Suh

she/her || 24 || SLB || MM7 || MTM || TS|| TM || FI9 || 5SOS

[mmountseb]

My Masterlist

Who I write for (at the moment):

Mason Mount

Rasmus Højlund

Franjo Ivanović

MASON MOUNT

Smut

Just Friends my ass

A game of teasing part 1

Miss Monaco

Movie time

First time

Does he know?

Time to BeReal

Fluff

Your shirt

Feel free to request anything!!! For anyone you’d like!!

[alicewolfisalive]

don't delete the kisses (5) calum hood.

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

?: the first morning back with calum. part 5/?

wc: 3.1k

08:37 am. april 5, london.

i woke up to sunlight pouring through my bedroom windows. i blinked against the brightness, confused for a second before remembering i forgot to close the blinds last night.

huh.

it was unusually sunny for london. then again, it felt strangely fitting. especially seeing i had him back in my bed. 

the realization settled warmly into my chest all over again as i turned my head toward him. 

i always woke up before he did. he still slept the same way too–with one arm still loosely wrapped around my waist like he was scared i’d disappear during the night. his blond hair was a mess against my pillows, lips slightly parted as soft breaths fanned across my shoulder.

god, i missed waking up beside him.

i carefully reached up and traced my fingers along his jawline. the stubble scratched lightly against my fingertips. his eyes fluttered open and he gave me a tired soft smile.

it was like i could feel my heart melt. how stupid.

“hi, pretty girl.” his morning voice was rough and raspy in that way that always messed me up.

“hi, calcite.”

calum burst into a grin so wide it changed his whole face before laughing. “fuck,” he groaned, pulling me closer. “you have no idea how much i missed those nicknames.” before i could even react properly, he hooked an arm around my waist and effortlessly lifted me onto his lap. he sat up, head against the headboard.

i squealed in surprise while he laughed against my neck. “jesus christ, you got stronger.”

“touring and emotional devastation,” he grinned. “great for upper body strength.”

i snorted out a laugh. there he was again. my calum. i cupped his face between my hands, still struggling a little to process that he was actually here. “can’t believe you’re here,” i admitted softly.

the teasing faded from his expression. “do you regret it?”

i shook my head before he could even finish worrying himself into a spiral. “i’d never regret you.”

he leaned in to kiss me before i turned my face away with a groan. “cal, wait–morning breath–”

“sorry,” he scoffed against my cheek, already laughing. “since when the fuck have i ever cared about morning breath?”

i rolled my eyes while trying, and failing, to push him away.

“it’s been two years,” he continued dramatically. “i’d kiss you after you ate an entire garlic bulb at this point.” 

i burst into laughter. the sound barely lasted a second before he pulled me back against him again, arms tightening around my waist while he kissed me properly this time. i squealed when he suddenly rolled us over so he was hovering above me, blond hair falling slightly into his eyes.

“hi,” i whispered, biting back a smile as i traced the roughness of his stubble with my fingertips.

“hi,” he whispered back. neither of us moved away. we just stayed there staring at each other like we were trying to relearn each other’s faces. 

i took in every little detail i hadn’t been allowed to see this closely in two years. it seemed like he was doing the same thing to me too, looking almost overwhelmed by finally being this close again.

“we’re idiots, aren’t we?” i giggled softly.

“no. i’m the idiot here, trust me.” his expression slightly shifted to something more serious, “evie—”

i immediately covered his mouth with my hand before he could spiral into another apology. he blinked at me as i shook my head. “i know, cal,” i whispered. “i know.”

i watched as his eyes softened, “i don’t wanna keep living in the past anymore, okay?” saying that didn’t mean it stopped hurting. sometimes my mind still betrayed me with flashes of that night and all that anger and heartbreak would come back. so i didn’t blame him for still carrying guilt either.

but sitting here now, with sunlight pouring across his face while he looked at me like i was still the most important thing in his world… i didn’t want us drowning in pain forever.

“i think after an entire album and everything you said last night,” i teased lightly, “i can probably trust you again.”

calum groaned loudly in embarrassment before burying his face into my neck.

“but i swear to god, calum thomas hood,” i continued, half serious despite my smile, “if you ever pull anything like that again, i will actually kill you.”

he lifted his head immediately and nodded, “yes ma’am.” 

i snorted, “i’m serious!” 

“so am i,” he insisted. 

“i’ll literally write a letter before you kill me telling the police not to arrest you. you can have all my inheritance too.”

i kissed him just to shut him up. he smiled against my lips. “okay, i’m sorry. i mean it, baby,” he murmured afterward, forehead resting against mine. “never again.”

something about the certainty in his voice made my chest ache. 

“i’ll spend the rest of my life making sure i never hurt you like that again.” his thumb brushed softly along my cheek. “i swear on everything, evie.”

i searched his face for something, anything that would warn me. but all i saw was a man determined, he looked like if i didn’t take him back he’d jump out the window right here right now.

i laughed nervously under my breath. “we’re really doing this again, huh?”

calum looked at me like the answer had always been obvious to him. “it’s your call, angel,” he said softly. he leaned down slightly, nose brushing mine, “look, i know we can’t magically fix two years overnight,” he continued carefully. “and i know i have to earn your trust again properly. i will. however long it takes.”

his voice dropped quieter after that. “but if you’ll let me… i wanna come home to you again.”

“i wanna relearn everything about you,” he whispered softly. “i wanna know what tube stop you hate the most, what your favorite pub is, your new favorite band…. i miss your playlists and music recommendations.”

his thumb brushed slowly across my waist.

“i wanna know all the little things i missed while we were apart.” he smiled sadly. “i just really don’t wanna lose you again because those were the worst two years of my entire life.”

my chest tightened and i ran my fingers through his hair, nodding faintly. “i don’t think i ever stopped being yours.”

the look on his face after i said that was a mixture of relief, disbelief. like he was trying not to break down all over again.

“jesus christ,” he laughed shakily, burying his face into my shoulder. “you have no idea what hearing that does to me.”

i smiled weakly and kissed the top of his head. “you’re clingier now.”

“now?” he looked up, offended. “baby, i was always clingy.”

“true.”

“i literally used to follow you into kitchens because i missed you.”

“you followed me into bathrooms too.”

“well yeah.” he shrugged shamelessly. “what if something exciting happened?”

i burst out laughing. how could this feel so normal already? like we somehow skipped over two years of heartbreak and snapped right back into us.

eventually though, reality came crashing back into the room. because unlike whatever bubble we’d built inside my flat overnight, the outside world still existed. and unfortunately for us, so did calum’s very real tour schedule.

his next stop was manchester. tomorrow night’s show. which meant he had to leave london later today to continue the rest of the uk leg.

“come with me.”

i looked over from my closet where i was pulling on clothes. calum sat at the edge of my bed in his boxers watching me.

“cal…”

“please.” his voice cracked. 

“last night was something i’ve been dreaming about for so long,” he admitted. “and even right now—having you here again—it still feels unreal.” hearing the desperation in his voice made me pause.

he stood up before walking toward me. “i can’t leave you again.” his voice cracked slightly. “i don’t want to.” he took both my hands into his. “please come with me, evie.”

and there he was again, emotionally rambling like last night. “we still have the rest of europe after the uk shows,” he continued quickly. “then there’s a month break before we go back on tour again and yeah, okay, logically we could reunite then—” he shook his head. “but i can’t get you back today just to leave you again tomorrow for another month.”

my heart hurt listening to him. 

“we’re taking the tour bus around the remaining cities,” he added.

“it’ll be like the old days again.” a smile tugged onto his face. “squeezing into tiny bunks together. you stealing my hoodies. except there’s babies now but i’m sure that’s nothing compared to ashton’s snoring.”

i laughed as memories immediately flooded my head too. late-night motorway stops, falling asleep on his shoulder while the boys argued over music, tiny backstage dressing rooms and shitty gas station snacks.

“it’s this afternoon, i think,” he continued. “and the team won’t care. the boys definitely won’t care. crystal and sierra would be more than happy. i mean, they like you more than they like me.”

i snorted. 

“they miss you, evie.” his voice softened. “everyone does. i do.”

i tried thinking of reasons to say no. but in reality, i didn’t really have any. most of my work was remote now anyway. any upcoming events could easily be shifted around or covered elsewhere. my entire career practically lived inside my laptop.

and if i was being honest, a small part of me missed that life too. i looked toward the window as bright sunlight spilled across the london skyline in a way that almost never happened. i looked back at calum, and had to hide my laugh from seeing the hope practically glow in his face.

i sighed dramatically. “it’s gonna be one hell of a surprise when i show up again.”

his entire face lit up. “so that’s a yes?”

i laughed despite myself. “yeah.”

before he could fully celebrate, i pointed at him accusingly. “but seriously—why did we have to get back together while you’re on tour? do you know how much harder this makes everything?”

calum grinned so hard his dimples appeared. “sorry, angel. horrible timing.”

then he immediately wrapped his arms around me again and lifted me clean off the floor. i yelped while he laughed into my neck. 

