “No. You wouldn’t ruin me.”
“Liar.”
“Nope,” you say, popping the p with a grin. “You just seem like you’d be a dick.”
“I am not!” Luke laughs, offended in the most unserious way. “Never that. I send every girl home with an orgasm and a great memory to share on Reddit. Might even throw in a punch card—hit it five times and I’ll cry in your lap about how much I hate myself.”
You raise a brow, leaning in over the center console until you’re close—close enough to notice how strong the clove scent is on him, clinging to his shirt, his hair, his skin.
Luke’s always thought he’s too good for regular cigarettes. He smokes clove ones like it’s a personality trait. God knows where he even finds them.
Then again, Luke’s out there scoring far more concerning shit on a daily basis.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you murmur, your voice dipping into something sultrier—saccharinesweet, low and raspy, soft enough to sting.
You reach out, fingertip brushing along the curve of Luke’s bicep. His skin is warm beneath your touch, soft and startlingly real.
The moment stretches—too long, too loaded. The leather seat sticks to your flushed skin, the silence outside the car only amplifying everything you’re not saying.
This feels too real. Too charged. Too full of implications neither of you are ready to name.
You clear your throat and pull back, masking the sudden suffocating shift with a sly grin. “Wanna come up?”
Luke kills the engine. Doesn’t answer right away.
Your eyes sting, sore from crying earlier. The skin beneath them is tight, raw. Still, you don’t blink. You just look at him.
When he finally turns to face you, half of him is swallowed by shadow, the other half lit by cold moonlight—and his eyes, when they meet yours, are softer than you expect.
“Of course.”
Luke follows close behind as you enter the building. A quick glance over your shoulder catches him with his hands stuffed in his pockets, lip bitten, lost in thought.
It’s all falling into place too perfectly.
You don’t have a plan—not exactly. Just an idea. An aching heart. And a devastating need to hurt Ashton back.
But layered underneath all of that?
The traitorous flutter of butterflies that erupt every time Luke looks at you a second too long.
At your door, you fumble with the keys before finally shoving it open. The first thing to hit you is the scent—the warm, sickly-sweet vanilla caramel candle Ashton bought you last week. He’d handed it to you with a shrug and said it reminded him of you.
You exhale, sharp and annoyed. “God, what a day,” you mutter, toeing off your heels and kicking them aside.
Luke trails in behind you and collapses dramatically onto your couch with a huff. You follow, curling your legs beneath you as you sink into the cushions.
It’s not weird having Luke here.
Not really.
The two of you hang out sometimes when the timing feels right. He’ll bring his guitar, play a few mindless chords while you talk his ear off about whatever Ashton crisis-of-the-week is unfolding.
One time, Luke even tried to bring over his cat. That smug Russian Blue—Yorke, named after Thom Yorke like the absolute loser Luke is. The cat hated you on sight and scratched half your furniture like he was performing a ritual.
It had definitely been a day.
But tonight is different.
There are no inside jokes filling the air. No sad melody drifting from a guitar. No half-slurred rant about how Kurt Cobain was the last real rockstar.
It’s just you and Luke, sitting on the couch, suffocating under the weight of something unspoken—something huge.
You turn your head and catch him already watching you. His blue eyes are hazy, pupils blown in that way you’ve come to recognize. Still, he looks wrecked.
You reach out without thinking, curling a piece of his hair around your finger, tugging gently before tucking it behind his ear.
Your heart thunders, the rush of blood in your ears making it hard to hear anything else—except the shaky inhale Luke lets out the second you touch him. You’re suddenly painfully aware of how close he is.
“Does Ashton love me?” The words slip out before you can stop them, small and unsure.
Your hand doesn’t move from his hair, fingers brushing lightly through honeyed curls like they might keep the question from sinking too deep.
Luke breathes in. Deeply. Like it hurts. “I think so.”
You tilt your head, studying him. His lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks, and from this distance, you can see the delicate scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose.
You’re so close, it feels like gravity is trying to pull you in.
“…Do you?”
The question hits something in Luke. His eyes darken, but he still doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t remove your hand. Doesn’t create any space between you.
“Y/N,” he whispers. “This isn’t right. We’re friends, remember?”
You sigh, shifting closer. “Then don’t answer. It’s not that important,” you pause, tilting your head. “Unless you’re scared?”
Luke’s gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “Scared of what? You asking me to kiss you?” His breath catches. “Maybe.”
“Well,” you whisper, “I wasn’t gonna ask you to kiss me.”
His hand comes up to grasp your wrist. Long fingers wrap around it—not to pull away, not to stop you. Just to hold. Steady. Burning hot against your skin, branding you before you even realize it.
“Then what were you going to ask?” His voice is soft. Guarded. Almost childlike in its curiosity.
You tilt your head. “Do you love him?”
Luke bites his lip and looks away. “Of course I do,” he murmurs. “He’s my best friend. My person.”
Silence settles over the room again. His eyes flick back to yours, wide, waiting. Expectant in a way that almost seems childlike.
The hurt still lingers—Ashton’s indifference still raw in your chest, pulsing like a rotting bruise. But now? Now, you have the perfect revenge.
“I lied,” you say, voice calm. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”
Luke’s brows lift, surprised. His head leans into your touch like instinct. “Then what is it?” he asks, mouth twitching into a half-hearted smirk. “You really want that kiss, huh?”
You don’t smile at his futile attempt to joke. Instead, you just tighten your grip on his hair—slightly, deliberately. Just enough to make his breath hitch.
“I wasn’t going to ask you to kiss me,” you say slowly, dragging each word out like a matchstrike.
Luke swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I was gonna ask you to fuck me.”
Luke’s eyes flutter shut, his head dropping back against the couch with a soft thud. The room is silent—so silent, you swear your heartbeat is echoing off the walls.
You feel his fingers twitch around your wrist. His breathing grows shallow as he guides your hand from his hair down to his chest.
His heart pounds violently beneath your palm. His eyes stay shut, lashes trembling.
“You don’t mean that,” he whispers.
“I want you so bad.”
Luke moves fast, using his grip on your hand to yank you toward him, crashing his mouth against yours in a kiss that steals the air from your lungs.
You gasp, startled—but he’s already pulling you into his lap. His lips move against yours with a practiced hunger, messy and full of need, catching you entirely off guard.
A low sound rumbles from the back of his throat—almost a growl—before he releases your hand and slides his own beneath the hem of your dress, which is already riding scandalously high. He cups your ass, fingers flexing, grip possessive.
“So fucking pretty,” he pants between kisses, his tongue tracing the outer seam of your lip, the feeling sending a shiver down your spine and a current of electricity straight between your legs.
His hands are large—holding you, guiding you, urging you to move. You can feel him growing hard beneath you, already straining against his jeans as you settle into a slow, perfect rhythm, grinding against him.
“Luke,” you breathe, your head falling back as his lips trail from yours to your jaw. His stubble scratches deliciously against your skin as he nips and licks his way down your neck.
“What is it, baby?” he pants, hands bunching your dress up to your waist. “Needy already?”
You moan, fingers tangling in his curls and giving a firm tug. He whimpers—actually whimpers—and fuck, why does he sound so pretty?
Suddenly, Luke pushes you off of him.
You blink, startled, collapsing back onto the couch—but he doesn’t give you a second to protest. He’s back over you in a flash, crashing his mouth onto yours again, stealing your breath with every kiss.
You bite his bottom lip, sucking it into your mouth, and his answering groan rattles your bones. It makes your whole body ache.
His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs without finesse, without pause.
You’re soaked—there’s no hiding that. When he finally gets them off, the rush of cool air makes your slick even more obvious.
Luke pulls back, hovering, eyes raking over you like he’s never seen anything more sacred.
“Fuck,” he breathes, barely audible.
His mouth is on your neck again, hands tugging at the collar of your dress until your breasts spill out. He cups one, fingers tweaking your nipple as he kisses a trail lower and lower down your body.
“You’re so perfect,” he gasps, mouth sealing over your nipple, teeth grazing it just enough to make your breath catch. “Oh my God—let me make you feel good. Fuck, I need to.”
You bite your lip and nod, barely managing the motion before Luke’s already dropping to his knees in front of the couch, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder.
He looks at you like you’re divine. Eyes gleaming, full of heat and awe, as he uses two fingers to spread you open.
You gasp at the rush of cool air, at the soft, teasing drag of his index finger playing with the wetness at your entrance.
“Luke—” you whimper, voice wrecked. You don’t even know what you’re begging for. You just need.
Your chest rises and falls like you’ve run a mile, hands curling around the edge of the cushion, thighs trembling in anticipation.
“Shh,” he soothes, voice low, sweet, wrecked. “It’s okay. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He pauses. Then again, barely a whisper: “Fuck, I need to.”
Before you can respond, he’s licking a long stripe up your core, a desperate moan rumbling from his chest at the taste.
You cry out, head falling back as his tongue circles your clit—fast, frantic, needy. He hooks your other leg over his shoulder, pulling you closer until his face is fully buried between your thighs.
The grip of Luke’s hands on your legs is delicious, firm and possessive, holding you in place as he flicks his tongue against you over and over. The slurping sounds echo off the walls, obscene—almost as filthy as the moans tumbling out of you.
You brace on your elbows to look down at him— and it’s almost a mistake.
His eyes are half-lidded, glazed with lust. He’s licking you with the kind of intensity that makes your stomach flip. Moaning into you like he’s the one unraveling, spit and slick glistening on his face in the low light.
“God, you taste so fucking good,” he mutters, words barely coherent as he keeps working you over.
You’re a mess—whimpering, panting, legs trembling around his head. It’s so good. Too good.
“Fuck—fuck!” you cry out, spine arching as one of Luke’s fingers slips inside you, curling just right, perfectly timed with his tongue. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop—that feels so good.”
Luke groans into you, adding another finger. The stretch makes you gasp, white-hot pleasure zipping down your spine. You can feel it building—your orgasm rising fast, your stomach tightening, your breathing going ragged.
Then his lips seal around your clit and he sucks.
And all bets are off.
You come with a sharp, broken cry, thighs clamping around Luke’s head, back arching as your nails dig into the couch cushions. Your eyes roll back, body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you, one after the other.
When you finally come down—body going limp against the couch—Luke starts to move.
Your eyes track him lazily, watching as he grabs the hem of his black t-shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion.
His torso is beautiful. Broad. Lean. Soft in the right places. Tattooed skin glows faintly in the low light.
And then you see them.
Silver lines—scars—catch the light. Some straight. Some in faint, overlapping crisscrosses. They litter his wrists, his forearms, the curve of his biceps.
Your breath catches.
But you don’t look away.
He’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
He leans down, capturing your mouth with his, the taste of you still on his tongue. You groan into the kiss, your hand sliding to the back of his neck and pulling him closer.
Luke’s hips rut helplessly against you, his cock straining hard against the rough denim. His mouth stays hot on yours—sloppy, needy, filthy.
When he finally pulls back, his hands drop to the button of his jeans, undoing them with practiced urgency. Then he’s gripping the hem of your dress and tearing it off like it offended him.
“I need to be inside you,” he gasps, voice broken with desperation. “Please. I need you. Please let me fuck you.”
“I need you to,” you breathe, equally wrecked.
Luke doesn’t waste much time, kicking off his jeans and pulling his underwear down with trembling hands. You’re still so dazed from your orgasm that you almost miss the first glint, but then—
There’s a second. Then a third.
By the time your brain catches up, your eyes are locked on the metal running up the underside of his cock—four piercings, evenly spaced, gleaming in the low light like something out of a goddamn fever dream.
