i wanna kiss your 90s face

! jules ¡ she/her ! 22 ¡ just a fangirl writing n stuff ♡

[amijulesenough]

✨️welcome to my blog✨️

i'm jules, 21, very multifandom

my blog mainly revolves around :

5 seconds of summer criminal minds waterparks stranger things chappell roan daredevil djo (and joe keery in general) studio ghibli hozier snoopy twin peaks twenty one pilots

and more...

i write for (in order of most often to least):

5sos stranger things waterparks criminal minds djo daredevil

masterlist can be found here requests are currently closed, but i'm always willing to hear headcanons and/or concepts you guys have. i will not write smut (for my own reasons) but down to hear nsfw stuff<3

thanks for stopping by...

[aphrostiel]

i know i really loved a movie because i'm making art of it

[amijulesenough]

hey guys im not dead im probably going to revive this account and be more active very soon :)) I know i promised fanfics and I will try my very best to get a few short ones out before the end of summer, ive just been in an emotional drag the whole year i fear and its been eating away at my ability to enjoy any of my hobbies. anyway!!! I love u all very dearly, stay tuned for possible drabbles and stories (and feel free to send some reqs or story ideas in asks !!!)

[megluvsmichael]

MUKE MUKE MUKE MUKE!!!!

[ashtonsunshine]

EVERYONE'S A STAR! WORLD TOUR HERSHEY

📸 camiliberty

[your90sface]

luke yearnings

[psychicpinenut]

”It's almost a year now, and still, he's the only one that still tries with her. Everyone else is kind of like, "Oh, she's weird and talking to herself now." As opposed to like, "OK, let's talk." Up until that episode, every hour has been him being the guy that she remembers. I think just having someone who's willing to take it slow with Becca and not jump to any assumptions and just kind of do what he's been doing with Mel with Becca.” (x)

(insp.)

[jewfrogs]

falling asleep during the day: slipping away on a clouds so easy

falling asleep at night: I heard an ant gasp downstairs

[amijulesenough]

anaheim fumbled so hard bc wdym we had out of my limit on the table and they chose HEARTBREAK GIRL

[michaelswldflwr]

nsfw!luke hemmings headcanons ⋆˚꩜｡

minors dni. this is an 18+ blog.

luke who. . .loves to be called daddy. anytime, anywhere. he loves hearing that name come from your lips, especially when you're telling him how good he's fucking you.

luke who. . .loves making you ride him while he lays back with his arms behind his head and a cocky little smirk on his face that shows off his dimples.

luke who. . .is especially into bondage. handcuffs, his tie, christmas lights, you name it.

luke who. . .makes you praise him, even though he's the dominant. he'll make you tell him what a good job he's doing eating you out, how big he is, what a good boy he is.

luke who. . .loves cockwarming. he'll be sitting at his desk, reviewing samples that the studio sent over and you'll be in his lap, desperate for friction, while he holds your hips firmly, letting you feel every inch of his big dick inside you.

luke who. . .loves when you're submissive, in and out of the bedroom. he loves that you feel safe enough to rely on him, and he especially likes when he fucks you so stupid that you let him make all your decisions.

luke who. . .eats it from the back

luke who. . .loves marking. whether that's him marking you or you marking him.

luke who. . .will bend you over the kitchen counter when you're trying to cook, claiming that "dinner can wait. i want dessert first."

luke who. . .loves hearing your whimpers and grunts as you readjust to his size after him being on tour for months.

luke who. . .doesn't even even wait for the underwear to be off before he's eating you out. he'll just pull them to the side.

some headcanons to occupy you all while i write longer fics :3

[livingintheglitterbaby]

but i wanna have FUN! i wanna get HIGH! i wanna get DRUNK! i wanna do DRUGS! i wanna make LOVE! i wanna get FUCKED!

[mariasont]

DADDY FIGURE ⋆｡°✩

robby rats you out for calling jack a "daddy figure" during a father's day joke

MASTERLIST | RULES | PINTEREST

PAIRING jack abbot x reader

WARNINGS implied age-gap, sexual innuendo / 'daddy' kink language, public teasing and humiliation, flirty jack, caffeine levels that qualify as a controlled substance, threatening elders with sub-par retirement homes

WC 0.8k

REQUEST here!

Jack manages to intercept you before you’ve even made it to your third iced coffee. 