“holy shit,” he whispered breathlessly. “you’re coming with me.”

i realized then that he was wrong before: i was also an idiot in this relationship. 

what sane woman gets back together with her ex and immediately agrees to go on tour with him the next day? 

though calum hood never made me sane once.

10:42 am

after what felt like a million back-and-forth phone calls with management, crew members, logistics teams, and at least three stressed assistants, calum finally confirmed that i could join the rest of the tour.

apparently squeezing one emotionally unstable ex-girlfriend onto a tour bus last minute required a shocking amount of work. i felt a little guilty about the chaos. some poor logistics coordinator was probably staring at spreadsheets right now wondering why one of the band members suddenly needed an extra bunk assignment because he was never able to move on.

i made a mental note to buy the entire team dinner at some point. or alcohol. or probably both.

we had to meet everyone at the hotel by 3:30, meaning we needed to leave before one so calum could go back to his hotel and pack properly.

which also meant i should’ve been packing. 

keyword: should’ve.

instead, i was barefoot in the kitchen making breakfast while calum stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist like he physically couldn’t stop touching me now that he had me back. not that i minded.

the bacon crackled softly in the pan while lazy morning sunlight poured through the windows. calum pressed absentminded kisses along my neck and shoulder while i scrambled eggs. every few seconds he’d tighten his grip on me slightly like he was reassuring himself i was still there and not a hallucination like some type of shutter island shit.

“okay,” he suddenly said, voice rough with sleep. “but seriously.”

i hummed.

“did you actually like the album?”

i rolled my eyes. “obviously i liked it, idiot. how could i not? it was beautiful.”

he grinned proudly against my shoulder.

“but,” i continued, pointing the spatula at him, “i could only listen to it once because otherwise i would’ve thrown myself into the thames.”

calum burst out laughing. 

“i’m serious!” i defended. “you’re such an asshole for finally releasing a solo album after we broke up when i spent literal years begging you to make one.”

he hid his laugh into my neck.

“what? my love wasn’t inspiring enough material before?” i said half-jokingly, half-serious.

“no, baby—”

“yes actually, explain yourself.”

he turned me around gently until my back pressed against the counter.

“you were too inspiring,” he corrected softly, hands sliding onto my waist. “i think i was just terrified of writing anything that honest while you were actually still mine.”

i rolled my eyes. what an excuse. his thumbs rubbed absentminded circles into my hips before he smiled. “i’ll make another one.”

i raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah?”

“mhm.” he nodded seriously. “this one’s gonna be different though.”

“how so?”

he leaned down until our noses brushed.

“it’ll be about how the love of my life took me back and stopped me from being suicidal.”

i laughed. “you are so dramatic.”

“i’m an artist, baby.”

“you’re insane.”

“but you still love me.”

i rolled my eyes even as my smile betrayed me.

“stupid.”

“your stupid.”

“yeah, okay, now let me get back to cooking before the food burns and i have to remake everything from scratch which wastes the time we already don’t have. c’mon cal, i still need to pack and get ready.”

he laughed against my shoulder, arms still locked around my waist. “you never changed.”

i pouted. “you’re the one who convinced me to go on tour with you again all of a sudden!”

“convinced?” he gasped dramatically. “baby, you said yes almost instantly.”

i pointed the spatula at him again. “don’t test me.” he grinned.

“oh my god,” i groaned. “i haven’t even told alyssa yet.”

calum winced. “shit. she hates me, doesn’t she?”

“she did threaten to murder you multiple times.”

“fair.” he tightened his hold around me again before mumbling into my neck. “i’m scared of her.”

“you always were.”

“no seriously, evie. your best friend terrifies me.” he lifted his head slightly. “i have to face her again now, don’t i?”

i laughed harder. “yes. she’s my other soulmate, so unfortunately you’ll have to survive the court hearing.”

he groaned loudly.

“honestly if she kills you there’s no promise she’ll spare me as well. she leaves me alone for one night and suddenly i’m right back in your arms.” i turned the stove lower before finally facing him properly again.

he chuckled at me softly. it seemed like he was now incapable of looking at me without any yearn in his eyes. he looked like he still couldn’t fully believe he was standing here in my kitchen. well, it’ll turn into our kitchen again sooner or later.

“you really scared me, you know,” he admitted quietly.

“what?”

“when you sent your location last night.” his hands slid slowly up my back. “i thought maybe you were drunk and angry and wanted closure or something.”

i looked down. “i almost didn’t send it.”

his grip on me tightened. “but you did.”

“yeah.”

a quiet settled between us. heavy in the way only years of history can make silence feel. calum brushed a strand of hair behind my ear before speaking again. “i don’t think you understand how hard it was not contacting you these past two years.”

i swallowed. “cal…”

“no, seriously.” his voice softened. “every city reminded me of you somehow. every song. every stupid little thing.” his lips ghosted across my jaw slowly. “i’d see oasis shirts and think about you.” another kiss. “every time someone ordered extra pickles on a burger i thought about you, ya little weirdo.” another. “every time i heard someone laugh too loud—”

“okay, now you’re flirting.”

“i’m trying to.”

i rolled my eyes even as my stomach flipped. “you’re rusty.”

“oh, am i?” his hands suddenly grabbed my waist tighter before he lifted me onto the counter effortlessly.

i yelped. “calum!”

“what?” he grinned shamelessly, stepping between my knees. “you called me rusty. that hurt my feelings.”

“you don’t have feelings.”

“that’s not what my therapist says.”

i laughed so hard i nearly folded into him. god. i missed this.

the stupid jokes, the way he always knew how to make me laugh before i could overthink too much. his smile softened seeing me laugh. then his eyes dropped to my lips and suddenly the atmosphere shifted again. his thumb brushed slowly against my thigh.

“you have no idea how many times i imagined kissing you again,” he admitted quietly.

my breath caught slightly. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he leaned closer. “and reality’s better.”

his lips met mine slowly this time, not desperate like last night. he lingered like he wanted to memorize me all over again. i tangled my fingers into his blond hair, earning a quiet moan from him that sent a pulsing feeling straight to my core.

we really had learned each other’s bodies too well over the years.

the kiss deepened naturally, years of familiarity slipping right back into place like muscle memory. his hands slid beneath the hem of my shirt while mine tugged lightly at the strings of his hoodie. then suddenly—the smell of bacon burning hit us both. 

“shit!” i pulled away laughing while calum groaned dramatically into my shoulder. 

“you’re a distraction.”

“you were literally making out with me!”

“you started it!”

“i absolutely did not.”

i hopped off the counter to rescue breakfast while he stayed behind me grinning like an idiot. 

“well,” i huffed as our lips finally parted properly again, trying to catch my breath while flipping the bacon, “better get used to a lot more gas station stops than before.”

calum raised an eyebrow knowingly. 

“because seriously, what’s the difference between us being horny teenagers back then and us not seeing each other for two years?”

calum looked genuinely in thought for a second. “better stamina?”

i nearly threw the spatula at him.

[undersugarnights]

It's A Bonfire

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ pairing: ashton irwin x reader

✧ summary: sending an accidental nude to your project partner was probably the best thing you could have ever done. ✧ warnings: semi public sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, unsolicited nudes, so so so much praise.

✧ word count: 7k (bigger monster than intended im sorry)

✧ title: bonfire — childish gambino.

✧ author’s note: i miss writing for you guys. this came from a request i got a while back, sorry if this sucks LMAO. i also just wanted ashton on a bike, sue me. I’ve been writing this for a hot minute now, and just now managed to finish. I feel pretty motivated to write, but with work it’s been kinda difficult. so i’m sorry for being MIA.

Copyright © 2025 undersugarnights. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It was a quiet night, for the most part—just you, holed up in your shoebox of a dorm with a phone, a questionable sense of judgment, and way too much free will.

There were definite perks to living alone, despite the prison-cell size of your “room.” Chief among them? Having the privacy to be half-naked, kneeling in front of your mirror, trying to find the perfect angle to show off your tits.

You pushed your hair out of your face and shifted positions—one arm braced against the floor, the other gripping your phone. In the back of your mind, you tried not to think about how much this was starting to feel like playing Twister.

Just… sluttier.

After snapping the photo, you let your shoulders sag. The finished product was fine—not quite what you wanted, but hey, you had all night, right?

Then your phone lit up, a notification dropping down from the top of the screen like the barrel of a loaded gun.