Your breath catches in your throat. Holy shit.
Luke has a Jacob’s ladder.
“What the fuck is that?” you breathe, pushing up on your arms until you’re sitting upright.
Luke’s cock is pretty—there’s no denying that. Long, thick, intimidating in the best way. Flushed pink at the tip, where you can already see a bead of precum forming. On its own, it’d be enough to make you salivate—but seeing it decorated?
“Oh. Yeah,” Luke mutters, flushing a deep red as his hand drags up the back of his neck. “You didn’t read about it?”
You lick your lips and shake your head. Tentatively, you reach out, your fingertip tracing the outer curve of his cock, making him shiver.
Then you wrap your hand around him.
Luke hisses at the contact, a sharp moan slipping past his lips as you begin to stroke him. The metal catches lightly on your skin—cool, smooth, and just unfamiliar enough to make your heart pound.
“Does it hurt?” you ask, tilting your head as your thumb brushes over the head, smearing the bead of precum down his length.
Luke shudders. “No,” he says, voice tight. “Not anymore.”
You lean in and lick a stripe up his cock, slow and deliberate. He whimpers, head falling back. The sweet, musky taste of him floods your senses, and suddenly you’re desperate to take him into your mouth.
But there’ll be time for that later. Especially because right now? Curiosity is eating you alive.
“I need to know what that feels like inside me.”
You hear Luke suck in a sharp breath just before his hands come up to cradle your face, dragging your mouth back to his in another heated kiss. You clutch at his forearms, kissing him back with the same intensity—hungry, desperate, wrecked.
“On your knees,” he groans between kisses, nipping at your bottom lip like he means it. “Let me see that pretty little ass bounce.”
You pull back just long enough to breathe, nodding as you shift to fully climb onto the couch. You bend over the top, chest pressed to the cushions, and glance over your shoulder—Luke’s eyes are locked on you, taking in everything like he’s starving for it.
“Condom?” he asks, voice low, breath shaky as he climbs onto the couch behind you, one knee resting between the cushions.
You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes flickering down to where he’s still hard and glistening.
“No condom,” you whisper. “Need to feel you. I’m clean. On the pill. Please?”
“Fuck,” Luke groans, one hand gripping your waist while the other wraps around his cock, pumping slowly. “Yeah… yeah, I want that.”
You feel it when he drags the head of his cock through your folds, breath hitching at the way your slick coats him.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he croaks, thumb brushing soft circles into your hip as he teases both of you with maddening patience.
Finally, the tip of his cock nudges your entrance—and then he starts to sink in.
You moan, loud and open, feeling him stretch you inch by inch. The piercings catch slightly on the way in, each one sending a jolt of sensation that makes your toes curl and your brain short-circuit.
“Oh my God, you’re so fucking tight,” Luke gasps, finally bottoming out. He leans forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder blades as one hand slips beneath you to cup your breast.
“I’m not gonna last. Fuck.”
You let out a breathless giggle, clenching around him just to hear the broken moan he gives in response. Every inch of your body touching his feels electric—lit up, delirious, wanting.
“Luke,” you pant, voice wrecked, “please, baby—I need you to move.”
He answers by pinching your nipple, then pulling his hips back until just the tip of him remains inside— then slamming forward, hard enough to jolt you up the couch.
You gasp, nails digging into the cushions as he does it again, and again. Luke sets a rhythm, pounding into you with growing urgency, each thrust harder, deeper, faster than the last.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, broken only by your choked moans and Luke’s desperate whimpers. His fingers dig into your hips, his hand abandoning your breast to grip you harder—forcing you back onto him, harder, faster.
“So fucking messy for me,” Luke pants, leaning in to gently bite your earlobe. His breath is hot against your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine. “Greedy little thing. Taking me so fucking well. You like it, Y/N?”
You screw your eyes shut, nodding quickly as his pace sharpens.
Luke lets out a low, guttural growl that startles you—and then his hand wraps around your chin, fingers firm, unrelenting. Deliciously so.
“Say it,” he grunts. “Say you fucking love it—the way I’m stretching this pussy. Fucked so good, just like you deserve. Fuck, my pretty little thing.”
You sob, every thrust hitting deep, every drag of his piercings making your eyes cross, your body convulse. Your heart stutters in your chest like it can’t keep up.
“Fuck, I love it, Lu,” you cry out, pushing back against him, meeting every brutal thrust. “You’re so big—fucking me so good—please don’t stop, don’t stop.”
You can feel Luke starting to shake behind you, muscles tight, movements frantic. His teeth sink into the place where your neck meets your shoulder, and you cry out—but don’t stop him. You want it.
You want the bruises, the soreness— every bit of evidence that this is real.
Luke’s thrusts are erratic, frantic in that way that screams he’s not thinking anymore—he’s just feeling. Desperation bleeds from every inch of him, from the guttural moans spilling from his mouth to the way his skin slaps against yours.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he chokes out, voice raw and cracking under the weight of restraint. “Fuck—you’re gonna ruin me. I’m already ruined— all I wanna do is be buried in this perfect pussy.”
“Luke—” you whimper, squirming against his hold.
He suddenly drops your hips, grabbing both your wrists with one hand and using the leverage to drive into you harder. Your head drops forward and you cry out, the sudden intensity tearing a sob from your throat.
“Are you gonna come again?” Luke pants, fingers tightening around your wrists. His hand is huge, easily holding both of yours like they’re nothing. “Please—please come again. Wanna feel you squeeze my cock. Need it.”
Then his other hand slips between your thighs, two fingers finding your clit, rubbing in fast, tight circles. Your legs begin to tremble, vision blurring at the edges as you start to fall apart all over again.
“Please,” he begs, hoarse and wrecked. “Let me feel you. Need you to soak my cock, c’mon baby—I know you can.”
Heat blooms through your body like wildfire, gathering low and sharp in your belly. Every thrust makes you more sensitive, makes it worse, makes it better—climbing and climbing until it feels like you might shatter.
“Fuck,” you gasp. “I’m so close—please don’t stop. Stay just like that—fuck, fuck—”
Before you know it, the heat in your belly snaps—exploding outward in devastating waves that ripple through your entire body. You scream, the sound muffled by the couch as your body shakes, pleasure overwhelming every one of your senses.
“Fuck, Y/N,” Luke gasps. “You’re so good for me. That’s it, baby—just like that. Just like that.”
He doesn’t stop. Not even as you writhe through your orgasm, not until you’re trembling and breathless and finally coming down.
You feel him pull out and whine at the loss. The couch dips under his weight as he collapses beside you, panting.
It doesn’t take long before he’s grabbing your hips again, shifting you gently until you’re straddling him—his chest pressed flush to your back.
“Shh,” Luke murmurs, voice like velvet. “Stay just like this for me, baby.” He presses a kiss to your temple—soft, grounding.
You glance down, just in time to see him fist his cock, guiding it back to your entrance. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes in again.
Your eyes flutter shut, head falling back onto his shoulder as he fills you all the way up.
Luke groans—low, filthy, torn straight from his chest—as his hands wrap tighter around your waist. He starts moving again, slow but reverent, fucking up into you with practiced, aching precision.
“Still so tight,” he gasps, lips trailing kisses along your neck as his grip on you tightens. “Still so fucking perfect.”
You scramble for purchase, one hand tangling in his curls. His hair is thick, soft between your fingers—and you tug, hard, just to hear the breathless little whimper it pulls from him.
“That’s it, baby,” he moans. “Just let me use you like this. Like a good little toy for me.”
Your back arches against him and you twist, catching his mouth in a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. His thrusts grow sloppier, messier—his mouth still moving against yours with the same chaotic hunger.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Luke breathes, voice breaking as his arms lock around you tighter. “Where do you want it, baby?”
The post-orgasm haze still fogging your brain clears in an instant.
Ashton’s face flashes behind your eyes—his voice, breathless and shaking just like this, begging to come inside you.
Every time, the answer was no.
“Inside,” you gasp, your gaze flicking to your phone resting a few feet away on the couch cushion. “Please—come inside me.”
You’d never let Ashton do that.
It was your line in the sand. A dumb little boundary you set. It was your quiet way to keep something from him, the same way he always kept pieces of himself from you. Coming inside was a boyfriend thing—Not a sleazy situationship thing.
Which is exactly why letting Luke do it will hurt him more than anything else ever could.
“You serious?” Luke pants, his rhythm faltering.
You nod.
“Fuck.” His hips snap into yours harder, faster, chasing the edge with reckless desperation. You tug at his hair again, letting yourself drown in the feel of it, the sound of it, the ache of it.
“Fuck, baby, gonna come—”
“Come for me, Luke,” you whisper. “Claim me.”
He comes with a cry, body shaking behind you as he fucks himself through it, twitching deep inside. You’re trembling too, the sensation of him emptying into you raw and overwhelming—proof of what just happened. Evidence.
And the perfect weapon.
Luke goes limp behind you, his grip on your hips loosening slightly. You melt against him, but your mind is still sharp. It’s a matter of now or never.
“Luke,” you whisper.
“Hmm?”
You glance toward your phone, reaching for it. “I want to take a picture,” you say. “Of this. Of us.”
Luke lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “What? What of?”
You lift yourself just enough for him to slip out of you. He hisses at the loss, and immediately you feel it—his release, starting to drip out of you, slow and filthy.
“Your mess,” you murmur, smirking as you look back at him. Your tone is teasing—but it’s a challenge.
Luke mutters a curse under his breath, his fingers slipping between your legs to spread you open wider, like he wants to make sure the image is damning.
You snap the photo.
You’re very aware of the details: the ink on his hands—detritus written along the side, the faded Nirvana smiley peeking from beneath his wrist. The chipped red polish on his nails. Every bit of him is recognizable. Every bit of it is proof.
“Jesus,” Luke grins lazily, kissing your cheek. “You’re so weird. It’s hot.”
Maybe you should feel bad. After all, Luke’s still floating—still high off the sex, the rush, the drugs humming through his bloodstream. He’s not fully here. Not as sharp as usual. He has no idea the weight of what he just let you do.
He probably doesn’t catch the hidden truth in your voice.
He probably never will.
You slide off his lap, climbing off the couch before sinking to your knees in front of him. His eyes widen, just now registering what you’re about to do.
You wrap your mouth around the head of his cock—softened, spent. But not for long.
You bob your head slowly, tongue circling his tip. You can taste both of you—his release, your slick—and you moan around him, eyes fluttering closed.
Luke groans, head falling back against the couch as he starts to grow hard again in your mouth. It doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard, twitching between your lips.
“You look so hot with your mouth stuffed,” he murmurs.
You pull away with a soft pop, grinning as your hand continues to stroke him slowly.
“So take a picture,” you smirk. “It’ll last longer.”
—
The sky outside is starting to turn blue, but the blinds keep most of it out, bathing the room in shadows. At least for the most part.
You lie awake in your bed—naked, spent, but entirely too aware. Luke is asleep beside you, peaceful in a way you envy. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Maybe he should.
You shift slightly, keeping the covers pulled up to your chest as you turn onto your side, watching him. His back is to you, that perfect, inked skin marred now with deep red scratches.
His curls are a mess against the pillow, the blanket low on his hips. He’s a dream— A beautiful man who either doesn’t realize the weight of his betrayal, or simply just doesn’t care.
Luke didn’t happen to the world, the world happened to Luke.
Your eyes drift to the tattoo across his shoulder blades—L’ange Déchu, the fallen angel, Cabanel’s Lucifer. It’s done in black and white, but the dark ink contrasts so sharply against Luke’s skin it almost looks alive.