You’re standing at the desk with a chart half-open in your hands, whispering to yourself as you read, because sometimes the information only becomes real if you say it under your breath in a running little stream of nonsense commentary. 

To be fair, this is not remotely out of the ordinary for you. 

At hour thirteen of a double, very little about you resembles a person operating under regulated conditions. Your ponytail is in the late stages of collapse, your notes look like they were taken mid-exorcism, and your whole body has that bright, fried, over-caffeinated buzzing to it, like if someone touched your shoulder right now you might either diagnose a patient or burst into glitter.

What is out of the ordinary is the shit-eating grin Jack is wearing when he steps up beside you and drops his forearms into the space to your left.

“Y’know,” he says, entirely too pleased, eyes skimming your face while his spoon clinks a slow waltz through the mug, “I had a really interesting handoff this evening.”

Your pulse skips a beat, already bracing for impact. “Did you?”

“Mm.” He takes an appreciative sip. “Robby’s a great storyteller.”

Back-stabber.

Green-jacket-wearing, gossip-leaking back-stabber.

You had known, in the aftermath, that what you had said in a moment of fun might come back to bite you. You just hadn’t expected it to boomerang back this quickly. Or with Jack looking downright delighted to wield it. 

Slowly, like it’s made of nitro, you lower the chart to the counter. “It was a joke.”

It’s not a good excuse, but it’s all you have on such time constraints.

“Was it?”

You lift your gaze to find him already studying you, lip curved in that infuriating almost-smirk, just enough teeth to say jackpot. Luxuriating in your discomfort. Wallowing in it, even.

“It was funny in context,” you insist, defensive squeak slipping out. 

“Then by all means,” he says, lifting one hand. “Give me context.”

You skewer him with a glare. He merely idles, waiting like he has all night.

And yes you technically have the entire shift to burn, but unlike him you’ll be spending it duck-and-covering through live psychological artillery if the story’s made it to any of your other co-workers.

It started near the end of your first twelve, right as the ER tends to slide into a carnival of cranky zombies.

Espresso counts climb, call lights chorus, and every resident sprints on whatever’s left in their IV of vending-machine sugar and unfiltered determination. 

Robby was hunched at the nurses’ station, glasses slid halfway down his nose, peering over Santos’s shoulder with that chronically jet-lagged look he wears like a spare ID. You shambled past, juggling a granola bar and a dog-eared chart, when the date finally flicked.

So you paused, gave the counter a jaunty little tap, and chirped, “Happy Father’s Day, Robby!” 

He glanced up, weariness sharpening to confusion. “I’m… not a father.”

“Right, but you still do the whole dad-energy thing, so… honorary title.”

Santos snorted from behind the monitors. “Wouldn’t Abbot make more sense as your father figure substitute? He enforces nights like a walking curfew.” 

You flicked her away with a granola-crumbed hand. 

“Jack is… a daddy figure. Totally different classification. No offense, Robby.” Robby only blinked, owlish and exhausted. So, naturally, you plunged the shovel deeper, aiming a finger right at him.  “And before you tell him, remember I’m technically one of the few people in this hospital who’d be willing to choose your nursing home.” 

“I’m not that old.”

“You are to me.”

And then you had floated away thinking, stupidly, naively, beautifully, that maybe the moment had passed.

It had not passed.

It had apparently been preserved in amber and delivered word-for-word at handoff to the one man on earth who would enjoy it most.

Now Jack parks his coffee, arms cinching across his freakishly broad chest.

“So,” he deadpans, “daddy figure?” 

You make a mental note to reserve Robby a retirement home where ‘recreation’ is a single dusty puzzle and reach for anything coherent you can muster, ignoring the impeding lump in your throat.

“Strictly taxonomy, Jack. Think kingdom-phylum-class. Father figure is, like, sensible minivan and Roth IRA energy. Daddy figure is an entirely different genus — high-performance emotional support with optional leather interior. Totally complimentary, I swear.” His eyebrow arcs; your hands start semaphore-panicking. “Not, like, kink compliments — just, you know, admiration for your, uh, management style.” 

He’s silent for a second, eyes making slow work from your mouth to your nose to your own eyes. He leans in closer.

You try to dampen the fiery feeling prodding at the tips of your ears until his intense gaze. It’s hard to do.

“For the record, kingdom-phylum-class is an incomplete taxonomic ranking. You skipped order, family, genus, species. If I’m your daddy genus, what does that make you? Under the same umbrella, or something considerably more… subordinate?”

