Luke Hemmings Imagines & preferences

He's drunk

You toss and turn during the dead night trying to wrap your head around the fact that Luke isn't here with you. He isn't cuddled up against you. His legs aren't tangled in yours and maybe it's the fact that Luke, wherever he is, is probably drunk and getting jumped on by countless amounts of women.

He'll be home soon. You try to convince yourself but in reality you know he'll end up coming home just as the sun starts to rise.

Two thirty. Two fucking thirty in the morning.

"Don't worry I'll be home around eleven." You imitate Luke in your head.

You throw his pillow across the room in frustration and bury your head into the white sheets.

"What a fucking jerk." You mumble into your pillow.

Maybe you were too angry to realise the fact that Luke had come home but when you lift your head you find him leaning against the door with ruffled hair and a wrinkled shirt.

"Sorry." He silently whispers. You roll your eyes and fall back into the large bed. He pulls his shirt over his head and follows by taking off his jeans, leaving you staring at his almost naked body.

You hear him quietly chuckle and refuse to give in.

You're angry. He came home three hours late for God's sake. Be angry. Be angry. Do not give in. You mutter to yourself through gritted teeth.

"Hm?" You can tell he's enjoying this. And you both know you're defeated. I mean come on the boy has ruffled blonde hair, eyes so blue the ocean would be jealous and is in bed with you. How did you even stand have a chance?

You accept defeat and let him wrap his long arms around you.

"You better a good ass apology in the morning." You say as you close your eyes and begin to fall into a deep slumber.

"Mhmm." He smiles into the crook of your neck and you can feel his soft lips against your delicate skin.

You sleep in Luke's arms as you begins to drift off with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

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