It’s a beautiful piece, chosen with the same care as most of his tattoos. He likes to tell a story on his skin. It suits him perfectly, especially now—marked up with the scratches you left behind.
Tonight was long. After you blew him, he took a picture of the mess he left on your face.
Then kissed you stupid.
It’s ridiculous, how much it got to you.
He’d splayed you out on the couch, lips soft against yours as he whispered mindless praises—words that felt entirely too genuine for the kind of mess you were about to drag him into. He got you off one last time with lazy, sleepy circles to your clit before the two of you crashed in your bed.
You bite your lip, thinking of the way Luke had curled around you like a cat, drifting off so easily. He’d been warm, soft, whispering against your skin not to leave.
Luke is entirely too precious.
You reach for your phone, thumb unlocking it with practiced ease. The camera app opens to the gallery— all the photos the two of you took earlier, the filthy ones, the damning ones at full display.
It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
Yet here you are, debating if you really want to use the pictures—if you can reduce a night that felt this real into petty revenge. Despite how it started, tonight felt like something to you.
So, without thinking twice, you snap a picture of Luke. Just him, sleeping peacefully. Tattooed back on full display.
This one’s just for you.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
if you liked this version of luke, make sure to check out his fanfic, bite the apple
also, while this is written as an x reader, fmc is a real character in the story named maggie. she is NOT a love interest. she’s not even really all that important actually. she just haunts the narrative of luke and ashton’s friendship.
Summary ⁎ Luke can't get his eyeshadow right. You help out in more ways than one.
Content ⁎ Smut
Note ⁎ Shoutout to the anon that suggested it, hope you enjoy it! 💖
Also on ao3 soon.
"For fuck's sake."
Luke's muttered exclamation is followed by the clatter of something thrown onto the table, making you look up in surprise as the silence of the dressing room is broken. He looks equal amounts exhausted and riled up, has been all day, but now frustration has quite obviously been added into the mix.
"You alright?"
"No," he grumbles, letting his head drop onto his arms as he all but collapses over the table, his dark curls falling all over the place. His body heaves with a sigh. You can't help but smile at how dramatic he gets.
"What is it, then?"
You walk over to him, burying a hand in his hair to scratch lightly at his scalp, and he sighs again. It sounds more appreciative this time. He says something, but his head is still buried in the fabric of his shirt, and you can't make out a single word. Carefully pulling at his hair, you make him pick his head up, an unreadable expression on his face. He gulps, audibly, before repeating himself.
"Can't get my eyeshadow right. Won't blend."
"Aw," you coo at him, lifting his face up higher with your finger under his chin. You study the make up on his face, immediately seeing where he was struggling. "Want me to help?"
His doe eyes speak for themselves.
You grab the eyeshadow pallette he'd been handling and the brush that would probably be a little more helpful than the one he'd been attempting to use, before motioning for him for sit up straighter. You just watch him, blinking up at you, for a moment, taking in his absolute beauty, his charm, everything about him that makes it so hard to concentrate on the task at hand. Then you try to get to work.
It's awkward. The angle is weird and the light doesn't quite work. You've never done someone else's make up before. You try to bend down to get more eye-level with the issue but then it's just his baby blue eyes staring right back at you and somehow that just makes it worse. So you make him tip his head back a little more but then everything just seems weird. You huff out a breath of annoyance.
Luke puts a stop to it.
In one swift motion, he grabs onto your hips, pulling you down onto his lap, making you straddle him, his hands coming to rest on your waist then. It takes your breath away, just for a moment, how close you are. His thighs against your ass. His arms lazily resting on top of your legs. His face right in front of you. You want to move in, smash your chests together until there's no breathing space left, but you resist.
Instead, you go back to the task at hand. It's easier this way; you're at the right angle, you're close enough. You're still blocking the light from the mirror behind you, but you make do. Nothing could get you to get back up again now. You blend his eyeshadow until you know he'd be satisfied with it, then go over with glitter, more than he would usually use, but you love the way his eyes sparkle in tandem with it and you can't hold back.
You're so focused on the task at hand that it takes you finishing it to realise a number of things.
Your heart is beating out of your chest. His breathing has become unsteady. You have move closer and closer, bit by bit, his face almost against yours. His hands are digging into your skin so harshly it might leave a bruise.
"All done," you whisper. "Pretty boy."
Luke gasps, his hands dragging you even closer on his lap.
"I think…" His eyes trail down your face until they settle on your mouth. "I think I want to try some lipgloss."
The invitation is clear enough that you don't hesitate. But you take your time all the same. Your eyes drift over his features, beautiful under the partially obstructed light, baby blues following your every move, lips slightly parted as your hand comes to rest on the side of his neck. You lean in, slowly, cautiously, until he grows restless underneath you. Then you put your lips on his, firmly, but just once, before pulling back. His lips now coated in your gloss.
Luke looks up at you with such innocent eyes, with such need for more, that you simply can't resist, your body lighting up and coming alive. Dragging him closer by the hand on his neck, you kiss him, fully this time, and he returns the sentiment, kissing you like a man starving, hands moving to your lower back to hold you steady, the slightest gasp escaping his mouth and inviting you to explore more.
You feel him underneath you, a twitch first, then steadily growing. There's heat between your own legs, a tightening knot in your lower stomach, a rising need.
You only part when you need to catch a breath. His face has reddened and you're sure yours isn't far off either. He inhales, on the verge of saying something, when you hear the door open behind you, a high-pitched 'Oh okay' in what can only be Michael's voice, and the door closing again.
"Fuck," Luke mumbles, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. His arms envelop you, hugging your torso close to his, and the slight movement of your hips has you shifting against his growing need, eliciting a low groan. "The things I'd do to you if I could get you undressed right now."
"Why can't you?" you tease.
"Mikey literally just walked in on us," he chuckles, but all it does it press your body harder against his.
"What if we did something we didn't need to get undressed for?"
He lifts his head, looking up at you through his lashes and you're about to melt.
"Surely you can't go on stage like this."
This time, you grind down on him on purpose, roughly moving against his hardness and he moans so, so sweetly that you know there's no way you're going to leave here without making him come.
"Yeah?" he pleads. "What are going to do about it?"
You repeat your motion, sliding perfectly on his laps, rubbing against his cock again and again. You've never been so glad he decided against his jeans today. The fabric of his trousers are thinner, give more room, and when you look down between your bodies you can see an almost perfect outline through the layers. It makes you want to get on your knees and tear his clothes off, but the rational part of your brain stops you.
Not here, not now.
"How is this?" you ask instead, pushing down on him again, feeling him against you so thick and long, you're sure your panties are soaking already. "Think you can get off for me like this?"
Luke's moan is less contained this time and you grab onto his head to angle it your way, pressing a silencing kiss to his lips.
"Talk to me, Luke."
You're already making a mess out of him. You can see it in the glaze in his eyes, in the frantic way his hands are scrambling for purchase on your body, how his hips are starting to meet yours halfway, rubbing himself against you.
"Yes," he sighs under his breath. "Yes, please, I can, just—"
"Just what, hm?"
You continue to ride him, watching how you're hitting all the right spots as he starts losing his composure.
"Can I touch?"
"Do it, baby boy."
His hands are on your breasts immediately, another deep groan escaping his throat as he kneads the flesh, getting lost in the sensations of you on him. He's buckling up into you as you try to keep some resemblance of a rhythm but you can tell he's getting closer. Closer to losing control.
"Come on, Luke. Come for me. Let me see how your pretty face falls apart. Don't even need me to touch you. Don't even need my hands or my mouth. So pretty, so desperate for anything at all. So hard for me. Come for me, Lu."
He does, then. He wants to bury his face in your shoulder, but you pull him back by the strands of his dark hair, making his head fall back instead, mouth open, eyes screwed shut. Silent moans on his tongue as he ruts against you, twitching until he's spent.
Luke is beautiful. Tangled curls and flushed cheeks. His eyes open slowly and you can't deny him another open-mouthed kiss. When you move away a little, getting some distance between the two of you, you can see the stain he left in his trousers, the dark material even blacker where he came, visual proof of your ministrations.
"Think you might need to change before stage," you giggle.
His gaze follows yours, taking note of the state of his trousers, then letting his head fall backwards again with a laugh.
"The things you fucking do to me."
"Yeah?" You perk up, peppering several kisses along his exposed neck. "Tell me all about it in the hotel when you get off stage?"
He grabs you again, squeezing your sides, holding the back of your head to press his mouth against his.
summary: just a lazy, sunday morning with your husband luke… and your kids being grossed out at how darn cute you guys are. soft and domestic af!!! (word count: 1.7k)
anon who requested this, i hope this fulfilled your husband!luke needs :)
My eyes fluttered open, gracing me with Luke’s half-open mouth. Even with drool pooling up at the corner of his mouth, the sunlight behind him made him look like a work of art. His messy curls were glowing a dark brown color this time, the dye fading out with time.
I rolled over, sighing as I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. 8:58 AM. I paused for a second, waiting for the sounds of our children screaming like the gremlins they are. But no, all I heard was Luke’s breathing next to me. Surprising.
I sat up and stretched my arms upward, letting out a big yawn before I began our day. I was already mentally checking off the schedule in my head. Grocery shopping, piano lessons, school projects, answering texts I’ve been putting off… Ugh.
I sighed defeatedly as I began to roll out of bed, Luke’s arm outstretched towards me as he pulls me back into bed. I giggled, turning over to see his half-opened eyes, icy blues hiding behind drooping eyelids.
“Where ya going?” He asks in his low and gruff morning voice.
“We gotta go grocery shopping, help with baby boy’s project, the princess has a piano lesson today, I probably should call my mom back and… Ugh, the house is a mess and I really need it cleaned before Cal gets here to watch the kids.” I listed off, dragging my hands down my face as I felt all the pressure build up.
“Oh, c’mon. Calum doesn’t need a clean house to watch the kids,” Luke brushes off and I immediately squint my eyes at him. He knows better than that. If Calum is going to watch our kiddos tonight, he deserves a clean house to stay in before they make a mess all over again.
“Luke, please. You know he does. The man’s an angel, it’s the least we can do. I don’t know, maybe let’s just cancel date night. Cleaning the house is just another thing to do and there’s no time… It’s already 9 in the morning.” I sigh. He immediately frowns, bringing his hand to the side of my face as his thumb strokes my cheekbone.
“You’ve been so excited to check out this new restaurant though, darling. You deserve it. Look at you, you’re mom of the year handling all of this. Just relax and rely on me too. C’mon baby, you know I’m here.” He assures me softly. I can slowly feel my shoulders drop as I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
Luke pulls me in even closer so my face is pressed against his chest as he holds me tightly. His large hands cradled me, one hand gently petting my hair as he kissed the top of my head. Yeah… Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. I yawned, feeling myself get sleepy all over again.
“Mmm… You know, I had a really weird dream.” Luke mentioned out of the blue.
“Yeah? What about?”
“I was old. And bald. It was kind of horrendous. But you were gorgeous and so I picked up our dog and put her on my head and told you that it was my hair because I didn’t want you to think I was ugly.”
“And did I think you were ugly?” I asked, trying to keep my composure.
“I dunno. I woke up. Would you have thought I was ugly?”
“No… No, not at all.” I said through snickers. He pulled back with a pout.
“You’re laughing! You’d think I’d be ugly with our dog as my hair, don’t you?” He huffed and I couldn’t help but laugh even harder.
“Nooo. You're always handsome to me. But when you get to that balding stage, just shave, will you? Please don’t use our dog as a wig. Your buzzcut era was kind of cute.” I answered.