You sputter. Suddenly it’s a hundred degrees and you’re a busted radiator.

“That’s, um, well… I think we’re, uh, past my flash-card set.” You laugh-hiccup, cheeks on fire.

You wonder if he can feel the heat emitting from them.

Jack’s smile unfurls into full smirk. One finger hooks under your chin, tilting until panic meets espresso-dark amusement. 

“Thought so,” he murmurs, stepping back. “Now run along, kid — Daddy’s got rounds to patrol.” 

MARIA NOTE happy father's day to any who celebrate and especially mr dr jack abbot... clock out and come home, babe; the kids miss u ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌼🧺˚˖𓍢ִ🌿˚.

YOU CAN FIND MY JACK ABBOT MASTERLIST HERE ⭑.ᐟ

[hemmosara05]

5SOS5 is literally a total no-skip album, AND I’LL ALWAYS SAY IT!

[amijulesenough]

Hey girl, I saw your post about feeling like everything is pointless and bordering on giving up.

Please don’t. I promise things eventually start to look up. And it happens in ways you don’t realise until all of a sudden one day, you’ll wake up, and that weight that’s been sitting on your chest for god knows how long just suddenly isn’t there.

You can’t predict it, and when you’re feeling that way you won’t notice the good, but I promise it happens.

If it can happen for me it can happen for you <3

I love your fics, you have such a talent! And you’re funny and relatable and kind and have a lot going for you girl so don’t get in your own way of your happiness <3

hey babe thank you<3 life just gets to be a lot sometimes you know? for the most part I really am content with what I have going but sometimes I see people who are genuinely just so mean and selfish who get everything I want: close friends, great romantic relationships, families, incredible opportunities- and im just here. obviously I have to remind myself that I do have WONDERFUL friends and support, and that romance is not the greatest aspiration in life, and that I truly dont know everything going on in their lives and that helps.

still, sometimes its just hard. but i appreciate your reminders so very much beautiful stranger. thank you for reminding me that there is so much worth pushing on for, not just the things i wish i had- but the things i already have, too.

and thank you for the love on my fics- I desperately need to write some more ive just been procrastinating lol. much love 🫶🏻

[michaelswldflwr]

ONE BED? NO PROBLEM.

in which. . .you're a member of the boy's team and michael gets stuck sharing a room (and a bed) with the girl he's been pretending he can't stand

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, alcohol use, michael being lowkey toxic, one bed trope, kinda slow burn, wet dream (m), dirty talk, making out, big dick!michael, missionary, mention of slapping, sgfg!michael, lowercase intended -> beta read by the wonderful @charlie080928 !!

word count: 2,803

“absolutely not,” michael huffed, sizing you up and down. “there’s no way i’m sharing a room with her. get cal to do it.”

“calum’s in a relationship, michael,” ashton reminded him gently, distributing out keys to hotel rooms for the evening. “so is luke. and besides, don’t act like she’s a complete stranger. i’ve seen you interact before.” the drummer said, rubbing his forehead, clearly exhausted from the evening of playing a show and michael’s overexaggerated whining. 

“it’s fine,” you said hastily, trying to clear the tension. “you asked for two queen beds, right, ash?”

ashton nodded. “yeah, for sure. thank you.” he said, pressing the hotel key into your hand. 

you turned to michael, bumping his shoulder with your own. “to our room?”

the guitarist rolled his eyes, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and stalking towards the bar. “you can go up. i’m going to the bar.”

you sighed, watching michael’s back. you knew this was part of his game with you, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. trying to make it in the music industry was proving harder than you had originally planned for, and your and michael’s on again-off again taste for each other was not helping. you decided there was nothing you could do about it now and headed upstairs, knowing you needed to prepare for the coming days. the boy’s manager had agreed to let you, a soundcrew member, shadow him, knowing that being a manager was one of your biggest dreams. however, working with 5 seconds of summer, and specifically michael, was exhausting. 

you scanned the key to the hotel room, looking forward to a hot shower, room service, and ending the night watching cartoons in bed, but what you saw made you freeze in the entryway. ashton must’ve gotten the keys mixed up, for there was only one, king-sized bed in the room. you sighed, checking the time on your phone. 12:43 am. it was too late to bother ashton, and luke and calum also had king-sized beds to share with their partners. michael was just going to have to deal. 