Ashton (lit) at 9:17 p.m.

btw wanted to let u know i finished my last paragraph, we should be all good to submit whenever

You blinked slowly, exhaling through your nose as you tried to swallow the annoyance at the reminder of your still-pending homework. Responsibilities. Reality. Ugh.

You sat up straighter, fingers moving to type.

You at 9:19 p.m.

Yeah sounds good w me. Thanks.

The moment it marked as read, your heart gave a traitorous stutter. No good reason. Just a reflex, obviously.

Ashton was in your literature class—just like forty other strangers you had no interest in knowing. But unlike the rest, who all felt like filler characters buffering their way through college…

Ashton was something else entirely

He was quiet, but not shy—more like disinterested. Detached in a way that felt deliberate. He never spoke unless called on, never joined discussions, never even looked all that engaged. But he was always there, drumming his fingers against the desk like a soundtrack only he could hear. Watching. Absorbing. Half-present. Half-gone.

You sat a few rows behind him, tucked into the back. Just close enough to watch.

He was always focused—or at least pretending to be—scrolling through his phone like the world bored him. And God, he was hot. Stupidly, unfairly hot.

Messy sandy curls. Silver chains resting low on his chest. Hoodies slung over broad shoulders like they were custom-made. Effortless. Dangerous.

Exactly the kind of guy who never had to try.

He knew he was hot—you were sure of it. He didn’t flaunt it, didn’t make a scene, but the signs were there: the way he carried himself like the ground belonged to him, the smirk he gave his phone like it owed him something, the way he texted with that deadly combination of confidence and zero punctuation.

So yeah, when the two of you got paired for the final project of the semester, you were more than a little intrigued. Curious. Maybe even hopeful. You figured you’d test the waters—feel out the vibe, figure out what made him tick. See if that quiet hotness translated into something more.

Unfortunately, it didn’t.

Ashton treated you exactly the way you technically should’ve been treated—like a partner. Nothing more. No flirting. No sparks. Just laser-focused on getting the grade.

Brutal.

It stung, sure—but your attention wasn’t exactly starved.

Jaden was still in the picture. Not someone you’d brag about, but he served his purpose. Convenient. Occasionally charming. Decently attractive in a way that felt manageable.

He was the one you were taking the pictures for.

The pile of homework on your desk sat untouched, the thought of tackling it tonight way too daunting. And you were stressed. Stretched thin. The easiest answer was only a text away.

You angled the phone camera again, lowering your other hand to tease between your thighs—your chest front and center, your fingers just suggestive enough to send Jaden sprinting.

Still, it didn’t land the way you’d intended. It lacked punch. It wasn’t damning enough. The desperation didn’t translate—not the kind you needed him to see. You bit your lip, sighing in frustration as your shoulders sagged and you flopped onto your bed in defeat.

Your phone pinged.

You glanced at the screen, already bracing. Ashton had reacted to your last message with a simple thumbs up. Polite. Kind. Thoroughly uninterested. Conversation over.

You swallowed down the thick wave of disappointment rising in your throat.

The text thread between you and Ashton was… depressing, if you were being honest. A handful of messages a day, max. Just logistics. Study times. Project updates. Nothing else. Nothing personal.

You rolled onto your back, arm thrown across your forehead like it could shield you from the shame curdling in your chest. But your mind—traitorous, insatiable—conjured him anyway.

Ashton in class. Quiet. Composed. Long fingers flying across his keyboard. The subtle flex of his biceps when he leaned forward to rest his chin in his palm. That focus, sharp and consuming—except for those rare, rare moments he smirked at something you said. Barely a twitch of his mouth, but it burned under your skin for hours.

You exhaled, shaky and soft, and reopened the camera app.

Your hand drifted lower, fingertips trailing down your stomach and slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mind fed you more.

Ashton’s scent—warm and musky beneath the soft tang of leather, like he belonged in the front seat of a bike you weren’t supposed to ride. His curls, too long when he forgot to get them trimmed, brushing over his forehead like even they didn’t know how to behave.

Your breath caught.

You slid the fabric aside and took the photo without hesitation this time: your fingers nestled against your clit, chest fully exposed, lips parted and bitten—just the edge of your mouth in frame, painted with intent.

The shot was perfect. Just the right amount of filthy. Focused. The meaning behind the photo would never be misconstrued.

But you barely looked at it before sending.

Your mind was elsewhere—lingering on the dimple that only ever appeared when he laughed too hard. You’d only seen it twice. You remembered both times in excruciating detail, each instance burned into your eyelids like an image left on a computer for too long.

That was what distracted you, Ashton and his stupidly handsome face. It also was what made your fingers move faster than your thoughts.

And that quickly turned out to be a problem.

It wasn’t until after—after the image had sent, after you were already closing your camera roll—that you realized.

The message thread wasn’t full of filthy texts or teasing emojis. There was no risqué flirtation. No artfully taken nudes.

No—what filled the chat was worse. So much worse that your stomach dropped before your brain could fully process it.

Not teasing messages. Not flirty gifs. Not even a single emoji.

What filled this thread were polite updates. Google Drive links. Timestamped bullet points about citation formats. A conversation so sterile it could’ve lived in a university email chain.

And now, sitting right there at the bottom of the screen in your chat with Ashton fucking Irwin—your nudes.

“Oh my fucking god.”

The words tore out of you in a rasped breath, catching in your throat like broken glass. You shot upright, yanking your knees to your chest as panic clawed its way up your spine. You were suddenly, excruciatingly aware of how exposed you were—shirtless, panties skewed to one side, skin still warm and flushed from the fantasy that had gotten you into this mess.

You blinked once, then again, trying— and failing— to will the screen into changing. No matter how much denial you fed yourself, nothing would to undo reality that you were living in.

The ringing in your ears kicked up, muffling the world around you, your heart pounding like it was trying to beat its way out of your ribs, breaking every bone in the process. That probably would have been much less painful.

There was no way you had just sent Ashton Irwin that photo.

Not polite, well-mannered, devastatingly mysterious, quietly brilliant Ashton. Ashton with the messy notes that somehow made sense and the too-long eyelashes and the voice that always stayed just a little too calm, a little too confident despite his almost clinical approach to conversation with you.

Ashton who smelled like leather and eucalyptus and kept his distance no matter how badly you wanted to close it.

And now?

Now he had a full-color, high-definition shot of your fingers on your clit, your chest bare, your body flushed and wrecked by the idea of him. Not that he knew that. At least you hoped he didn’t know that.

Nausea twisted low and sharp in your gut, clawing at your insides. He had seen it. Of course he’d seen it.

The final blow hit like a dagger:

Read 9:40 P.M.

Your spine straightened like a struck match, your breath hitching as horror poured down your spine like ice cold water.

He hadn’t just seen it—he’d been in the chat when it arrived. There wasn’t even a buffer. No moment of confusion. No window to unsend.

You’d dropped that bomb right in his lap in real time.

The cold panic bled into your limbs as your hands flew across the keyboard, desperate for damage control, for anything to claw your dignity back from the gaping hole you’d just dug yourself.

You at 9:40 P.M.

OH MY GOD. That was so not meant for you, I am so fucking sorry. Oh my god. Please delete it.

Your thumbs hovered uselessly after pressing send. Waiting.

There was no typing bubble, no immediate response. It was just silence, long and excruciating in a way nothing else had ever quite matched.

It was just your own reflection in the black mirror of your screen—wide-eyed, mortified, still a little breathless from arousal turned horror.

With shaking hands, you turned your phone off, reaching for your discarded shirt and slipping over your head. Your hands flew to your head, gripping the sides as you slowly laid back down in bed.

There was absolutely no way in hell you’d go to class for the rest of the week. Absolutely not.

You were also most definitely not going to sit and unpack the unfurling disappointment in your chest at the implication of Ashton not even saying anything. It felt like a rejection, one you realistically knew would come, but one you were not prepared to face nonetheless.

—

It had been three days since the unthinkable happened.

Truly, they were the longest, most excruciating three days of your damn life. Ashton hadn’t said a word—no reaction, nothing. It was almost worse than if he had said something. You deleted the text thread from your messages, just so you didn’t have to sit with your humiliation staring back at you.

In those three days since the incident—as you had taken to calling it recently—you had scheduled to show up for class. You tried. Truly, actually tried to show up. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you wrapped up in an impenetrable cocoon of blankets and relived every second of that interaction.

Had Ashton been weirded out? God, hopefully he didn’t take it as some unsolicited advance of the worst kind. Sure, you liked the guy, but sending an unwanted nude? No, thank you.

So, instead of pulling yourself together like a functioning human being, you stayed in bed all day and tortured yourself with every possible scenario of what Ashton Irwin might be thinking about your very naked body.

The only reason you didn’t dissolve into a permanent depression cocoon was because you’d made long-standing plans with Jaden. Which is how you found yourself in the passenger seat of his car, biting back the hundredth eye roll as he laughed—again—about the Ashton situation.