“Fine… But what do you think my dream meant? I’m clearly not balding right now, I have such luscious hair,” he brags, overexaggerating a hair flip which made me roll my eyes playfully.
“Probably didn’t mean anything. Though your hair is kind of fading into this brownish color,” I pointed out, running my hands through his curls.
“Hmm… Maybe I’ll redye it.” He mumbled to himself, burying his face into the crook of my neck. My hand dropped down to the nape of his neck, gently massaging it.
“Really? I miss your blonde.” I said, gently pulling at the ends of his hair in the way I know he likes.
“Then I’ll go back to blonde. Eventually. Hopefully the black keeps fading into a nice brown color.” He replies through a yawn.
Before I could respond my stomach seemed to want to be a part of the conversation too, growling so loudly Luke could hear it. He laughed, throwing his head back before looking at me.
“Is my pretty lady hungry?” Luke asked, pushing back my hair so it wasn’t draped over my face.
“Yeah… I need breakfast. Stat.” I pouted.
“I’ll go make some then,” he offered. He kissed my forehead (because we don’t do morning breath in this household) before climbing out of bed and pattering into the hallway.
After he left the bed it immediately got cold from the lack of body heat. I didn’t want to be left alone in the room and I should probably get the day started too… So I also got out of bed, shrugging on one of his hoodies because the mornings were always too cold no matter what season.
“Awww, you look cute.” Luke smiled as I came downstairs.
“Thanks! Got it from this really expensive store. It’s called my husband’s pile of clothes on the floor,” I teased, turning on the speaker.
“Ha. Ha. Just for that, you’re playing my playlist now,” He grinned and I just sighed dramatically. Not that I minded though, of course the musician had good music taste. I put his playlist on shuffle.
The sounds of waves against the shore filled the room before being accompanied by a guitar strumming and other instruments humming in the background.
“How many special people change? How many lives are living strange? Where were you while we were getting high?” Luke sang softly as he whisked up pancake batter in a bowl.
I just watched him because, what else do you do when an angel is being presented to you? Especially when he’s singing along to a soft song under the glow of the morning sun that’s rising all too fast. I leaned against the kitchen counter, swaying side to side.
He continued to sing, sometimes just humming if he really needed to focus like when he poured the batter into the frying pan. Once he finished that task he turned to me, gently grabbing my hand and pulling me in to slow dance.
“Someday you will find me, caught beneath the landslide…”
“In a champagne supernova in the sky.” I sang along with him. A little offkey admittedly but he still smiled, grinning from ear to ear.
As the pancakes sizzled and the birds chirped we stayed there for the rest of the song, my arms on his shoulders while his wrapped around my waist. The world turned into background noise and for a moment it was just him and I, the kitchen becoming our stage.
“‘Cause people believe they’re gonna get away for the summer,” I sang as we swayed side to side.
“But you and I, we live and die. The world’s still spinning ‘round,”
“We don’t know whyyyy,” we both sang together before laughing and letting Liam Gallagher sing the rest.
“Stop siiingiiiiinggg…” Our daughter began to whine out of the blue. I spun my head around to see her in her pajamas, holding her stuffed animal close to her chest.
“Oh, sweetheart. You’re awake. I’m sorry, did mommy and daddy wake you up?” Luke asked, crouching down and opening his arms up for her to run into. She skipped over to him and he immediately picked her up.
“No, I was already up playing with my dollies.” She answered. Aw, what an angel. I kissed her forehead before petting down her bedhead.
“Daddy, something’s burning.” Our son said, also out of the blue. Jesus, do these kids just teleport or something? Luke hands her over to me before running to the stove and groaning at the charred pancakes.
“Yeeep. Sorry guys. Let’s try this again. Thanks for telling me, bud.” Luke smiled, ruffling our son’s hair as he began to redo the pancakes. I put down our daughter since I could tell she wanted to run around and I needed to do chores anyway.
“Okay, well I’m gonna get started on the dishes, darling.” I said to Luke as our kids were wildly running around the kitchen island.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it. Don’t get your pretty little hands wet,” He replies.
“But your hands are prettier, so I’ll do it.”
“My hands have callouses, darling. I’ll do it.”
“No, I’ll do it.” I challenged him back, scooting closer with a grin on my face as I looked up at him.
“No, I’ll do it.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Nope. Can’t have your pretty little hands getting all wrinkly and having you stand all morning by the sink. Not even gonna let you lift a finger.” He says, sealing it in with a kiss on my forehead.
“Ewwwww!!” Our kids shouted in unison. We both turned to look at them, laughing at their little voices expressing such big disgust.
“Stop flirting!” Our daughter demanded.
“Yeah, get a room!” Our son agreed.
“Oh, you two. But I love your mom so much. What’s wrong with that?” He asks, pulling me in for a hug. I hug him back, overexaggerating my sigh as I melt into his touch.
“Yuck!” They both said before running away upstairs. Kids…
“Alright, well I gotta go get them ready for the day.” I said, kissing his cheek. He gently spanks my ass once I turn around. He flashes a cheeky grin the moment I look back at him.
“We should make another one, y’know.” He suggests while wiggling his eyebrows.
“Luuuuu!” I scolded him immediately. “We agreed on two.”
“I’m kidding. You’re just so gorgeous, I can’t help it.” He responds with that smile of his that shows off his pearly whites. It gets me every time.
pairing. jet black rockstar!luke x rockstar!reader
summary. from wearing one of his shirts as your outfit on stage and the two of you dyeing your hair black together to messy makeouts and not-so-subtle touches when no one was looking, sharing the stage with Luke was harder than you expected.
warnings. +18. mdni. EXPLICIT CONTENT. smut. oral sex (m receiving). fingering. pussy slapping. mouth spitting. denegration. choking. dirty talk. angst. muke allegations. yearning. situationship final boss. lip ring!luke. chirophilia. praise. throat fucking. dom!luke. masturbation. use of explicit words. avoidant attachment style. friends slash bandmates with benefits. obsession. petnames. alcohol and weed use.
wc. 6,1k.
now playing. smut by jutes.
The air hung thick inside the arena, the bass nothing more than a dizzying hum, seeping beneath every pore without permission, untamed, relentless, the vibration settling somewhere deep in your bones. Your fingers were trained in the play of the four metal strings, the chords of “SMUT” a familiar melody in a final encore. Countless days filled with rehearsals, the kind of practice now second nature, sweaty, frantic bodies driven by the way Echo Fever moved under the red stage lights.
The burn of alcohol coursed through your veins along a path that by now felt familiar, settling easy, sinking deep through your system, merging with the usual buzz of being the bassist in an alternative rock band with the same boys who had seen your best and your worst–playing arenas, living on the road; you had been made for this.
The dizziness was indulgent, welcome, your eyelids fluttering shut in slower, heavier blinks, your body so surrendered to the moment that every cell obeyed before the thought could even form; hips restless to the music, swaying back and forth in time with the subtle guidance of your fingertips, the allure almost effortless.
“Make it filthy ’cause i love when you treat me like a slut.” The final words dissolved into obscene murmurs as they slipped past Luke’s lips–parted, far too close to the microphone; blue irises nearly swallowed by black, drowned in your gaze.
The guitar chords were intoxicating, loud in the way they spoke to you. Luke’s fingers moved with a kind of mastery your eyes couldn’t help but follow, lingering in stares you swore were subtle, far too hypnotized to register anything beyond the vulgarity of his digits dancing over the metal strings. It resonated through every fiber of your body, and still, the final point always settled between your legs; that same familiar pressure that built whenever you paid too much attention to the sin that was Luke Hemmings’ existence.
And Luke knew, far more than you wished he did the effect he had on you–how your throat went dry when you swallowed, how your gaze never quite held his, always drifting to his hands or his mouth, how your breath caught sharp in your chest the second his hand rested, even briefly, on your waist as he passed by, how shivers tore down your spine when he murmured into your ear; fleeting, visceral doses of the obsession you fed him so willingly.
The line blurred somewhere along the way, you couldn’t quite remember when your reality began to orbit the way he kissed you, the way his hands wandered your body with a kind of hunger that made you believe you could be something more; he was convincing on his knees, the same lips that went down on you were the ones that kept you full of lies.
It was almost unconscious when you drifted closer to him on stage, an impulse too strong to swallow; a few curls clung to your forehead, your gaze locked on the only star you followed, fingers insatiable against the bass, a smile you couldn’t contain aimed solely at him. Luke smiled back as if he weren’t responsible for the heat thrumming through your entire body, his frame angled just slightly toward you as he shifted to make space at the mic, a silent invitation.
Face to face, it was like nothing else dared to exist. You lifted onto your toes just enough to reach the microphone, the height difference forcing you closer, your voice melting into his in a harmony you both knew people would be talking about long after the show ended.
“Come fuck me like you hate me, eyes rollin’ in your head, blackout…” The lyrics slipped easily from your lips, that deep blue rooted so far inside you it took extra focus not to mess everything up.
The spark that ignited whenever you sang to each other burned hot enough to start a fire, eyes locked, unable to look away from the flames you became on stage. The rumors that followed your names only grew stronger in moments like these, whispers spreading when you showed up wearing one of his shirts as your outfit for the night, when you both appeared with black hair at the same time, when your mouths hovered far too close as you shared a microphone; details that never went unnoticed by the fans. You indulged in those assumptions as if somewhere in them you might find your truth; at least in those words, he belonged to you.
“You guys look fucking hot sharing a mic like that. Speaking my truth right now, i feel like– crazy sexual tension coming off you. You should just fuck already. But like– don’t fucking ruin the band or anything, that’d be awkward as fuck and i’d hate having to meet new people to start over.” Michael’s voice carried through the backstage halls, honesty and alcohol sitting heavy on his tongue. Of course, he didn’t know, no one did except the two of you.
“You didn’t seem worried about ruining the band when you had your mouth around my–“ Luke slung an arm around the redhead’s waist, walking alongside him, pulling him closer.
“We were teenagers! The band wasn’t even a real thing yet! Give me a fucking break, dude!” Michael shot back, more exasperated than he could hide, hands moving wildly as he gestured toward his head. Ashton’s laughter bled into yours as the two of you watched the same banter that somehow always followed them.
“Mmmm, i don’t know about that, but i mean… i’m down if you are. Bet you’re way better at sucking dick now than you were back then, with all that experience and shit…” Luke turned toward him, that same boyish smirk playing at the corners of his mouth that make your head spin. Maroon spread across Michael’s cheeks instantly.
“Come on, Hemmings, leave Mikey alone!” You cut in before even realising, quick steps carrying you into the band’s dressing room.
“Ohhh, Mikey…” he teased, finally relenting; Michael’s muttered insult dying on his lips when Luke pressed a quick kiss to his temple, hands already pushing the lead vocalist away.
Like a dog on a leash, Luke obeyed, hands raised in mock surrender before dropping onto one of the leather couches, head falling back, manspreading like the fucking whore he was.
The post-show adrenaline lingered like the smoke currently slipping from between Ashton’s lips, his fingers busy as he passed the joint to Luke. This was the part where you all caught your breath, gossiped about whatever you’d noticed in the crowd, get high as fuck, and just soaked in the comfort of each other before heading out to some local bar, getting wasted and dancing until you blacked out, already itching to do it all over again the next day; the routine Echo Fever followed religiously on tour.
The euphoric chatter of your friends blurred into white noise in your ears. You remained standing, the high from the performance still alive under your skin, the dampness of your underwear now far too noticeable for you to sit without rubbing pathetically against the cushions; especially with that asshole making no effort to hide the way his gaze dragged down your body, over the black lace, the garter tights hugging your thighs; you could’ve sworn you saw him spread his legs just a little wider in response.