-

you were in the shower when you heard it. the door to the room slammed open and you could hear michael hollering in a way that told you he was past the point of tipsy; he was wasted. you sighed, turning off the shower and wrapping a towel around yourself. you could hear various crashes followed by michael cursing. just by the sounds coming from the hotel room, you could tell it was going to be a long night. 

“what the fuck, y/n?” michael asked as soon as you walked out of the bathroom, gesturing wildly to the bed. 

“it was a mistake, michael. . .” you said, keeping your voice calm. “it’s fine. it’s too late to change it now.”

“i’m not sharing a bed with you.” he said, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that reminded you of a pouty little kid. 

“then sleep on the floor.” you shrugged, moving to grab your pajamas from your duffel bag. 

michael paused, watching you. it had just now registered to him that you were standing in front of him in nothing but a small, white, hotel towel. he tried to avert his eyes, but he couldn’t ignore the twitching of his dick in his pants, despite his drunkenness. there was something about you that always left him a little curious; the way your hips would sway to the music when the group would go out to the bars after a concert, the way you would make sure everything was just so for the boys to go on stage, but never in a mean way, the way you were standing in front of him right now, wrapped in towel with your hair wet and water droplets sliding down your body. 

he shook his head, turning away from you and flopping onto the bed. “i’m not sleeping on the floor,” he announced to no one in particular. all was quiet for a moment, until michael suddenly rolled over to look at you. “y/n, do you ever think about what we could be if we just stopped dancing around it?”.

you paused, having just finished pulling your pajamas on. “you’re drunk, michael.” you said carefully.

“drunk words are sober thoughts,” he shrugged. “so. . .do you?”

“michael, you don’t even like me. you like the idea of sneaking around with someone on the crew.” you murmured, moving around him to get in bed. 

he stared at you, clarity coming to his green eyes. “is that what you think?”

you rolled over, feeling michael’s eyes prying into your back. “you’re drunk. good night, michael.”

you closed your eyes, burrowing into the covers and trying to scoot as far away as possible from the man next to you without falling off the bed. michael was still in his clothes from the evening’s concert, laying on top of the blankets. every now and then, a drunken hiccup or sigh would escape him, but you ignored it, the words there’s no way i’m sharing a room with her. get cal to do it echoing through your head. 

“i’m not that drunk.” michael retorted. 

“would you be quiet? i’m trying to sleep.” you snapped. 

“i’m bored.” he whined. 

“well, good thing you have a phone and an x-box,” you replied. “also, stop hogging the blanket.”

michael rolled his eyes. “i can’t believe i’m sharing a bed with you.”

you ignored the comment, trying to pretend it didn’t sting. you’d had the biggest crush on michael ever since you’d started working for the band, but it was clear he viewed you as nothing more than a prize for him to win. you’d seen the way he’d flirt with you in bars, pretending he actually wanted you when he was drunk, only to act like he didn’t even know you the next day. 

-

the next thing you knew, the room was dark. . .and there was a soft, plushy arm slung over your waist. you froze, surveying the points of contact between your and michael’s bodies. he must’ve sobered up a bit sometime after you’d fallen asleep and gotten himself ready for bed, because now, all the lights were off, he was under the covers, and he was in nothing but his boxers. his body was soft and warm against your own, his stomach pressed against your back, legs tangled with your own and his arm slung over your waist. 

that wasn’t what made the heat between your legs grow, though. michael was softly rutting his hips against your own, little whimpers and whines leaving his plump, pink lips. 

“mmmm, y/n. fuck.” michael gasped. 

“michael?” you asked quietly into the dark. 

you received no response. everything was quiet for moment, making you wonder if you were having some sort of wild dream. you had had a cocktail during the show. it wasn’t long until that theory was disproved, though. michael whimpered and gasped again and that’s when you felt it: his rock-hard dick pressed against your ass. he was having a wet dream. . .about you. . .while the two of you were sharing one bed. 

you gulped, gently removing michael’s arm from around you and scooting away. as damp as your panties were with heat arrowing to your core, it was wrong. he was asleep, and you were nothing but a member of the crew to him. you silently laid at the very edge of the bed, being as still as possible until michael settled after a few minutes, going back to snoring. 

you hoped that he was deep enough asleep that he either wouldn’t remember his dream at all or wouldn’t remember that he had been practically humping your leg as he moaned out your name. you pulled the comforter up to your chin, careful of the edge of the bed and tried to go back to sleep, silently praying that you would also forget what had just occurred.