“I still can’t believe you actually sent that to him,” he said, breathless, one hand on the wheel, the other rubbing his forehead like he physically couldn’t handle the secondhand cringe.

You dropped your head back against the headrest with a dramatic sigh. “It’s really not that funny,” you muttered, cheeks burning. “I haven’t even shown up to class since.”

Jaden glanced over with an arched brow, grinning like the menace he was. “You know he might be at the bonfire tonight, right?”

“Please,” you groaned, holding up a hand as if that would be enough to get him to end his reveling in your misery. “Stop reminding me.”

He shrugged as the car rolled to a stop at a red light. “Whatever. He doesn’t want you,” he said casually. “Besides, you’re coming with me. Not him.”

You turned to face the window, letting your gaze drift past the streetlights until they blurred into glowing smears.

Then—an engine. Low and guttural. The kind of sound that doesn’t just interrupt your thoughts, it rattled through your ribs. A motorcycle pulled up beside you, the sudden weight of the presence pressing down on your chest.

The man was hunched over, clad in full riding gear—leather jacket, leather gloves, jeans that were absolutely not road-rash resistant and looked practically spray-painted on, and a glossy red-and-black helmet that obscured his face entirely.

Bikers weren’t exactly a rare sight around here. Hell, a couple of your friends had bikes. But something about this one made your breath snag in your throat.

Somewhere in the background, Jaden kept talking, but his voice faded into static.

Your focus narrowed, locked on the rider. On the stubborn, almost lazy way his shoulders set back as he adjusted his gloves. You watched, hypnotized, as his long fingers worked the straps with practiced precision.

And then—as if he felt the weight of your stare—he turned.

The helmet tilted toward you, slowly, deliberately. You should’ve looked away. Should’ve feigned indifference. But instead, you held your ground, gaze steady, drawn in by the biker’s curious head tilt.

The moment stretched thin. Then, with a single fluid motion, the biker leaned forward, gripped the handlebars—and revved the engine directly at you.

The sound tore through the quiet like a dare.

You bit back a flustered grin, looking down at your lap as you fought back the heat creeping up your neck, just in time for Jaden to notice the not-so-subtle exchange.

“What the hell does that guy want?” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

The engine revved again—louder this time, almost playful—and you couldn’t help it. Your gaze snapped back, locking once more with the mirrored visor of the biker’s helmet.

He raised two fingers in a lazy, mocking salute just as the light turned green. Then, without hesitation, he peeled off into the night, the roar of the engine trailing behind like a war cry.

“Maybe he liked my shirt,” you muttered, not even pretending to offer a reasonable excuse. You barely registered the car moving forward again—your whole body still thrummed from the encounter, nerves crackling like static under your skin.

Jaden, unsurprisingly, did not share your amusement.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he said flatly, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. “I doubt that’s what it was.”

You bit your lip, fighting the smile clawing at your face. “Maybe he’s just a big Affliction fan.”

Jaden’s glare could’ve set the car on fire. Unfortunately for him, it only made you feel more alive.

—

The bass rattled through your bones—so hard you wondered how the speakers hadn’t blown yet. You were nursing a drink, a too-strong spiked lemonade that tasted more like hand sanitizer than you’d ever willingly admit.

It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun. You liked the scene, the people, the energy. It was just… Jaden. He’d gotten clingy. The human equivalent of a gnat. Looming over you like an annoying shadow, barely letting any light through.

Annoyance clawed up your spine like an unwanted shiver. You stood there with your arms crossed, doing your best impression of someone tolerating him. He had this irritating habit of conveniently forgetting the whole “casual” arrangement you’d both agreed on—preferring instead to parade you around like some dumb trophy.

And let’s be honest—his dick wasn’t even that remarkable.

“What do you say we ditch this and go back to your dorm?” Jaden asked, flashing his dimple like a get-out-of-rejection-free card. He was pretty—not Ashton pretty—but dangerous in his own way.

You blinked, schooling your expression as your shoulders dropped into forced calm. “Now why would I waste a perfectly good party for that?” you asked flatly.

Before he could launch into another charming defense of his mediocrity, loud hooting erupted across the field, followed by a burst of laughter.

Both of you turned toward the commotion.

The crowd shifted, parting just enough to reveal a figure—a man pulling off a black and red motorcycle helmet, immediately swarmed by three other guys, all laughing and jostling like old friends.

You straightened instinctively, every nerve in your body snapping to attention.

The flicker of the bonfire caught on the stranger’s hair, gilding it in molten gold.

And then he turned—flashing that unmistakable dimple at his tall, blonde friend, his green eyes crinkling with amusement.

Ashton.

Fucking.

Irwin.

The prickle of anxiety was the only warning before cold sweat broke out across your skin, your feet suddenly glued to the ground as Jaden squinted toward the group of men.

“Well,” he said, frowning. “Guess your tits brought in a crowd after all.”

Your mouth dropped open, disbelief hitting like a slap. The implication was clear. The mere thought that Ashton had shared that photo made your stomach churn. Bile crept up your throat.

And Jaden—Jaden—seemed to find it funny.

“That’s so fucking gross. And a crime,” you snapped, cheeks flushed with heat.

Your eyes locked onto Ashton instantly, tracking his every movement. Your heart stuttered as his gaze met yours—smirk in place, green eyes glinting under the firelight. He raised two fingers again in that same lazy salute, the one that had sent butterflies scattering in your stomach earlier.

There was barely time to breathe before he started toward you.

His stride was slow. Languid. Like he knew exactly what he was doing—drawing out the inevitable and letting you steep in your fear.

You smelled him before you saw him—that familiar mix of leather and eucalyptus you used to try so hard not to get high off of in class.

He stopped a few feet in front of you, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his leather jacket, which hung open—giving you a perfect view of the white wife beater clinging to his chest, the glint of stacked chains brushing against his collarbone.

Grasping for something to do, you took a quick sip of your drink, blinking rapidly to mask the way your face twitched at the taste. He tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on your throat as you forced the alcohol down.

“I didn’t see you in class,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a half-smile. “How come?”

The utter normalcy of the question caught you off guard—like the whole photo disaster hadn’t even grazed him. Like you were the only one drowning in humiliation.

Jaden, predictably, didn’t seem amused. He threw an arm around your shoulders like a territorial house cat, leveling Ashton with a flat, unreadable stare.

“I guess I was just feeling sick,” you answered smoothly, despite the way your spine went stiff under Jaden’s touch. “You know. Bad takeout, probably.”

Ashton hummed, eyes flicking between the arm slung around your shoulders and your face, like he was trying to decide whether you were being held at gunpoint or just making deeply questionable choices about the company you kept.

“You know,” he said, casually ignoring Jaden’s looming presence, “I actually think I was kinda bored without you there. Had a couple questions to ask.”

Ah. There it was. The acknowledgment of the most embarrassing moment of your entire existence.

Jaden scoffed, barely hiding his disdain. “Okay, ask your questions now then,” he challenged, puffed-up and pitiful.

Ashton’s gaze finally slid over to him, green eyes sharp, brows lifted in what looked dangerously close to amusement. “Sure,” he said easily. “Was gonna ask if you wanted to come with me to the bonfire, but since you’re already here, why don’t I just settle for getting you a new drink?”

He grinned—wide, unbothered, infuriating—and your mouth dropped open in stunned silence, forming an involuntary “o” at the sheer audacity of it. He noticed, of course.

Jaden sputtered. “Dude, she’s with me, can’t you see?”

“Oh. My bad,” Ashton said, calm as ever. “I don’t remember asking you if you wanted a new drink. But I’m sure you can figure something out—you seem like a smart guy.”

You didn’t even try to stop the laugh that slipped out, and without thinking, you peeled yourself away from Jaden’s grip. You were bored of him anyway. And yeah… you did need a new drink.

“I’d like that,” you smiled, walking over to Ashton, who was smirking triumphantly at Jaden.

He didn’t reach out to touch you—just walked beside you, close. Closer than any acquaintance had the right to.

You didn’t even register whether Jaden had anything to say about your little disappearing act—you were too distracted by the fact that this entire situation felt borderline surreal.

As the crowd thickened, Ashton placed a steady hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the bodies with ease, keeping you close and on course toward his cooler. You caught sight of his friends, but they were too caught up in their own chaos to notice—or care.

Ashton popped open the cooler with no ceremony, grabbing a single drink. Then, turning back to you, he brought the bottle to his lips and yanked the cap off with his teeth before handing it over.

“A bottle opener would’ve sufficed,” you quipped, taking it from him—your fingers brushing his in the exchange.

The firelight danced across his face, lighting up one side while casting the other in shadow, sharpening every edge, every line. He looked carved out of something you shouldn’t touch.