“You gonna stand there like a haunted ghost or are you gonna sit and smoke with us?” Michael asked, sass dripping from his tone.
Suddenly, you were hyper-aware of every pair of eyes on you. “Honestly, i’m feeling kinda sick– i think the alcohol hit harder than i realised and all that moving around on stage doesn’t help, you know how i get,” you said, the excuse not entirely a lie. “I’m gonna head to my dressing room. Need to focus before i actually throw up and you guys can’t shut the fuck up for more than one minute, sooo. Don’t forget me here. I’m out. Peace, bitches.”
Your words hung in the air as you turned, steps quicker than necessary as you made your way to your dressing room–you knew exactly what you were doing when you insisted on having one to yourself.
The padding swallowed your body in a comfortable embrace, you’d barely sat down before your legs parted on their own, the small pair of shorts you wore under Luke’s shirt already discarded, forgotten somewhere on the floor. Your head fell back against the leather, the ceiling spinning as your hand slid over your own throbbing need, a low hiss slipping past your lips at the faintest contact through the fabric. The material only amplified the torture you were putting yourself through.
Oh, look at me, i look like fucking Lucifer, i look good wearing eyeliner, i have a sultry slutty voice, i’m tall, i’m really fucking good at playing guitar and, not shockingly, i’ve got a really huge dick.
Oh, fuck you, Luke Hemmings.
So what if his name was the one falling from your lips in heavy breaths as your touch circled your clit? So what if you imagined his fingers on you moving with the same precision, the same intensity he used on his guitar? He could go fuck himself.
“M–…Mmpf, L–…Luke…” His name shaped itself on your lips like a prayer, two fingers sinking deeper into your heat, the image of him, whoring himself out on stage like the rockstar he was born to be, burning into your eyelids every time you blinked.
Second night of the tour and you were already here, shaking under your own stroke, calling your bandmate’s name like it might save you from the obscenities your mind kept projecting onto him.
Your body twisted, hips lifting off the couch just as that fucking knock echoed through the dressing room. Always the same pattern, you’d recognize it from vibrations alone if you had to.
No fucking way.
Your body went still for a second, fingers slipping out, legs unsteady as you pushed yourself up. Your movements bordered on impulsive as you made your way to the door, wiping your fingers against the fabric of the same shirt–his shirt–that you kept tugging down over your thighs.
“What?” you snapped, tone impatient, irritation bleeding into your voice as you yanked the door open.
“You wanna know what’s not adding up?” Luke didn’t wait for an invitation before stepping in like he owned the place, forcing you to take a few steps back as he invaded your space like a storm without warning, the door clicking shut behind him. “Every time you feel sick from drinking, you smoke, because following that weird logic of yours, it helps you with the nausea, so… why didn’t you–“
Fingers curling around the black tie beneath his leather jacket, you tugged him toward you before he could keep running his mouth, shutting him up the only way that ever seemed to work.
Luke’s hands wasted no time finding your waist, one sliding up into your hair, fingers digging into the strands at the nape of your neck as his lips fell into the same rushed rhythm yours set.
It felt like you were one kiss away from snapping something with how eagerly you devoured him, your hands crawling along the curve of his waist while his came up to cradle your face, the backs of his thighs hitting the edge of the vanity, you all over him.
“Tell me, when you wear my shirt on stage… is that you trying to make me yours? Your way of staking a claim or do you just like giving them more to talk about?” he murmured, voice rough, lips greedy as they traced along your jaw, open-mouthed bites marking their way down your neck.
“I bet you love reading those comments…about how i can’t take my eyes off you on stage, how obsessed i must be. Is that what you get off on, baby?” his grip tightened in your hair, holding you steady as his teeth dragged against your skin.
A dark little laugh ripped through your lips, your head tilting slightly to the side, an offering–oh, if only he knew.
“Gotta show who holds the leash,” you drawled, fingers curling sharply at his waist. “But it’s not for them, no, not for them,” that same smirk pulled at your lips as your hand slid up into his curls, tugging without restraint until his eyes met yours. “It’s for your fucking groupies. They need to know their place.” Your hand closed around his throat, firm, just enough to make a point.
On his face, you find the same depravity that stares back at you in the mirror. His pupils dilate the second he gets a taste of what he’s always craved, that same hunger to be wanted, feeding off you like some fucking vampire.
“Baby’s first time getting jealous, aw.” He cooed, blue eyes gleaming with the kind of perversion written all over his expression at the feel of your hand wrapped around his throat. Of course the fucker would enjoy it.
A cynical scoff is the only sound that leaves you, that same arrogant smirk mirrored right back at him. “Jealous? How could i be jealous when i know they don’t get wet for you like i do?” The honesty is raw, too real, but you couldn’t give a fuck right now; your grip tight as you hold him in place, your body pressing closer until you’re chest to chest, your chin tilting up just enough for your eyes to lock onto his.
Luke’s breath catches in his throat, blue blown wide and fixed on you, lips stubbornly refusing to give you anything but that same fucking grin that makes you want to paint him red with your mouth, chew him bones and all. You weren’t naive to think this sudden control surprised him, he pulled the strings; you were just another piece in his dollhouse.
The air in your lungs felt thinner by the second, the yearning spreading through every pore of your sweat-slick skin–and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. “That’s what you were up to? Is that why you ran off to lock yourself in here? Got baby all worked up?” Your eyes remained on the way his lips moved, lingering on the lip ring he liked to toy with between his teeth.
Your faces were close enough for his tequila laced breath ghost over your skin. You swallowed hard, unable to stop the way your rapid blinking gave away the composure you were trying so hard to hold onto. Luke didn’t need much effort to pull your hand away from his neck, the control shifting in the bat of an eye.
His palm was broad enough to cover your entire throat, grip tight, but never enough to take the pleasure out of it. His height loomed over you as your steps faltered backwards. “Your pussy gets wet just from me singing while looking at you? Fuck, baby…you’re needier than i thought.” Your lower back collided with the cushioning of the same couch you’d been touching yourself on just minutes ago, thinking about him, calling his name.
The words got lodged in your throat, too caught off guard to manage any kind of eye contact with him. That’s when Luke seemed to notice your shorts, abandoned on top of the carpet, the cocky smirk on his lips only growing now that he had the confirmation he needed without you having to say a word.
You expected it to feed his ego even more, expected his teasing filling the room again, expected that same arrogance sitting in his gaze–but instead, his hand grew heavier around your throat, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that felt almost devoted. No performance, no games; just tongue, teeth, saliva, and the sharp, addictive drag of his lip ring.
Your hands were eager at his waist before slipping down to his ass, palms filling with his flesh as you pulled him closer. Luke’s touch climbed back up to your face, holding you with a gentleness that made you question what your skin was made of, his lips avid as they sealed against the corner of your mouth, your chin, your jaw. You squeezed his ass again, ripping a gasp out of him. “Let me take care of you… i can fuck you way better than your fingers ever could, i promise.” He rasped, breath hot as his mouth brushed against yours, body pressed so close to yours that you could feel just how uncomfortable he was in his pants.
Your fingers wrapped around his wrists where they held your face, your eyes locking onto his, pulling him in. Steady breath was no longer a thing between you two. “I want yours… i want you to fuck me with your fingers, please… like you play your guitar.” Your voice came out smaller than you expected, a slight furrow in your brows as your gaze flickered between his lips and his eyes.
Luke leaned back just enough to let his eyes trace every feature of your face. “Yeah? Is that what my girl wants?” His voice was sinful, low and velvety, settling deep between your thighs, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek.
My girl.
The words sank into you, further than they should have, even knowing it was just a moment, even knowing it was lust sitting heavy on his tongue. Eyes slipping shut in a blink, a small nod coming with it, you believed you were his girl.
Luke was quick, steeped in impatience, his mouth devouring yours as if he hadn’t fed in days, tongue dragging against yours, palms roaming down your body to your thighs, the snap of your garter against your skin bleeding into the sounds of your kisses and gasps as his fingers caught in the lace his eyes had been so eager to study before.
His hands were large as they closed around the flesh of your thighs, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing to him. In one frantic, careless motion, your back collided with his chest just as his met the cushioned surface, positioning you in his lap, his bulge perceivable where it pressed against your ass.
Your torso arched forward in thick breaths, anticipation spreading through your nerves just as heat pooled low in your stomach. His digits moved between the gap of your thighs, red blooming along the inside of your skin from the pressure of his grip before his touch reached the dampness of your panties. The sharp tremor of your body over his at the slightest contact was more than enough for something to cut through his teeth in a wolfish grin, chest rising and falling just as heavily as yours.
His lips hovered near your ear, his voice no more than a rough whisper. “This wet for me and keeping it all to yourself, baby? You’re so fucking greedy.” Your eyes fell shut at once, lips parting as if already pleading for whatever Luke was willing to give.
The length of his fingers was long, pressing with precision as they slid over your, still covered, soaked cunt, the tip of one of his digits teasing just enough as it mimicked a slow thrust at your entrance, the drenched fabric dipping with it. One of your hands dropped to his thigh, seeking something to hold onto in the thickness of it.
“You can’t even make it through a show without fantasizing about my fingers touching you like this, can you? You’re so pathetic, so fucking needy for me.” The same hand hooked into the waistband of your panties, the fabric tugged just enough to press against your clit.
Your hips pushed up greedily, chasing more of that friction, restless in their need, your head tipping back slightly to rest against one of his broad shoulders as broken, soft murmurs slipped past your lips.
Luke’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth in quiet disapproval. “Nuh-uh. You stay still. You take what i give you.” You could come just from hearing that voice in your ear, you were sure of it. “S-…sorry, i just–“ The words died in your throat, weak, dragged out.
“You just what, baby? Want me to finger you breathless? Want me to play with your pussy the same way i play my guitar?” His hand slipped beneath the fabric, set on skin-to-skin contact. The tip of his digit was light, agonizing in its slow, unsteady glide over your clit before sliding through your slick folds, the pressure dizzying as it edged your entrance.
Your teeth were sunk into your bottom lip in a naive attempt to hold back the urge to grind against his touch, pleas threatening to rip from your throat with the same urgency that needy sounds broke past your lips–nothing coherent, but it was all you could manage to give him.
“Use your words,” he rasped, giving your pussy a light slap. “F–...fuck–“ It ripped out of you without warning, your hips bucking up insatiably. Luke almost choked on his breath. “You like that? You like your pussy getting slapped? God, you’re something else.” A whimper spilled from you, your pelvis twitching upward again. He slapped your core once more, drawing another whimper from you. “Such a filthy little thing. Say what a filthy girl you are, baby.” His teeth caught on your earlobe, tugging just enough to send a shiver down your spine.
“Y–...yes, f–…fuck, i’m so filthy– only...only for y-..you, Luke, only ever...f-..for..you– i can’t–...i can’t even be too close to you on stage or i–“ Your babbling was cut off by a sharp moan when, without warning, Luke pushed two fingers inside you.
“Keep talking,” he urged, lips parted in shaky gasps against your ear, his gaze fixed on the way your pussy swallowed his fingers, sinking deep into your gummy walls as they tightened around them.
“S–...shit, or i…i get so...f–…fucking wet a–and it’s...it’s so...so embarrassing...” The words were forced out, your voice breaking as the stretch overwhelmed your nerves. The pad of his thumb didn’t hesitate to press against your clit and fuck, Luke knew exactly how to keep a rhythm–not as fast as you wanted, as you needed, but enough to keep your bottom lip nestled right in between the rows of your teeth so your moans wouldn’t carry past the dressing room.