-

daylight streamed through the curtains of the hotel room, coating the room in buttery sunlight. it was a day off for the boys, and you had been hoping to sleep in. instead, you awoke to the boy in bed next to you roughly shaking your arm. you blinked the sleep from your eyes, rolling over to see michael, looking awfully hungover with his eyes wide and wild and his hair messy. 

“did we fuck last night?” he asked you, voice jumping up an octave as he surveyed your rumpled pajamas, his underwear, and the messy bedsheets. 

“no!” you said hastily. “god, no.”

michael let out an audible sigh of relief. “thank god.”

“we just had to share a bed and you kept wiggling. that’s why the bedsheets are messed up.” you grumbled. 

“i was drunk.”

“i know.”

“god forbid i was drunk.” michael rolled his eyes, picking up his phone and wincing as the light further intensified his hangover headache. 

“again, i know,” you replied. “do you want breakfast?” you offered, hoping to draw the topic of conversation away from last night and being drunk; you didn’t want to have to think about what had happened while michael was sleeping. 

“not hungry.” he grumbled. 

“you need to eat. that’s why you feel so bad. after that we. . .i mean you,” you recovered quickly. “could rest and take some ibuprofen, since y’know, it’s a day off.” you said, shocking yourself with how soft your voice came out. 

michael noticed it too. his demeanor seemed to soften as he looked at you, his green eyes still sleepy. “yeah. . .yeah, okay.”

you suddenly made yourself extremely busy with ordering breakfast from the hotel’s room service, trying to ignore the fact that michael was still on the bed next to you and still in his underwear. the tension in the room was heavy, despite the fact that he seemed to be just scrolling through his phone. 

“breakfast will be up soon.” you said, hanging up the phone and pointedly ignoring looking at him. 

michael made a hum of acknowledgment, his fingers flying across his phone. “chewing ash out for mixing up the rooms like a fucking idiot.” he explained even though you didn’t ask. 

“hmmm.”

the room stayed silent until a knock at the door signaled breakfast had been delivered. neither you nor michael had opted to start a conversation. that was fine with you. at least you didn’t have to think about the way he had bucked his hips against your side while looking at him. 

“nothing like a big, greasy breakfast to cure a hangover.” you said, sliding his takeout container across the bed to him. 

“thanks.”

you dug into your pancakes, chewing thoughtfully, until michael spoke again. 

“what did you get?”

it was quite obvious what you had gotten, which made those stupid butterflies in your stomach that you got around him start up again. “chocolate chip pancakes.”

“you love chocolate, huh?” michael asked, not willing to admit to you that he noticed that you always ordered mochas, chocolate ice cream, and chocolate martinis. 

“yeah.” you said softly, a dopey smile decorating your lips as you realized that he noticed. 

“y/n. . .i was serious last night. what are we?” michael asked suddenly. 

you paused, fork in midair. “i don’t know, michael. you tell me.”

the boy sighed, pushing his food away and fidgeting with his fingers. “i know i haven’t always been the nicest to you–”

“you could say that again.” you snorted. 

“but, you make me feel different in a good way. all these models and stuff only see michael the rockstar, not michael the stupid guy who likes magic: the gathering,” he rushed out. “remember when we went to that bar at the start of tour and we were drunk off our asses and decided we were gonna do karaoke to the halloween theme song even though it has no lyrics?”.

you nodded. “yeah, i do remember that.”

“or at that one bar where you were drunk and the guy was being creepy and you told me i was your superhero? that’s the shit i like about you, y/n. you make me feel like a regular guy. . .one who’s needed at that.”

you gulped. you had no idea michael felt that way. “i–”

“and it’s fine if you don’t feel the same, it really is. we can just be friends. i was just, scared, i guess, of how you would react. that’s why i’ve been avoiding you.”.

“oh, michael,” you said gently. “but i do feel the same.”

“wait. . .really?”

“really.” you nodded. 

a blush dotted michael’s pale skin as he crawled across the bed towards you. “c’mere,” he whispered, moving the food away and rolling over so that you were on top of him. “waited fuckin’ months for this.”

you moaned as michael’s plump, pink lips connected with your own. they were soft and warm and kissing him felt so right that you wondered why you had ever thought he didn’t feel anything for you. it was clear he felt the same way; small groans of pleasure went straight to your lips as michael kissed you like a man starved. one thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were reaching for his boxers. 