“If I can do it, I’ll do it,” Ashton shrugged, leaning against a tree, arms folding casually across his chest. Your eyes flicked—unbidden—down to the way his biceps flexed under the leather.

You rolled your eyes and took a long pull from the bottle, the drink colder than expected. “So, now that you’ve got me at the bonfire and with a drink in hand,” you said, arching a brow, “somehow I’m not convinced you’re out of questions.”

Ashton ran his tongue across his bottom lip, mouth tugging into a smirk. He reached over, plucked the beer bottle from your hand, and took a swig like it was his.

“You’re damn right I’ve got a few more questions,” he said, smacking his lips at the taste. “Like why the hell you’re hanging around such a loser.”

You shrugged, glancing down at Jaden’s hoodie. “Terminally horny, I guess,” you replied, snatching your drink back. “Not that you’d know anything about that, by the way.”

Laughter—sharp and shrill—cut through the air somewhere behind you, but Ashton didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head in mock innocence, a gesture too familiar, too reminiscent of the helmeted figure from earlier.

“How would you know that?” he challenged, pushing off the tree and closing the space between you. His breath hit your face—mint and beer. Annoyingly pleasant.

“Easy,” you said, trying not to choke on your own pulse as you met his gaze. Bright. Green. Sharp with something you hadn’t dared name. “You haven’t made a move on me all year.”

He blinked. Caught off guard. “What?”

You immediately shook your head, heat blooming up your neck. “Nothing. Never mind,” you mumbled, waving it off. “I’m not trying to give you the impression the picture was some kind of… fucked-up advance, because it wasn’t.”

“If you say I haven’t made a move,” he drawled, his eyes dipping to your mouth, slow and deliberate, “then what the hell do you think the bike fiasco was?”

“I didn’t even know that was you!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at his chest. “How was I supposed to connect stranger revving engine at me with project partner thinks I’m hot? As far as I knew, I sent you an accidental nude and you left me on read. Ghosted me for days.”

“Was waiting for you to show up in person,” he said with a sigh, like you were the dramatic one. “But clearly, you’re pretty avoidant, baby.”

You froze.

That pet name—baby—slipped past his lips like it belonged there, and it hit your nervous system like a bullet made of honey. Wrapped around your brain. Pooled straight between your legs.

Jesus. You had to get a grip.

Ashton—always too attuned to everything about you—caught the way your breath hitched at the endearment.

“That was for him, wasn’t it?” he murmured, stepping in until your back bumped against another tree. His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from your face with frustrating tenderness. “Tell me, Y/N… what did he think about it?”

You lifted your chin, matching his gaze head-on. “Well,” you said evenly, “he didn’t leave me on read for days.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, a flicker of something darker cutting through the smugness. “You said it was an accident,” he said quietly. “Not even a minute after I got the photo, you clarified it wasn’t meant for me. So tell me—what exactly was I supposed to do? Other than ignore it and delete it?”

You tilted your head, voice soft but unrelenting. “Is that really what you did?”

He hesitated. Just for a beat. “No,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “Not entirely. I deleted it, yeah. Ignored it… for about a minute.”

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth.

“Before my hand was down my pants and I was moaning your name into my pillow. But I figured I should probably keep that part to myself.”

You didn’t even bother to hide the gasp that punched out of you at his admission, your heartbeat spiking until it drowned out every other sound.

There was no way Ashton was serious. He had to be messing with you—playing some long game just to laugh about it later with his friends.

“You’re so full of shit,” you scoffed, pressing yourself harder against the tree, desperate for air that wasn’t laced with him.

But Ashton wasn’t done.

His hand curled around your wrist, tugging you forward until you were chest to chest. Then his palm slid up to cradle your jaw, and for one excruciating moment, he hovered—lips inches from yours—only to veer off and ghost his mouth along the shell of your ear.

“You can tell yourself I’m full of shit all you want, babygirl,” he rasped, voice low and lethal. “Go back to Jaden. Pretend you’re into his boring-ass antics. Only see me in class.”

Then—his teeth. A soft, deliberate bite to your earlobe that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“Or…” he continued, darker now, “you can let me fuck you stupid in that loser’s hoodie while I show you how honest I really am.”

He pulled back just enough to flash that devastating grin—dimples and all, like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire existence.

“Your choice.”

There wasn’t even a pause.

“Please,” you breathed.

Without another word, Ashton laced his fingers with yours and pulled you away from the party, deeper into the cover of the trees. Your heart was pounding, your mouth gone dry with anticipation. He walked a step ahead, shoulders squared with purpose, and bit by bit, the sounds of the party faded into nothing.

Crickets chirped where laughter used to be. All that remained was your breathing—ragged and heavy—and Ashton’s, syncing with yours like a rising storm.

You stopped beneath a thick canopy, far enough into the woods that someone would have to really be looking to find you.

“Ashton, I swear, if you don’t do something right now, I might actually—”

Your threat was cut off by his mouth crashing onto yours, a sharp gasp swallowed by the force of his kiss.

“God, that fucking picture,” Ashton groaned into your lips, teeth tugging at your bottom lip just as your back hit the rough bark of a tree.

Your hands flew to his neck, dragging him impossibly closer, fingers threading into his hair and yanking just enough to earn a guttural moan.

“Yeah?” you breathed, dazed and breathless. “What about it?”

His mouth traveled down your jaw, biting gently along the curve of your throat as he moved lower. Your head tipped back, thudding softly against the bark as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen,” he panted against your skin. “Swear to God, I think I started drooling.”

You let out a shaky laugh, still not quite believing this was your life. “You liked it, then?” you asked—your words dissolving into a choked moan as Ashton latched onto a particularly sensitive spot on your neck.

“Liked it?” he echoed, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. He shook his head, a soft laugh rumbling from his chest as he sank to his knees before you.

“Baby,” he said, voice low and reverent, “I loved it.”

His fingers were quick, nimble—undoing the button of your shorts in a flash, making your breath catch. Your gaze locked with his, and for a second, the world around you vanished, reduced to just you and Ashton and the pounding between your legs.

“You sure?” he asked, voice surprisingly gentle, even as heat darkened his eyes.

You swallowed hard, nodding fast. “Please,” you whispered. “I’ve waited all year, Ash. Please.”

That was all he needed.

Without hesitation, Ashton hooked his fingers into your waistband and dragged your shorts down your legs, pressing slow, heated kisses to every inch of skin he exposed. Once they hit your ankles, you kicked them away, not caring where they landed.

He leaned in, lips brushing the soft skin of your inner thigh, his breath warm as he got closer to your center. You could feel the wet patch in your panties grow, your pulse throbbing when his green eyes flicked up to meet yours—dark, gleaming, starving.

One hand ghosted over your clothed clit, and you let out a stuttering moan at the contact.

Ashton tutted softly, smiling like he’d just unlocked some cosmic truth. “Already so wet for me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Bet that’s why you were dripping in the picture, huh?”

You bit your lip, too overwhelmed to answer. You just nodded.

“So fucking easy for me,” he cooed, fingers hooking into your panties and gently tugging them aside, baring you completely. “Fuck… look at you. So pretty. Soaked just for me.”

Before you could form a reply, Ashton leaned in and dragged his tongue in one long, slow stroke from your entrance to your clit, groaning deep and filthy against you.

Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto evaporated in an instant.

He licked at you like he was starved, relentless, messy, devoted.

“Oh my fuck, Ashton,” you gasped, head slamming back against the tree behind you.

His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking hard until your vision went hazy. The rough scrape of his stubble sent sparks racing up your spine, the perfect contrast to the soft, wet swirl of his tongue. He moaned against you, the vibration making your knees buckle just as he grabbed your thigh and slung it over his shoulder, anchoring you to his mouth like he never planned to come up for air.

One of Ashton’s hands dug into your hip, anchoring you to his mouth, while the other traced soft, deliberate strokes along your trembling thigh. Your legs shook with the effort of staying upright—completely undone by the relentless ministrations of his tongue.

His mouth was lethal, more sinful than you'd ever dared to imagine. He worked with reverence, sucking and licking at your clit with a kind of precision that stole the breath from your lungs.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he slurred against you, drunk on it, voice ragged and wrecked. One hand left your hip, sliding down to gently toy with your entrance, fingers gliding through the mix of your slick and his spit. “Could die here, I swear. You know how long I’ve been thinking about this?”

A gasp tore from your throat as one of his fingers slipped inside you. The stretch was perfect—just enough to throb at the base of your spine. He curled it, then began to pump in slow, steady thrusts as his mouth returned to your clit like he needed it.

His tongue flicked fast, then dragged slow—teasing you, overwhelming you, pulling you apart at the seams.

You arched against the tree, hips grinding mindlessly into his face, chasing more friction, more pressure, more him.