Your head sank further against his shoulder, Luke’s free hand finding its way beneath your shirt, eager as it slipped into your bra to grope one of your breasts. “Is this how you imagined it? F–…fuck, look at it.”
You obeyed, the hand resting on his thigh digging deeper into his flesh as your gaze met the obscenity of his fingers, knuckle-deep, pumping with the same mastery you watched on stage into the slick heat of your cunt. Your mind could have never conjured something like this, and even as the weight of your eyelids begged you to give in, your eyes stayed locked on the way Luke fucked you.
The cadence of his movements grew more urgent, wet sloshes and the sound of your needy moans now muffled against the back of your hand filling the room, the scent of your cunt thick in the air. “Look how fucking hungry your pussy is, keeping my fingers inside, clenching around them like it can’t get enough of being fucked like this.”
The hand beneath your shirt moved between your breasts, your flesh disappearing into the span of his palm, the cold metal of his rings pressing against your skin in a shiver-inducing kiss. With every thrust, every squeeze, every filthy word breathed into your ear, your body answered with more frenzy, the high continuing to carve its way through your nerves, the end so clear low in your stomach. You were so close, you could almost taste it.
“I bet this tight little pussy can take one more, can’t it, baby? You’re doing so good for me, getting fucked like this in my lap, your fucking bandmate–“ His voice pushed at your limits, the friction at your clit stopping the moment Luke slid a third finger into you, a sharp cry tearing from your chest, your body still edgy over his lap–hips jerking upward, pelvis desperate to follow his thrusts, torso arching forward.
“Loud much, aren’t we? Keep this up and the boys are gonna hear you, is that what you want? You want the whole band knowing their bassist likes getting fucked like a filthy little slut?”
By now, Luke’s voice was nothing more than noise you tried to follow under the buzz ringing in your ears, his words only feeding the pressure coiling under your skin. One of your hands covered your mouth, your vision hazy with tears pooling at your lash line.
His movements grew sloppier with every second, a mess of how your slick slipped down your body, dragging between your cheeks, staining the couch with your juice. “I’m gonna–please, Luke, i’m gonna cum–“ Your voice came muffled against your palm, your head sinking into his shoulder just as your thighs, your whole body, began to tremble.
“That’s it. Soak my fingers like the good girl i know you are.”
And you did.
Calling his name against your hand, your thirsty walls pulsing around his fingers, your thighs shaking, tears slipping down your cheeks as your eyes squeezed shut so tightly stars burst behind your eyelids, every fiber of your body twisting in a pleasure only he could pull from you–it didn’t matter how many groupies you took to bed, didn’t matter how many times you told yourself you didn’t care about him or what he did to you; no one made you come like Luke.
You knew it. He knew it.
Nothing was as obscene as the sheen on his fingers as they slipped out of your cunt, your walls clenching the empty at the loss of him, the ruined fabric of your underwear settling back into place. “You okay, baby? Can you open your mouth for me?” Luke’s voice was softer now, sweetness lining its edges.
Your mouth parted without question, too deep in exhaustion and bliss to even consider holding onto any pride. “Ah, that’s it. That’s my girl. Taste yourself, baby. Taste how good i made you feel.” Your lips closed around his fingers–long, deep; filthy, marked. Your taste spread across your tongue without restraint, a moan slipping out of you around them.
“F–...fuck, come here.” Luke manhandled you until you were now facing him, straddling his lap, your legs settling on either side of his hips.
Sensitive and overstimulated, but not hesitant as you dragged your covered cunt over his bulge, the silky from your underwear responsible for the stain forming against the fabric. Luke’s gaze dropped to where you moved, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth, the curve of his lips curling into a satisfied smirk–you could see his dimples so clearly now.
One of his hands slid through your curls, carefully brushing away the strands stuck to your sweat-kissed forehead. “Still with me?” he rasped, voice laced in something intimate.
“Mm-mhm.” The sound was soft, doe eyes locked on the embodiment of Lucifer in front of you, the air still scarce in your lungs, but easier to draw in now.
“Good.” His thumb dragged gently over your lower lip before he captured it with his own, slower this time, savoring the taste of you.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, your chests moving in sync, your hand turning slippery as it moved down to where he throbbed, your hips lifting slightly against him. He groaned against your mouth, his knuckles tightening in your hair, you let out a quiet giggle.
“I want you in my mouth. Please, Lu, can i?”” The murmurs came out charmingly against his lips, your hand stroking him in a slow, steady glide.
“You wanna put that pretty mouth to use, baby? You sure?” The words slipped between heavy breaths, dazzling blue fixed on you, searching for any trace of hesitation.
Your certainty showed when your knees hit the floor in one fluid motion, glassy eyes lifted to him as his legs spread wider, his hips jerking up instinctively. Your hands were hurried–both of you knew it was only a matter of time before Ashton or Michael knocked on the door, the arena growing emptier by the second, fewer instruments left to pack away–adrenaline ran through your veins just as easily as your palm wrapped around Luke’s cock; thick and heavy, his pretty flushed tip leaking pre-cum over your fingers.
“Fuck, Lu.” It slipped out before you even realized it, your thumb working to spread the sticky wetness over the swollen head. Luke shuddered at your touch, hypersensitive, his gaze dropping to where you knelt between his legs, tension running through him as his body leaned toward you.
“See how hard you make me, baby? Yeah, this is all for you. You’re gonna take the whole thing, aren’t you, sweetheart? Gonna make me cum so fucking good you’ll feel me on your tongue for days.” One of his hands slid into your curls, gripping just enough to keep you grounded, controlled.
Your head moved in a quiet nod, blinking up at him through your lashes, too far gone to put together a sentence, completely brainless when it came to that cock. You started with your tongue, licking a slow stripe from base to tip, a string of spit connecting your lips to his head, letting him feel the drag of your heat, the suction, the quiet greed lurking beneath it as you savoured the faint salt from his skin. The sound that tore from Luke was rough, drawn out, his eyes falling shut for a long blink, teeth catching on his lip ring.
You were intent, eager to take him into your mouth when he stopped you with a sharp pull to your hair, the thumb of his free hand brushing carefully over your bottom lip.
“Open.” The command was clear, direct, his sins stripped bare in the way his blue dripped over you.
Once again, you obeyed without hesitation. The same hunger that had once hone its teeth into your bones curled back into something pleased as Luke spat into your mouth, blunt, profane, his saliva pooling on your tongue.
“Swallow.”
He didn’t have to say it twice. You made a point to swallow before the command even fully settled, eyes locked onto his the entire time.
The smile that spread across Luke’s face was satisfied, proud. His back sank against the couch again, his hand still firm in your hair, his hips lifting in a silent instruction you already knew by heart how to follow.
The moment your lips stretched around his head–willing muscles working to take him inch by inch, pushing until your throat threatened to close around him, your palm covering what wouldn’t fit–Luke gasped like he’d just stepped off stage; his eyelids heavy, already fucked-out, lips parting like he was on the verge of confession.
Your pace wasn’t slow–no, not now. Your head moved in a steady up-and-down, guided by his grip, now tighter in your curls, teary eyes fixed on the only man you could ever worship. It was messy, obscene, saliva gathering at the corners of your mouth, enough to spill down your chin, dripping onto his balls as tears glossed over your flushed cheeks. You could barely breathe, almost gagging around him every time Luke’s hips thrusted upward, chasing a control he’d already lost.
“F–...fuck– look at you, baby, taking me so deep– so fucking good for me. Not much different from my groupies now, h-..huh?” His words broke apart between drawn-out whines spilling from his lips as he fucked into your throat, your eyes now rolling back. “but, s–...shit, i swear, that fucking throat’s gonna r-..ruin me for anyone else– it’s like it was made for my cock.” A wolfish grin tore across his teeth, his Adam’s apple exposed, bobbing as he let his head fall back against the couch.
Your grip was firm on Luke’s thick thighs, your nails digging into his skin, the sting only feeding to his pleasure. You pulled back for a second, lips swollen and slick with saliva and pre-cum like it was your new gloss, your hand pumping fast, the wet sound filling the dressing room, blending with Luke’s sweet, broken sounds. Fuck, your pussy was already dripping again, just from having him like this, just for you, your name was all he could manage in cracked gasps.
When your mouth took him again, Luke tried to behave for a few minutes that felt like torture to him, but it was pointless–he liked the profaneness of it, the sounds you made when he fucked into you with just enough precision to make you choke, his tip dragging deep along your throat, the muffled moan that came from deep within you when he used you like this, the wrecked, devoted look in your eyes that he knew you only gave to him.
“Fuck– f–...fuck– you’re so fucking pretty like this, baby, oh fuck– so g–...good– that mouth ‘s so fucking good f–...for me– i–…i can’t—” The praise spilled out involuntarily, nothing but broken babbles, his eyes locked on your kneeling figure like you were something sacred as he came hard down your throat, fucking into your mouth in small, desperate thrusts before pulling your head back with a loud pop, his cock twitching against your lips as the last drops smeared across your tongue.
Your blinks were quick, fluttering as you swallowed everything down, proudly. Your eyes were red, eyeliner smudged and blurred, lashes dark and damp from tears now drying on your cheeks, your chin still messy with saliva and cum before Luke–panting, half-lidded eyes–ran his thumb over it, wiping you clean with tender care before slipping his finger into his own mouth, cleaning it off.
Your throat burned, your knees felt numb, your jaw would ache for days, but God, it felt worth it when you noticed the way his eyes fell on you, like he was trying to carve that image of you into the walls of his mind forever. The earlier hunger in his gaze softened, something quieter replacing it, that boyish smirk curling back onto his lips.
“You okay? Did i take it too far?” There was no trace of that cockiness in his voice now, his hands careful as he helped you back up before your legs could give out and you ended up dropping beside him on the couch.
Your hand dragged across your chin, your cheeks, unsteady fingers brushing the corners of your eyes. “I’m–” You had to cough once before your voice came back. “I’m fine.” The small laugh that followed was awkward, almost shy.
Reality crept back in quietly, settling into the air, your awareness suddenly too sharp as it sank back into your bones. This was the part where you both pretended it hadn’t been anything, like this was a normal way to spend time between two friends. God, you needed more alcohol, sobriety wasn’t welcome right now.
Luke had already fixed his pants, even picked up your shorts from the floor and placed them beside you on the couch. His gaze fell on you like it was trained to, the sudden shift in the mood not going unnoticed by him. Your name left his lips in a slow, sweet drawl, his hand settling at the nape of your neck, guiding your face closer to his in a way that made you want to crawl under his skin.
“You did so, so good for me.” His finger slipped one of your curls behind your ear. “I know we say a lot of nonsense during sex, but fuck, no one does it like you. I swear.” His forehead rested on yours, your eyes following Luke’s as they closed for just a second, just a breath.
You didn’t know how to put it into words, how you wanted your body to be his, how you could feel his heartbeat in your head, how you wanted to mold your skin into his, how you wanted him to kiss every scar away, how you wanted him to be yours, yours, only yours, how you wanted to tear his chest open with your own hands and settle inside his heart.
Instead, you said the first thing that came to mind, attitude and cynicism curling on your tongue:
tags: matty healy x female!reader, dlid era, angst, protected sex, first time, young love, oral sex, protected penetrative sex, crying during intimacy, soft praise
words: 3,1k
time: 2007
__________________________________
You sat in your bedroom, on the edge of your bed. A room that once felt so familiar, seemed like a distant place now.
You messed with your hands, nervously picking at the cuticles of your fingers, you could only look down, you couldn't bear to look at him.
You didn't know how to feel, it was a mix of emotions, nervous, anxious, at the same time you were a bit excited; you felt a low warmth in your belly.