“can i?” you asked softly.

michael nodded so hard you thought his head might fall off. “fuck, please do.” he gasped. 

you tugged michael’s red-and-black plaid boxers off and your mouth ran dry. he was huge and hard. it wasn’t shocking, considering his size, but you knew it would take you a moment to adjust. his tip was already pretty and pink and dripping salty pre-cum, just for you. you palmed him slowly, gently, like he was delicate, even though you wanted him to fuck you like an animal. the guitarist sensed your feelings, and suddenly, you were pinned to the bed. 

“gonna fuck you so fuckin’ good,” he growled in your ear. “been waiting for this moment for a long fuckin’ time. you know how painful it was for me to watch other men flirt with you in bars? pretend i didn’t wanna bend you over right there and make you say exactly who your cunt belonged to?”.

you flushed at the dirty talk. michael had never given you that vibe before. a dirty joke here and there, sure, but never such lust. “michael. . .” you whimpered, your clit throbbing with need. 

“you want this big dick, y/n?” he asked, pinning your wrists above your head. “you been waiting as long as i have?”.

you nodded eagerly. “god, michael, please. fuck me.”

he practically tore your pajama shorts and underwear off at that, smirking at just how aroused you were for him. “i make you wet like that, huh?” he smirked. 

without another word, he slammed into you, making you cry out at the stretch. “so big!” you wailed. 

michael let out a lustful, almost animallike growl at that, thrusting harder and deeper into you. the sound of his balls slapping against your ass and skin-on-skin filled the room as he fucked you stupid, letting out months of stolen glances and pent-up energy. 

“shit!” you squealed as his tip kissed your cervix, tears pricking at your eyes. 

“so fuckin’ tight and so fuckin’ wet,” michael moaned. “who hasn’t been fucking you right, baby?” he asked, then paused. “doesn’t matter. this pussy is all mine now. say it.” he said, slapping your hip and increasing the rhythm.

you hesitated, but your need to cum was starting to overtake your senses. “this pu–”

“say. it.”

“this pussy is all michael’s!” you wailed as your orgasm crashed over you, the walls of your cunt rapidly clenching around his cock. 

“shit.” michael cursed, pulling out quickly and coating your pajama top covered stomach in thick ropes of his cum. 

he collapsed beside you, both of you panting heavily from exertion. the room smelled like sex, the covers were rumpled, and your room service breakfasts were long forgotten, but that didn’t matter. you had just had sex with michael clifford, a member of the band you were basically managing after months of flirting and pretending you hated each other. 

“what was that?” you asked after a moment of silence. 

“the best fucking nut of my life?” michael responded, both of you staring at the ceiling. 

“no like. . .are we? a thing now?”

“do you wanna be?” michael asked, rolling over to face you and tracing circles on your arm. 

“kinda. . .” you said quietly, hopefully. 

“then yeah,” he shrugged. “i guess we are.”

there were a lot of questions that hung around the room left unanswered, but for now, you were content to stay here beside michael, enjoying the day off and looking forward to good food, good sleep, and a lot of good sex. 

[prayersgotothesky]

RAPACITY

★ pairing: ashtonirwin x genderneutral!reader

★ summary: The show was so long and he looked so good, you couldn’t help yourself!

★ tags: smut (hand job, nipple play), heavy body worship

★ wc: 1.6k

★ a/n: this is kinda filthy so be warned… I just need sweaty, beefy Ashton literally yesterday.

This is for all the peeps that voted would put face in Ashton armpit ;).

. . .

The heavy dressing room door closed behind him with a dull thud.

“Ashton,” you purred. You’d been waiting for the show to finish, perched on a small couch in the corner of the room.

“Baby,” he replied, moving to align himself with a mirror and finger through his dirty-blond curls. The warm spirals clung to his forehead and neck in an endearing and hazardous pattern. They were like honey, sticky with sweat, glistening.

The sweat.

The sweat hugged his meaty biceps, the nape of his neck, and the small sliver of skin visible at his lower back from where his tank-top was adhered to him by that same luster. The front read “feeling like a god.”

Your eyes devoured the expanse of his back; Ashton’s big shoulders, plush thighs trapped behind a layer of dark leather, and large, spanning arms all enough to render you useless to do anything more than imagine his body significantly less clothed. And significantly less far away from your own. You could partially see his face in the mirror. He was all smudged eyeliner and teeth (that shit-eating grin you couldn’t help but love). He went to turn around, apparently deciding his hair was a lost cause, but you found yourself closing the space between your body and his, desperate to feel and prove.