Ashton groaned in response, his fingers working you over with ruthless precision. The soft chorus of crickets had long been drowned out by the obscene sounds echoing through the trees—the wet, filthy slurps of his mouth on you, the slick squelch of his fingers fucking you open.

“Do you hear that, pretty girl?” he murmured, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you from between your legs. “That filthy little sound? That’s all you. That’s how ready you are for me. How loud your body’s begging, telling me how good I’m making you feel.”

Your hand clamped over your mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle the moans tearing out of you, but it barely dulled the noise. Pleasure coiled hot and tight in your belly, warmth flooding your spine in dizzying waves. Every flick of Ashton’s tongue made you jerk, made your knees threaten to give. He built you up perfectly, every stroke driving you higher, until all you could do was writhe against his slick, sinful mouth.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he whispered, voice raspy and reverent, tongue dragging slowly over your clit with devastating pressure. “Be a good fucking girl and come all over my face. Fuck, I need it.”

A third finger pushed inside, stretching you wide, and a sob burst from your lips—half-choked, half-worship.

“Fuck, Ash, I’m gonna come—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t blink. His eyes held yours—green, wild, burning with challenge—and they were the last thing you saw before everything cracked wide open.

The pressure snapped, hard and fast, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cried out, a ragged moan that shattered into Ashton’s name, grinding against his mouth as he held you up through it, steady and unrelenting.

Your body shook with the force of it, his tongue never easing, like he wanted to memorize how you came.

Ashton pulled away, panting just as hard as you were—but there was no reprieve.

His lips crashed onto yours, tongue demanding, coaxing your mouth open until you were overwhelmed with the taste of yourself on him. He kissed you like he was starved for it, like you hadn’t just shattered in his mouth.

Then, without warning, he broke away—spinning you around until your chest pressed against the rough bark of the tree. You barely registered the sound of a zipper being tugged down before his chest was pressed to your back, breath hot on your neck.

“You gonna let me feel how tight you are after you came?” he groaned. “Gonna let me fuck you the way you deserve? Make you come on my cock?”

“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, Ashton—fuck, I’ll be so good. I wanna come on your cock, I need it.”

You felt the shift as he shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself, but before you could twist around to look, his hand flattened against the side of your face, pressing your cheek to the tree.

“Stay right there,” he murmured, voice wrecked.

He nudged your thighs apart with his knee, then dragged the head of his cock through your folds—slick with your release, soaking him in it.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days,” he growled. “Until you can’t stop dripping with me. Until the second you think of me, you’re sending me another one of those fucking pictures—just so I’ll come ruin you again.”

“You can have me whenever,” you panted, mind spinning. “Real life is better than pictures.”

“Real life,” he muttered darkly, “tastes better than anything I’ve ever fucking known.”

And with that, Ashton slammed into you in one smooth, devastating thrust.

He was big—the stretch toeing the line between pain and bliss as he fully sank into you, inch by devastating inch. A filthy, guttural groan tore from his throat as your body slowly gave way, welcoming the intrusion. He was long and thick enough to make your eyes cross, and the moan that left your lips was loud, unrestrained.

One of Ashton’s hands clamped down on your hip, anchoring you in place, while the other slid beneath Jaden’s hoodie, under your bra, and cupped your breast with greedy familiarity.

“Fuck, such a tight little pussy,” he rasped, his breath ragged, words slurred with pleasure. He pulled back, then slammed forward again, pulling a sharp cry from your throat.

He set a pace that could only be described as devastating—fingers tweaking your nipple while his grip on your hip tightened enough to promise bruises. You clawed at the bark in front of you, searching for something to hold onto as he pistoned into you without mercy.

The sounds—god, the sounds—filled the air around you: wet, rhythmic slaps of skin on skin, your desperate whimpers, and Ashton’s deep, wrecked moans echoing in your ears like sin made audible.

“Gripping me so tight,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “You gonna fuckin’ milk me, babygirl?”

Ashton’s staccato breaths tangled with your moans, each brutal thrust slamming you forward against the tree. His hand left your breast, sliding down to grab your other hip, locking you in place so he could drive in even harder, deeper.

“C’mon, baby,” he panted, voice cracking with urgency. “Say my name. Show me who’s ruining this pussy—who’s making you forget that asshole’s name.”

“Ash,” you sobbed. “Fuck, it’s you. It’s all you—stretching me out, ruining me, making me your good little cockwhore.”

A groan tore out of him, and one hand dropped from your waist, slipping between your thighs. Two fingers found your clit and started rubbing tight, brutal circles, dragging a cry of pleasure straight from your lungs.

“Shh, baby. I know,” Ashton murmured, tone low and patronizing, like he was talking down to someone already undone. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked by someone who actually knows how to make you see stars?”

You sobbed in response, teetering dangerously close to the edge again.

“Come for me again,” he demanded, breath strained, hips snapping faster. “Be a good girl, yeah? Show me how good I make you feel.”

And you did.

Without warning, you shattered—your orgasm ripping through you like a live wire, a broken, high-pitched cry tearing from your throat.

“Fuuuck, that’s it, good fucking girl,” Ashton groaned. “Squeezing me so tight. You like that, baby? Like coming all over my cock?”

You couldn’t speak—could barely breathe. Your legs gave out, but Ashton caught you, his arms locked around your waist, keeping you pinned to him as he kept thrusting.

“Gonna come,” he gasped, voice going ragged. “Gonna come so fucking deep inside you. Gonna watch you drip for days. Mine—you get that? This pussy’s fucking mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you choked out, raw and wrecked.

Ashton’s breath hitched. A broken whimper escaped him as he slammed into you one final time, cock pulsing deep inside you as he moaned through his release, face buried in the crook of your neck.

He gave a few more slow, sloppy thrusts, drawing out every last drop, before stilling completely—his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss beneath your jaw.

For a few long beats, neither of you moved.

Ashton was still pressed against your back, his breath hot against your neck as you both struggled to come back down to Earth.

Then—slowly, carefully—he pulled out with a hiss. The sudden emptiness left behind was impossible to ignore, and your body still throbbed with the aftershocks of not one, but two orgasms.

You felt the warmth of him dripping down your thigh, and before you could steady yourself, your knees buckled.

“Woah, I got you, baby,” Ashton murmured, catching you easily as you sagged against him. His arms tightened around your waist, guiding both of you down to the ground. You sank against the tree, cheeks flushed, breath shallow and wrecked.

He kneeled beside you, pulling you into his lap and gathering your shorts from where they’d landed. Helping you back into them was a struggle—more laughter than efficiency, considering you were both half-limp and still seated—but eventually, he got you dressed again.

You collapsed against him with a sigh. He was warm. Steady. Comfortable in a way you never expected from the mysterious, brooding guy in your lit class.

“Are you okay?” Ashton asked softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Yeah,” you breathed, lips curling into a lazy, blissed-out grin.

A quiet settled between you. The party had all but faded behind the trees, and the crickets returned to center stage.

“You know,” Ashton started, a smirk tugging at his mouth, “I’m kinda glad you don’t know how to fucking read.”

You snorted. “I do know how to read,” you shot back. “I just… I don’t know. I guess I was thinking about you when I took those pictures. And… yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Did I live up to the expectation?” he asked, almost shy beneath the swagger.

You shifted in his lap, turning to face him. “You’re kidding, right?” you said, brows raised. “Hot biker turns out to be my even hotter project partner who fucked me stupid in the woods while I wore my situationship’s hoodie?”

Ashton’s answering grin could’ve powered the whole damn bonfire.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Guess I did meet expectations.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

i always write so much for ashton LMAO.

[undersugarnights]

Too Bad You’re Married…

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ pairing: ashton irwin x reader

✧ summary: a dangerous meeting with a handsome stranger in a bar leads to the best sex of your life.

✧ warnings: face fucking, unprotected sex, cream pie, squirting, face riding, semi-public sex, rough sex, dom!ash, roleplay

✧ word count: 6.6k

✧ title: mascara — by Deftones

✧ author’s note: BITCH GUESS WHO’S BACKKKKK!! sorry for disappearing chat, it seems as though i had a bit of a writer’s block. the juice i was running on when i pumped out all of the previous fics seems to have run out, but alas here i am! i can’t promise i’ll be as active as i was before, but i hope you enjoy this little blurb because IT WAS SO FUCKING FUN TO WRITE. this was inspired by a certain line in the song mascara by Deftones. stick around till the end, i promise the fluff is worth it.

also, thank u soup for being my other braincell when it comes to writing ashton. you hyping me up helped a ton. ALSO TY FOR CHOOSING THE ASH ERA AND PICTURE AHHHH!!!

anyways leave requests if u want.