The only light in the room came from a single candle, on your nightstand. A warm yellow flame that made the space feel extra cozy, which, you needed a grounding presence in that moment.
Matty could sense your tension, he himself was equally nervous, after all, even with the whole edgy rockstar thing he had going on, you both were still just two teenagers, both nervous, about to lose their virginity. You knew for sure if you wanted to do it with someone, it was with Matty, without a doubt.
It was a rainy afternoon, the pouring rain made everything seem more melancholic, which didn't help with the wistful sensation you were feeling but didn't quite know or describe why. You wondered if he felt the same way, what could be crossing his mind in that moment?
Your house was empty, only with you two there, your parents were at work, and would only be home many hours later.
Matty knelt down in front of you, taking your hands on his, and kissing them softly.
“We don't have to do anything you don't wanna do love.” He whispered to you, his eyes locking in yours.
You felt nervous, so nervous, but you wanted to do it, you really wanted, it seemed scary, god it really did, but you trusted Matty.
“I-I want to do it Matty.” You whispered back, bringing your hand to his face, caressing his cheek softly, your fingers feeling his warm skin. “I trust you.” You said.
You trusted him more than anything in the world, after all, you were giving your body to him, something so precious.
Matty took your hand that was placed on his cheek, kissing your palm, your fingers, then placing another hand on your waist... He crashed his mouth to yours, as you gasped softly to the sensation, but you let him take control.
His fingers interlaced on your long hair, not pushing, just to bring you closer to him. He crawled over you, his body a warm shield above yours, and pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His thumb traced your cheekbone.
You could already feel he was hard, his length against your tight, aching.
"Tell me if anything feels wrong. Tell me if you want to stop." You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before his lips found yours again — slower this time, like he was memorizing the shape of you.
You felt your whole body burning, not literally, but he was definitely making you feel so many different things right now.
Matty placed a pillow below your head, just so you could feel a bit more comfortable.
His lips met yours again, as his tongue slid inside your mouth. Your hands slid up his back, fingers catching on the fabric of his shirt. He hummed against your mouth, a small sound of approval, and broke the kiss just long enough to tug it over his head. You watched him for a second — the way the low light of the candle traced his shoulders…
Then he was back, one hand braced beside your head, the other resting on your hip. His thumb traced a slow circle against your skin where your shirt had ridden up, and your breath hitched.
"Okay?" he murmured, lips brushing yours.
You nodded, and he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then that spot just below your ear that made your fingers curl into the sheets.
You liked how he was always so attentive, and wanted to make sure that you were okay at every second possible.
He finally took your shirt slowly and carefully, tossing it gently on the floor, he then took a look at you. You blushed, you suddenly felt so conscious that he was going to see every part of you, but fuck, he just stared at you like you were the most beautiful painting he had ever seen in his life.
He kissed your neck, then placed gentle kisses in your collarbone, making you shiver to the sensation of his lips on your skin.
Before parting to your breasts, he looked at you once, looking for your approval.
“Can.. Can I lick them?” He asks, almost shy, you giggled at the sight of him being so timid in front of you.
A soft pant is stolen from your lips at the question. Wordlessly you bring your hand to the back of his head, your fingers entangling in his hair as you guide him forward.
He bit delicately one of your nipples, then began to suck it, while his hand gave attention to the other breast, pinching the opposite nipple. Your body arch slightly, a reaction to the touch, he licked your nipples, kissed, sucked…
You took small breaths to ground yourself, he finally lifted his head to look at you, you were a bit flushed, he brought his lips to yours, and you messily kissed. Your hands in his messy dark curls, fingers twined in his hair, as he groaned against your mouth.
“I- I think I want to suck you baby..” He tells you, a bit breathless against your mouth, you blushed, you were so sure he could see it.
Does he know how to do it? Definitely not, it was obviously his first time, but he would learn, he wanted to make you feel as good as possible.
You nodded slightly, as you couldn't bring yourself to trust any sound that could escape your mouth, although he wanted to hear you say it.
You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I would like that.” A smile tugged at his lips — relieved, although a little shy, as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles before letting go of your hand. He shifted down the bed, his lips trailing a path down your stomach as he went.
He unbuttoned your pants, pushing them off, a bit clumsier, while maintaining eye contact with you, which you avoided, looking at the ceiling instead. He took your panties gently, tossing them on the floor next to the rest of your clothes.
When he settled between your legs, he looked up at you — and the sight of him there, pupils dark, cheeks flushed, hair falling into his eyes — made your chest tighten.
He hesitated for just a second, fingers grazing your inner thigh. "Tell me if I'm bad please." he mumbled, half-joking.
You could tell he was nervous, even when trying to look confident, but this was all so new for the both of you, he wanted to make you feel good, so good for him.
You let out a breathy laugh. "I trust you."
That seemed to steady him. He nodded once, then ducked his head.
The first touch of his mouth was tentative — a clumsy kiss, unsure of pressure or placement. He pulled back, frowning slightly, adjusting. Then he tried again, slower this time, finding a rhythm that made your hips twitch.
His tongue traced your clit, he was tasting you for the first time and wanted to memorize the shape of it. Your hand found its way into his hair, fingers threading through the strands, not pulling, just holding on.
He paused, breath warm against you. "Like that?"
You could barely form words. A sound — something between a hum and a gasp — escaped your throat, and he took it as encouragement. He dipped his head again, more confident now, finding a rhythm that made your back arch slightly off the mattress.
You felt his warm breath against you, making you shiver, his tongue tracing your folds, sucking slightly, licking your wetness.
He kept that same pace, as you felt your first orgasm so close, you gasped, your hips rolling against his face.
“God.. I'm so close Matty.. please.” You said, between breaths, and it really didn't take you that long, Matty did a good job keeping that same pace he learned you liked.
You came in his mouth, your cum on his tongue, as he did his best to suck and lick everything. He made a small content sound against your pussy, as he finished to clean you up, finally climbed to you again, licking his lips.
You gently caressed his check, with a content smile. “Fuck, Matty..” You whispered to him.
“Good?” He asked, waiting for your approval like a happy puppy, he wanted to make sure he did everything right.
You nodded, your head still spinning but you managed to look at him, you brought your lips to his, kissing him, you could feel your taste in his mouth.
“Can I blow you Matty?” You asked, with a bit more of confidence
His erection was aching even more than before, he brought his hand to his boner, to grasp himself as a chance to relieve the pain. God, he imagined the sensation of your mouth in his dick, he was almost cumming in his jeans just to the thought of it.
“Y-Yeah.” He answered.
He stumbled his hands into the zipper of his pants, trying to take his skinny jeans the quicker as possible, the friction of the jeans rubbing his erection. Once he took his pants, tossing them aside, he crashed his lips on yours, in a messy tangle of tongues, he brought one of his hands to his length beneath the boxers, stroking himself.
You nervously get up, sitting on the bed as Matty watches you, you slowly undress him from his boxers, as he takes small breaths in anticipation.
He awkwardly sat next to you, you really didn't know how it would be the better way of doing this.
“I don't really know how to-” You said while getting up, standing in front of him and then deciding to get on your knees.
You looked up, he was as nervous as you, and so fucking hard, you nodded with your head, before looking at his tucked up erection.
“Just.. Do whatever you think is good, baby.” He told you, trying to coach you.
You stroked him down once, your cold fingers around his hard length. You run your thumb around the tip, smearing the precum, and you licked it, tasting him, you payed attention to the tip first.
He moans slightly to the sensation, bringing one of his hands to your hair.
Your hand pumps up and down, twisting at the wrist, you like to hear his little sounds, how he holds his breaths, choking on them.
You suck on it, you do your best to bring your mouth down to his length, trying to fit everything in your mouth, what you couldn't, you stroked it with your hand.
“Oh god, fuck-” He moaned as his hand guide your head to go a bit deeper.
You drag up, making him hit the inside of your cheek, as you felt him closer and closer to cum.
“Shit, baby you should probably-” Matty began to say, not sure if you wanted him to cum in your mouth.
You had came in his mouth, so, you wanted him to cum in yours too, you stroke him down to the edge, making him twist and cum in your mouth. Matty gasped, throwing his head back, soft sounds leaving his mouth.
You tried your best to get everything you could in your mouth, and even if you weren't able to, you sucked almost everything, licking your lips, and your fingers covered in his orgasm.
You two had made a bit of a mess, you tried to clean the majority of it, before climbing to his lap, your clit rubbing against his thigh.
He places his hands on your waist, bringing his head up to look at you, with a cheeky, tired smile.
“You were so good for me baby.”
“Y-Yeah?” You asked him a bit shyly, before kissing him, his hands caressing your waist.
He was still hard as a rock, you could feel it. You rubbed your clit once again in his thigh, as you let a slight moan escape your lips.
“I want to fuck you so bad..” He whispered in your ear, making you completely shiver. “D-Do you want that?” He asked.
You nodded with your head, you wanted him inside of you, you wanted him to fuck you.
“Do you have a..? You asked, as he gets what you were asking.
“Oh, y-yeah, yeah, definitely,” He said. “Let me just..” Matty said as he sat you on the bed, getting up, looking for his pants, he definitely had brought condoms with him.
He looked in the pockets of his jeans, taking one condom and sitting with you on the bed again.
He rips it open, nervously, you could see his hands shaking. He strokes himself once, before rolling the condom through his length, you felt a heated feeling in your belly just to the sigh of it.
He takes a deep breath, as he awkwardly looks at you again, he wasn't sure how you would want to do this. You lay down, and he takes the sign, as he crawls, once again, above you. Before he places himself inside of you, he locks his eyes on yours, your chests pressed against each other.
“If you want to stop at any moment, or if I hurt you even a tiny bit– please tell me baby, and we will stop.” He said to you.
“I know baby, okay...” You said, taking his hand in yours, and intertwining your fingers in his, as a way of grounding yourself, he squeezes your hand.
Matty takes a deep sigh, and takes his hand to his length to guide it to your entrance. He pushes his hips, as he places himself inside of you, you shivered to the sensation. He stays like that for a bit, looking into your eyes for any bit of discomfort, once you nodded to him that you were okay and he makes sure you aren't uncomfortable, he begins to slowly thrust.
It was a strange, but good feeling, it was just so new to the both of you.
“G–God, so tight..” He mumbles against you, as his head drops into your chest.
Soon enough he finds a comfortable and stable slow rhythm to begin, although you tried your best to keep yourself calm and collective, you started to feel tears running down your cheeks.
You take a deep breath, throwing your head back, it didn't feel bad, it was just an overwhelming feeling that you couldn't bear, Matty although, notice your visible silence.
He looked at you, seeing the tears rolling through your face and completely froze, stopping in the same moment.
“H–Hey, baby, are you okay?” He asks, as he places one of his hands against your cheek.
He was so fucking worried, terrified he was hurting you, and didnt have any idea of what he should do now.
“II'm okay, I'm sorry,” You said, with a trembled voice. “It feels good baby, I'm just- I just feel a bit weird.”
“Please baby, tell me if I'm hurting you, i-i'm concerned..” He tells you, as his other hand cups your cheek, now caressing your face with both hands.
You place a soft kiss on his lips. “I'm okay Matty, seriously, it's just.. so new, but please keep going.”
He doesn't dare to move in the next seconds, but he wipes your tears, and intertwines one of his hands in yours again, as he begins to slowly thrust again.
It was a slow place, his eyes locked on yours, and everything felt so deeply intimate. Tears continue to roll through your cheeks, and he holds you, grounding you, as you gradually start to find a pleasant feeling.