“Hey,” he started in a low, enchanted tone, yet ultimately just observed.

Your warm chest and stomach quickly became snug against his back; you wrapped your arms around his front, greedy hands pushing up his shirt and having it pool up over his chest. Those hands pawed at his soft abdomen, squeezing and letting go and then squeezing again. One traveled up and gripped his fleshy peck, his nipple being pinched inside the gap between your pointer and middle finger. He sucked in a breath, sarcastically asking, “‘someone miss me?”

You could only manage to answer with a weak whine and a quick, tighter squeeze of your arms around his torso, face pressed into his shiny neck and tongue barely pushed past your lips to taste his damp, briny skin. He shivered at the contact on his neck, bending slightly, having his wide palms hit the vanity in front of him. A couple of stray bottles of product and random belongings tipped over noisily at his weight. You pulled your mouth off him, then pushed your nose forward, nestling it in a grove of his neck and inhaling deeply.

Ashton let out a shuddering huff; you could physically feel his heart rate quicken with the way your hands were all over him, kneading and pressing and groping. He let a groan pass his lips, realizing you weren’t just congratulating him after a good show, you were evidently trying to find a way to melt into and devour him.

You focused more attention to his flushing nipples, pinching the newly red buds between your fingers with each hand and moaning quietly in his ear when he reacted with a jolt of his hips. You felt your way across the fine field of hair covering his chest, following the hair further, over and past his belly.

“Mmg… B—baby, what are you…?” He trailed off, too distracted by the way your hands frantically yanked at his belt.

“Needy, huh?” he reprimanded rather incredulously. His belly sat over his belt buckle with the way his body bent forward; your eyes fluttered shut involuntarily upon feeling his hands overtop of yours, aiding you in your pursuit to tear his belt off. Your mouth hung open ever-so-slightly, tongue damp and heavy.

Then, his belt hit the floor, and you made quick work of the button and zipper on the front of those devilishly tight pants. Your fingers shoved the fabric down feverishly, revealing the spot where his dark blond happy trail greeted his pubes.

“Takeyourshirtoff… please,” you tenderly demanded, voice all muffled as your lips were smushed against his neck.

“Fuck— okay,” he huffed; his persisting confusion with your sudden rapacious behavior was apparent.

His palms left the vanity and stretched over his head, pulling off his sweat-soaked tank top. With the motion his forearms and biceps were on full display, flexing and spanning. The ink lining them gleamed: large phases of the moon lining his inner forearms and a blacked out star decorating his bicep. He discarded the fabric randomly then met his own eyes in the mirror opposite. After a spell of feeling mildly embarrassed from facing such a vulnerable version of himself— blissed out, slack, jutted-out jaw, body being claimed and ravaged— his hazel eyes blinked then traveled and found your own. Your eyes were glassy and peaking over his broad shoulder, a disbelieving grin from his pink lips greeted them.

With his eyes drawing a direct line to your own, he watched your teeth clamp down on the junction of his shoulder and neck, and felt your hand massage his bicep. You perceived the way his hard, taut muscle felt projected under a layer of soft flesh. Your other hand, however, was significantly lower and more capable of making his head spin; your warm palm caressed his bulge over the leather restricting it. A noise clawed at the back of his throat but escaped as pitiful little bursts of air. And you would've thought he didn't have any water left in his body to sweat out, but a few droplets gathered at his temples and the side of his neck.

The sides of your mouth curled up around his flesh, teeth visible and crushing. His brows furrowed together but his eyes stayed trained on your face. Your teeth trailed down his bicep, often stopping to pinch down and feel his slick, briny skin fill your mouth. The salty luster and musk were fucking intoxicating; you felt crazy and addicted to dragging your tongue across his skin in a hazy, careless manner, collecting stray droplets and reveling in it.

“You’re so weird…” he chuckled, “Fuckin’ love that shit,” he muttered the last part under his breath, tongue in cheek, while he admired you worshiping him.

“Played such a good show, deserve it…everything— you’re so fucking hot,” you speak right up against his bicep darkly.

“Yeah, that right? M’so hot you needa touch me, fuckin’ lick all over me the second I step off stage?”