Copyright © 2025 undersugarnights. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The air in the bar was thick—saturated with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and lingering cigarette smoke, all underscored by the raucous echoes of drunken laughter. You tapped your carefully manicured nails against the sticky tabletop, eyes flitting nervously from face to face, cataloging each stranger with uneasy precision.

The thrill of the night buzzed beneath your skin—sharp, electric, almost unbearable. Your heart pounded erratically in your chest as your gaze remained fixed on the bar’s entrance, each passing moment stretching thin with anticipation. Maybe it was the taboo of it all—the unspoken danger, the uncharted territory you’d sworn never to touch—but the butterflies in your stomach had taken flight with dizzying urgency.

The bartender made eye contact with you again—for the third time in ten minutes. You offered nothing back, just lazily nursed your drink, tracing the rim of the glass with a fingertip. Condensation clung to the outside, slick and cool, and you found mild amusement in watching a droplet race downward, faster than the others.

“Must be some evenin’ if you’re entertaining yourself with a damn water droplet.” The voice—low, accented, tinged with amusement—slid into your senses just as he took the seat beside you.

Your eyes flicked to him. Sandy stubble framed a sharp jaw and hollow cheeks, his dark hair falling messily across his brow. And then—those eyes. Bright green, catlike, studying you with lazy precision.

The corner of your mouth curled into a smirk, slow and knowing. Your gaze dropped—right to the glint of a wedding band wrapped snug around his ring finger.

Instinctively, you twisted your own wedding band, the familiar pressure grounding you as a wave of anxiety surged—unwelcome, but far from unfamiliar. You straightened in your seat, spine stiffening, willing your features into something resembling calm.

“I find that the simplest things can be the most surprisingly amusing,” you hummed, voice dipping into something sweet and slow, almost syrupy. Then, you met his gaze head-on. “You’d probably know that if you didn’t strut around like you’re God’s gift to the Earth.”

His eyebrow arched, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face as his tongue dragged across his lower lip. He nodded slowly, accepting the barb with practiced ease. “Terrifying,” he murmured, raising a hand to flag down the bartender.

His emerald eyes flicked back to yours with a lazy sort of confidence, and a single dimple appeared as he smiled. “You want a refill? For a water droplet rematch?”

You took a breath, steady and deliberate, refusing to acknowledge the way his gaze swept over you like muscle memory—lazy, familiar, sure. Like he already knew the answer.

“Get me something stronger,” you murmured, stretching languidly in your seat.

His eyes followed the arch of your back with a quiet, hungry reverence—the kind of look that sent heat cascading through your limbs.

His smile could undo a person. “A woman after my own heart,” he mused, a pleased hum curling beneath his words. “I like that.”

You rolled your eyes as he turned toward the bartender, ordering two whiskeys neat. Presumptuous. But, annoyingly, spot-on.

“I’m sure your wife could agree,” you said, voice cool and edged.

His gaze flickered back to you, the smile still etched effortlessly into his features. “Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes trailing down to your lips—lingering—before dropping to your hand.

“Unless you want to talk about that massive rock you’ve got on your finger, too.”

You didn’t reply.

He pressed on, tone light, teasing. “That really is quite the ring,” he said, amusement never fading. His gaze sharpened just slightly, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “You must be quite special, hmm?”

You narrowed your eyes, shifting in your seat. “I thought you wanted to let bygones be bygones?”

“You’re right,” he said with a nod, not even a flicker of shame. “My bad.”

Then he pivoted fully, turning to face you—his body leaning in like he’d known you forever. Like this wasn’t something dangerous.

“My name’s Ashton.”

You paused. Then, evenly, “Y/N.”

Ashton pursed his lips in thought before letting a slow grin curl across them. “Y/N,” he repeated, rolling the name across his tongue like he was testing its weight. The way he said it—deliberate, slow, far too familiar—sent a flash of heat cascading down your spine. “Pretty name.”

You shrugged, biting your lip as you toyed with your glass, carefully considering your next move. “For a pretty woman,” you purred, casting him a look from beneath your lashes. “It fits.”

“Damn right it does,” Ashton murmured, taking a slow sip of his drink—his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “So, enlighten me, Y/N… what’s a beautiful married woman doing in a hotel bar at—” He glanced at his watch. “One in the morning on a Saturday, wearing lipstick that screams bite me?”

You inhaled slowly, gaze drifting over him with a lazy, deliberate hunger.

“Maybe I’m looking for a victim,” you mused, voice laced with danger and promise. Then you tilted your head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What about you? What’s a handsome, married man doing alone in a bar… buying drinks for someone else’s wife?”

Ashton raised his hands in mock surrender, though the easy smile on his lips didn’t so much as flicker. “Just being a good Samaritan,” he said with a casual shrug. “You never know what kind of people lurk around at this hour… or the intentions you might encounter.”

“Oh?” you purred, tilting your head as you blinked up at him with feigned innocence. You slowly rested your arm on the table, exposing the delicate inside of your wrist—the soft skin catching in the low light. His eyes tracked the motion instantly, just as you expected. “And what makes your intentions so different from theirs?”

Ashton’s gaze lingered for a beat too long before lifting back to yours, something darker now swimming beneath the surface of his smile.

“Just looking for a way to kill some time,” he said, tone sincere but low. “Something to help with the jet lag, ya know?”

You hummed softly, lifting your glass of whiskey to your lips. “Jet lag,” you echoed, taking a slow, deliberate sip—Ashton’s eyes tracking every movement with the kind of hunger that would put a starved man to shame. A single bead of amber clung to the corner of your mouth. You reached up, wiping it away with the tip of your finger, and let your lips curl just slightly. “And here I thought you were just bored of your wife.”

Ashton let out a quiet, amused laugh—open, easy, a sound that vibrated in your chest. “She does get a little repetitive at times,” he said with a mock sigh, lifting his glass to his lips.

“Excuse you,” you said, feigning offense, narrowing your eyes as you tilted your head. “I’m sure she’s a lovely woman.”

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking once again to your left hand—your very occupied ring finger. “She sure is. Just like I imagine your husband’s quite the catch.”

You rolled your eyes, resting your cheek against your hand. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Another flash of those damn dimples, and your breath caught just slightly. “The funniest, love.”

You let out a quiet chuckle—soft, reserved, almost unsure. Another sip of whiskey gave you something to do, something to hide behind. “You must be a nightmare at any social event.”

Ashton raised a brow, amused, and leaned into your space without apology. The scent of citrus and musk clung to him—rich, clean, and heady. Your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, involuntarily letting it sink into your senses.

“Only if the conversation’s dull,” he murmured, glancing down at his glass, swirling the amber liquid with lazy ease. “Or if the wives look… particularly restless.”

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged, leaning in just enough to mirror him. “So tell me, Ashton… what is it that you think I’m looking for?”

He moved slowly, deliberately—lifting one arm and dragging the pad of his index finger down the soft skin of your forearm. The touch was featherlight, but it left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“I think you’re looking for a thrill,” he whispered, voice dipped in heat. His breath brushed your ear. “Something dangerous. Something to remind you you’re not just someone’s well-kept prize.”

Your pulse spiked.

You turned your head toward him—lips dangerously close, eyes locked. There was no hesitation in your expression. You wanted this. You both knew it.

“Mm. That’s a tempting offer,” you murmured. “You are offering, aren’t you?”

Ashton’s grin was slow and wicked, his head tilting like he was insulted by the question. “Darling, I’m not here to talk about your husband’s diamond preferences—though credit where it’s due, the man’s got taste.”

“Hmm.” You let Ashton hang there, suspended in the tension you both had carefully spun, letting the silence tease him just a little longer. The anticipation only sharpened your craving. “Does your wife know you’re out here complimenting diamond cuts?”

Ashton leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and full of intent. “I’d much rather be doing more than admiring a ring on your finger,” he murmured, each word soaked in heat. You could feel the warmth of him, pulsing between you like a live wire.

Then he pulled back, slowly—reluctantly—and stood. He towered over your seated frame, casting you in shadow and possibility. His hand reached out, gentle yet firm, tilting your chin up until your eyes locked.

“You take control a lot in your life?” he asked softly, like he already knew the answer.

Your gaze held his, unwavering. “I’m looking for something that’ll let me give that up,” you replied, voice low, deliberate. “Is that what you’re here to compliment now? My willingness to obey? My need to surrender?”

His eyes darkened, hunger flickering across his features like a spark hitting gasoline. His jaw flexed, tightly restrained, and you could feel the war inside him—between restraint and abandon.

His eyes kept darting to your lips, and his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom one. For the first time, you saw something shift—surprise, almost awe—behind the heat.

“Do you want me to test just how compliant you are?” he rasped. “Or do you think your husb—”

“Let’s go,” you cut him off, the heat between your thighs finally boiling over. The game was over. “Take me.”