He places himself deeper inside of you, as you both gasp . It was a bit difficult to adapt to the feeling, but he was attentive to any tiny signal that you weren't feeling well.
“G-God, Matty…” You moan, as he starts to thrust at a deeper pace and faster pace.
“Fuck baby.. y-you feel so good for me, so so good.” He mutters, praising you.
He squeezes your hand, filling you entirely as your hips meet. Matty’s head dips forward with a deep groan, feeling himself pulse inside you.
He didn't cum immediately, he was trying to hold on for a bit more. The feeling of him being completely inside of you was a bit painful, but so pleasant, you were holding your breath, while choking softly, trying to ground yourself.
“F-Fuck baby, y-you feel so g-good, oh god..” He moans, he could barely hold himself at that moment.
You took a deep unhurried breath, trying to adjust to the feeling that was coming next, squeezing even tighter his hand. He could feel the orgasm coming, he wanted to be looking at you, meet your gaze and see every bit of a reaction.
“M–Matty, I think I'm gonna–” You mumbled, as you felt yourself so close to cumming.”
“Fuck– baby i–i i'm gonna–”
Matty can't even properly finish his sentence, as his hand squeezes harder around yours, and he spills into the condom.
Very shortly after, you finally, also come, letting a big pleasant gasp escape your lips, your eyes roll, as you throw your head back, trying to breath properly, gasping for air.
You both felt deeply exhausted, and so fucking relieved. His head stays resting on your chest, as you feel his hot breath against your skin, trying to also respire properly. You felt completely worn out, the warm candle illuminating your bedroom, while you stared at the wall. The room was silent, the only thing you could hear was Matty's heartbeat and frantic respiration.
Neither of you deared to move or say a single word, as he stayed buried inside of you.
He was slightly sweating, of course, his damp forehead and dark curls, you ran your head softly through them.
“I love you so much..” He mumbled to you, in a deep, tired voice.
“I love you too Matty..” You answered, in a whisper.
You weren't crying anymore, although he had teary eyes when he lifted his head, staring deep into your eyes.
“I love you so so much..” He says again, kissing the top of your head. There was anything in this world that he loved more than you, it was you, and only you.
I love Ashley and Matty, Halsey and The 1975 are my two favourite artists. I believe they had a relationship and they would be cute together, but Ashley is with Lido and Matty is single. They are still friends which is cool. I was gonna do a whole Masterpost but i don’t care so I’ll just do a few things.
In early June Ashley posted this beautiful poem/writing on her Tumblr, and this is all about Matty. Some key words phrases are tight black jeans, a parody of himself(which Matty says all the time about himself), grey in his hairline,he loves soul music, and they bonded over their brothers. Every sentence sounds like him but those are just the obvious ones.
I also believe that her EP is named because of Matty, and the songs “Is There Somewhere” and “Trouble” are about him. There are a lot of clues especially in “Is There Somewhere”
A lot of the lyrics in this song match with her poem about him. For instance the tube socks, and how his eyes light up. And Matty has crooked teeth and is a rockstar so he is always in the nightlife.
Halsey wrote so much about Matty on her Tumblr these are just the ones I liked the best. She is a beautiful poet. She also makes a reference to Room 93 in one of these excerpts.
This Picture was taken on December 28, 2013 on Halsey’s Tumblr and she captioned it 93. And Room 93 is the title of her EP. Another reason I think these songs are about him is because she said he was a massive influence on her songwriting, she wrote this on Tumblr
Then Halsey uploaded this picture saying “This ain’t nothin to relate to. @trumanblack” It looks like they’re in a hotel room, with the wine he always drinks, and she always writes about.
I don’t really know how to end this but here you go :)
Update: The song ‘Colors’ is also about Matty. The lyrics go “your brother doesn’t tell you but he loves you so. Your mom only smiles on her TV show. You’re only happy when your head is filled with dope. I hope you make it to the day you’re 28 years old.” Matty has his little brother, Louis. And Matty’s mom Denise Welch is a TV star who battled depression throughout Matty’s life.
i feel like you would write such a good moment of matty treating y/n like she’s dumb but in that condescending teasing way where he’s almost amused ya know? like mockingly pouting back at her when she whines 🤭🤭
thanks so much! 18+ mdni, thigh riding because i loveee
it started at dinner.
you knew you were fucked the second he stepped out of the bedroom. his hair still damp from the shower, a cigarette pinched between his teeth, fitted black trousers and a soft blue polo that clung in all the right places. he hadn’t even done the top button. just left it loose like he didn’t know what that would do to you.
he looked dangerous. smug and golden under the restaurant lights, rings catching on his glass of wine, eyes flicking to yours every time you shifted in your seat. his hand was on your thigh almost as soon as you sat down, warm and heavy under the tablecloth, sliding higher every time you spoke. he had the whole night to watch you squirm.
“you need to behave,” he murmured at one point, voice low enough that only you could hear it, thumb pressing just inside your inner thigh.
your legs were shaking and your panties were embarrassingly soaked and you’d stopped listening to anything the table was talking about.
matty had just smirked, leaned in close to kiss your cheek like he hadn’t just dragged his thumb across the dampest part of your knickers. “pathetic.”
—
and now you’re here.
straddling his thigh in the soft flicker of the living room lamp, skirt bunched around your waist, hands braced on his shoulders. he hasn’t touched you since you got home. not really. just sat down, legs spread, and nodded toward his thigh like it was a throne.
“as needy as you were, you only deserve this,” he’d said, lighting up a cigarette with the same casual air he wore at dinner. “if you’re good, i’ll think about fucking you.”
that was- god, that was ages ago now.
you’ve been grinding slow and steady, chasing it with every shaky roll of your hips. the friction of his trousers is maddening, firm beneath your soaked panties, and every time your clit brushes just right, you gasp like it’s the first time. but you still haven’t tipped over. still clenching and whining and panting through your teeth.
“not very efficient, are you?” he drawls, lips twitching into something cruel and fond as he takes another drag. “been at it how long now?”
you whimper, pressing down harder. “matty.”
he pouts at you. mocking. soft little frown like he’s devastated on your behalf. “what is it, darling? can’t get off without me?”
you shake your head, frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. “i can, it’s just- ugh.”
“i disagree with you. i think i spoil you too much.” his free hand lifts, lazy fingers brushing your flushed cheek. “i always give you what you want. always get you off and now you can’t do it yourself.”
your body jolts again, hips stuttering as you find a better angle- just right, almost perfect. it drags a breathy gasp from your throat and matty grins, all teeth and heat. he leans in closer, cigarette hovering behind your back now.
“there you go. clever girl. took you long enough.”
you can’t answer. you’re already too far gone. hips rolling fast now, small broken moans spilling out between your lips as you grind down hard, thighs trembling.
his voice is a quiet hum beneath you, “making such a mess on my trousers now, look at you.”
but it slips. it slips. just as your muscles start to seize, just as your breath catches in that perfect little inhale, it fades like smoke, like it was never really there. and you let out a noise that’s all frustration and disbelief, dropping your forehead to his shoulder.
“no, no no no-“
matty laughs.
you want to cry.
“oh, baby,” he coos, pulling back to look at you. “you really are pathetic tonight.”
“shut up,” you hiccup, still trying, still grinding, even though your rhythm’s broken now. messy and too fast. it’s not working. it’s never going to work.
“s’not very nice, that.” he blows smoke over your shoulder, tuts softly. “m’bein’ generous. lettin’ you use me like this. and all i get in return is whining?”
you make another little sound, high and broken. he hasn’t touched you properly in hours and you’re aching with it. cunt fluttering uselessly against his thigh, thighs shaking, eyes wet.
matty leans in close, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “gonna cry ‘cos you can’t come, darling? is that where we’re at?”
you nod. miserably.
he hums, hands finally finding your hips, holding you down firm as he shifts his leg just a little. enough to make you feel it again.
“tell me what you need.”
“you,” you gasp, falling forward, nose brushing the curve of his throat. “need you, matty, please, i can’t do it without you-“
“no, you can’t,” he says, “s’what i’ve been saying, love.“
you’re still panting against his throat, hips twitching like your body doesn’t know whether to keep going or give up entirely. your lip’s still caught between your teeth trembling now and matty’s got this look in his eye that makes your belly flip.
“please,” you whisper, barely there. “matty, please-“
he hums. not in a way that promises relief, but more like he’s mulling it over. maybe.
“please what, darling?” his thumb traces circles into your hipbone. “what exactly is it you want me to do?”
you whine. slump forward. it’s humiliating how little pride you’ve got left. “help me- just help me, i, please,” you huff the last beg.
matty clicks his tongue softly, and his hands tighten. one at your waist, the other sliding lower, slow and deliberate, fingers pressing into the crease of your thigh. “i’ll help you, then,” he says, “but you are gonna finish what you started.”
and then he shifts his leg, presses you down hard, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel, deep and blunt and perfect. you gasp out loud, hips jerking, the shock of it so good it almost knocks the breath from your lungs.
“there you go,” matty murmurs, lips dragging slow along your jaw as his hands guide you. “just like that. see? not so hard, is it?”
he’s barely moving you, really. just small pushes, coaxing your hips into that same rhythm again. but it’s enough. it’s better than enough. your thighs are shaking already and it’s barely been a minute.
you moan and his smile turns sharp against your cheek.
“keep goin’,” he says, and then his hands fall away.
just like that.
gone.
your body stutters. almost freezes up. like you don’t know how to move without him holding you there. but he doesn’t correct it, doesn’t reach back for you, just leans back into the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest like he’s settling in for a film.
“c’mon, love,” he tuts, watching you with a lazy grin. “don’t give up now.”
you try. you do. force your hips to keep rolling, fists curled in the fabric of his shirt. but it’s not right anymore. you can feel it slipping again, the angle too shallow, the pace off, the ache building without relief.
matty doesn’t miss a thing.
his eyes flicker down to your mouth, and then his thumb is brushing over your bottom lip.
“you’re so cute, baby,” he murmurs, half-laughing. “i absolutely ruined you.”
your breath hitches. you press your cheek into his palm.
“can’t just give you what you want though, can i?” he goes on, “cos that would prove my point.”
“i don’t fucking care about your point,” you snap or try to, but your voice cracks halfway through and it comes out choked. “just- please, please-”
matty laughs. full-body, delighted. you hate him.
“god, i love you like this,” he says, “you sound wrecked. so desperate to come.”
you glare at him, eyes glossy. your thighs are trembling from holding yourself up, and you don’t think you can take much more of the teasing. every nerve in your body is on fire, too close to the edge to even think straight.
matty sees it and finally, finally, he leans forward again.
his hand cups the back of your neck, fingers slipping into your hair as he pulls you in close. “alright,” he whispers, brushing his lips over your ear. “i’ve got you.”
and then his thigh shifts again, a sharp, perfect nudge, and his other hand finds your hips, pulling you down just right. you sob.
“there she is,” he breathes. “good girl. go on. take what you need.”
your hips fall back into it like they never stopped, rutting fast now, sloppier by the second. you’re so close it hurts, moaning into his throat, chasing every inch of pressure.
“fuck, fuck- matty, i’m-”
“you’re so easy. really? that’s all it takes for you?,” he murmurs, stroking down your spine, voice so low it’s almost a growl. “come on my thigh then. make a fucking scene about it.”
you do.
you come with a gasp that rips out of your chest, full-body and overwhelming, shaking and twitching through it while matty holds you down firm, coaxing every last pulse out of you.
when it’s over, you collapse in his lap like you’ve got nothing left. head on his shoulder, lips parted, body limp.
he kisses your temple, smiling.
“there we are,” he says. “finally stopped whining.”
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