“Mhm, need to,” you nodded rapidly, finally dipping a hand into his boxers.

His chest constricted and his hips bucked forward, dick begging your hand for pressure and attention. You, obviously, obliged and exposed his fully-hard cock to the mirror. You admired the way your hand looked wrapped around it and squeezing; the tip was flushed an angry red, balls heavy and full, his dark blond bush was thick and unruly. You slowly dragged your fingers up his length, watching his foreskin squish up around the head with an open mouth, exhaling. You pulled down again and his bottom lip jumped in between his teeth with a hiss.

You babbled, finally pumping his cock in a steady pace; the pre oozing from his warm slit and dribbling down the side of his dick aided your efforts. “Sh…shit, Ash, look at you, baby, so big and hard for me…” you breathe. You observed his own eyes rake over his body and his fat, leaky cock— you swore you could feel him twitch in your hand. His ragged breathes and groans increase in frequency and intensity. That, and the way his hips shuttered and more and more pre-cum spilt from his slit, warned you of his pending orgasm. You peppered kisses on his bare shoulder blade and let your lips rest on his skin, the way you pant in time with your strokes causes drool to seep out onto his already shiny flesh. You took to the small kisses again, moving downwards. You felt utterly brainless, just wanting to drown in him, so you pressed further, nose running along the spot where his shoulder descended down into his armpit. You feel his back straighten, hands leave the vanity and arms press flush with his sides.

You kept one hand on his cock, taking to thumb over the head and paying it extra attention, and the other took hold of his wrist, urging him to allow you access.

He blinked, hips still chasing every movement of your hand.

“Babe— wha, no, I’m filthy.”

“wanna—needa feel,” you pouted. “Plea..please, just let me, Ash.”

He couldn’t contain the low moan that fought so desperately to slip past his wet lips.

“You’re a sicko.”

But you knew from that noise alone he’d let you do anything you wanted. So, you used your clutch on his wrist to pry his arm away from his sticky body, despite his half-assed efforts of shaking your grip, while moving closer to his side. He gave in, throwing a massive arm around your shoulders, allowing you to bury your face in the hair underneath his arm and feel the details of his body under your tongue.

“Such a dirty bitch…,” he chided, laughing lightly and in a patronizing manner. He even pressed his hand firmly at the nape of your neck, hauling you forward and keeping you there. Every breath you took you inhaled him, his essence, something so divinely him. The musk, the liquid manifestation of his hard work and talent.

All the while, your digits held firmly against his dick. You pulled in long, languid strokes, just how he liked when he was close. Then, just a couple of wrist flicks when you got to the tip of his cock and he was spilling out everywhere, all over your hands, the vanity, his own stomach. The pearly beads of cum clung to his pubes and happy trail. You watched it all in the mirror, face turned to the side, still nuzzled under his arm.

“Fuck, look at that. You came everywhere for yourself, all for you…”

And he fucking whimpered. He whimpered and ran a hand over his face, coloring deeply.

You quickly pulled his shielding hand away, clasping it at his side and having him watch his cock soften between his thighs.

“I hate you,” he complained.

You grinned evilly and placed a kiss on his lips.

[chapbrinas]

5sos head cannon idea

How would each of the boys react to reader being caught staring at their hands?

how the boys react to you staring at their hands...

michael: michael sees you looking at his hands and he's just grins and looks at you knowingly. the first thing he does is tease. he won't touch you immediately, he wants you to beg for it. he needs to hear how bad you want it and needs to see how desperate you can get, so his hands linger here and there and he pays attention to the way he touches you to see what makes you tick. luke: luke knows why you're looking. why wouldn't you be looking? he's got perfect hands. they're large, but dainty somehow. his fingers are long and slender. they can reach deep inside you. he's always wearing those rings, so— once they're deep enough— you can feel the coolness of the metal... honestly, now he's just curious how often you watch his hands. calum: calum catches you staring and the first thing he does is get his hands on you. he doesn't waste any time with chit-chat, he knows you and knows what you want. they're all over you, too. manhandling and touching you everywhere. he gives you everything you desire, but he also takes what he needs when he needs it. ashton: ashton teases you, too, but he beats around the bush about it. he wants you to admit you were staring and why. do you wanna get fingered? choked? maybe you just like how his hands look. he's betting that's not all, though. he'd wager you've got some perverted thoughts and he's more than happy to call you out on them, especially if you try to deny it.