The air felt sucked from the room the moment your words left your lips. Ashton’s mouth parted slightly in surprise, but you knew there would be no hesitation. And there wasn’t.

His hand reached for you—delicate, yet firm—as his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The moment his skin touched yours, heat surged through your body, sealing your resolve.

The bar blurred into irrelevance as he led you past tables, past strangers who didn’t matter. His pace was confident, deliberate—like a man who already knew the outcome.

The hallways were quiet, save for the occasional couple stumbling toward their own late-night regrets, not sparing either of you a second glance.

When the elevator arrived, you tugged Ashton inside without a word, blindly slapping the correct floor button as he pushed you back against the mirror.

The door slid shut just as your spine hit the cold glass. He caged you there, body pressed against yours, hands gripping the railing behind you as if to anchor you. His eyes devoured your face—lips parted, breath shallow, pupils blown wide.

And then he kissed you.

No hesitation. No pause. Just heat.

His mouth crashed into yours, fierce and ravenous, like he’d been waiting all night to taste you. His tongue slid past your lips without resistance, drawing a soft gasp from your throat as he explored you—confident, controlled, hungry.

His hands wandered too—down the curve of your waist, to your thigh, lifting it slowly. One hand slipped beneath the hem of your dress, savoring the heat of your skin, rough fingers skimming delicate lace.

A quiet moan escaped as he bit down on your bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. He groaned in return when your hips rolled against his, chasing friction like oxygen.

One hand came to your neck, strong fingers bracketing your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling your pulse race beneath the skin. It made your head spin.

The elevator dinged.

You pushed him back—breathless, flushed—and grabbed his hand, fingers lacing tightly with his as you dragged him into the hallway.

“Jesus,” Ashton laughed, voice low and wrecked. “Impatient, are we?”

You stopped in front of the door, turned on your heel, and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him down to meet your lips again.

“Just open the fucking door,” you murmured into his mouth, already losing yourself to the next kiss

Not surprisingly, one of Ashton’s hands came up to cup the back of your neck, keeping your lips locked with his as his other hand swiped the keycard and swung the door open.

The two of you backed into the room slowly, the door shutting behind you with a soft click that left no room for hesitation.

Ashton pulled away just enough to shed his jacket, letting it fall to the hotel floor. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the open blinds—just enough to see by, just enough to want more.

The green of Ashton’s eyes was almost entirely overtaken by the black of his pupils. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as his gaze dragged down your body, sharp and electric. This was different. This was new.

“Strip,” he said, voice eerily calm. Controlled. “And get on your knees.”

You turned, brow raised in a questioning glance. “What?”

“I said strip,” Ashton repeated, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate step forward. There was no trace of the charming, cheeky man from the bar. This was something darker—something raw, unfiltered, and burning.

You bit your lip, fingers moving behind you to find the zipper of your dress. The seconds stretched, molasses-thick, as Ashton stood still—watching, waiting, hungering.

You slid the dress down your arms, letting the fabric whisper to the floor and pool at your feet.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, stepping closer. His eyes roamed your body like he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. “Keep going.”

Biting your lip, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting the straps fall slowly down your arms until the fabric slipped to the floor, joining your dress. Ashton had begun circling you like a predator stalking its prey, and the weight of his gaze alone made your thighs instinctively press together in a futile search for relief.

With deliberate slowness, you slid your panties down your legs, stepping out of the lace and nudging your discarded clothes aside. Ashton came to a stop in front of you, and wordlessly, you sank to your knees—eyes locked on his the entire time.

He licked his lips, head tilted slightly, savoring the way anticipation coiled tight in your body. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, like he was drawing out your need on purpose.

His rough hand cupped your face, his pinky settling just under your jaw, tilting your gaze up to meet his.

“You look good like this, Y/N,” he murmured, voice low and gruff with want. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, then pressed between them, slipping into your mouth without resistance.

“Your husband’s lucky,” he added, dark amusement laced in the words. “Let’s see just how lucky, though.”

Your breath hitched as his hand dropped to his belt, undoing it with the kind of practiced ease that made your pulse stutter. The other hand left your face to pop the button, then the zipper, his movements unhurried and confident as he pushed his jeans just low enough.

He was already hard—thick, glistening, beautiful.

Your mouth watered at the sight.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your breathing shallow as he stepped in closer. Slowly, he pressed the tip of his cock to your lips, the salty taste flooding your senses as his eyes met yours in a silent question.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your lips parted, and you took him in—slowly, deliberately—just the tip at first. Ashton let out a low moan, his head tipping back as he eased deeper into your mouth.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he growled, voice rough with pleasure, one hand sliding into your hair to guide you as he hit the back of your throat.

You let your tongue swirl around him, your hand wrapping around the base to take care of what you couldn’t fit. The weight of him on your tongue was addictive, the stretch of your jaw delicious as you began to move—slow, steady, intentional.

“Oh, fuck,” Ashton groaned, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he watched you. “So fucking pretty… just like I knew you’d be.”

His encouragement only spurred you on. You bobbed your head faster, wrist moving in perfect time as your tongue traced the underside of his tip—right where you knew he was most sensitive.

“God, you look like a fuckin’ dream on your knees,” Ashton gasped, his voice coming out rough and breathless. One hand came to brace against the wall behind you, the other still tangled in your hair, keeping you close.

Your lips were stretched around him, swollen and slick. Spit coated your chin, your cheeks flushed with heat. You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the way his hips twitched slightly with every pass of your mouth.

Then you opened your eyes again—wide, glassy, unafraid—and met his with a look that dared him.

Take it. Take me.

Ashton recognized that look instantly. He smirked, a dark and pleased curve of his lips, and then his hips began to move—slow at first, then harder, faster, more demanding.

He fucked into your mouth with purpose, hitting the back of your throat again and again, and you let him. You gave yourself over to him completely.

“Pretty little thing,” he gritted out, breath ragged. “God, your mouth feels so fucking good.”

You moaned around him, and the vibration made him curse under his breath. It only made him go harder, faster, more desperate. Tears sprang to your eyes from the force, slipping down your cheeks without mercy—raw, messy, beautiful.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Ashton growled, fisting your hair tighter, the pace unrelenting. “You look so fucking pretty with my cock down your throat.”

You could imagine exactly what he saw—your body on your knees, mascara streaked like black lightning across your face, lips swollen and glistening, eyes wet and glassy, mouth full of him. Completely ruined, completely his.

And you loved it.

Without warning, Ashton pulled out of your mouth. You gasped, your throat raw, vision blurred as the world rushed back in too fast. The sudden loss made your body ache.

“You’re such a good little whore f’me,” Ashton panted, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. “But I need to come inside you.”

A whimper escaped before you could stop it. “Please, Ash,” you rasped, your voice hoarse and trembling from the effort of holding him so deep for so long.

“You did such a good job,” he murmured, thumb stroking along your jaw. “Such a good girl. And good girls get rewarded.”

You bit down on your lip, swallowing the moan building in your chest. The slick heat between your thighs was unbearable now, every shift of your body sparking friction you couldn’t ignore. You squirmed, desperate for more.

Ashton leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that stole what little breath you had left. His hand fisted in your hair, anchoring you there as your hands clutched at his shoulders. Your mouths moved together with practiced, hungry precision.

With trembling fingers, you began to unbutton his shirt, pushing his jean jacket off in the same motion. His skin burned under your touch, the heat of him making your own skin feel too tight. His hands found your waist, dragging you into him as the two of you collapsed to the floor in a messy tangle of limbs—your body falling on top of him.

His tongue slid into your mouth again, slow and sure, drawing out a moan that vibrated between your lips. One of his hands roamed your back, the other dropping to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in possessively. The press of his cock between your bodies was firm, heavy, demanding.

You shifted your hips to grind against him, seeking friction, and he groaned against your mouth.

“I want you,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to breathe, “to sit on my face.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs.

“Ride my tongue,” he growled, eyes dark with want. “Until you fucking come. That’s your reward.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but Ashton’s gaze was already locked on yours—wide, dark, and desperate. Your entire body buzzed like a live wire, and God, you’d dreamed of this. Of his mouth. Of that stubble dragging along the sensitive inside of your thighs.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice trembling as you took in the sight of him sprawled beneath you—an absolute dream of a man, waiting to worship you.

One of his hands fell away from your back as he propped himself up on an elbow, his eyes burning into yours as he waited.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, voice low, rough, and sweet like sin. “You don’t get to be shy. Not after you choked on my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

You bit your lip as he leaned back against the floor, lifting a hand to gesture toward his face.

“Up here,” he ordered, voice firm. “Bring that pretty pussy to my mouth.”

There was no hesitation. You moved up his body, thighs bracketing his face as you settled above him. The sight of you—wet, glistening, need dripping from every inch—made Ashton groan like he was in pain.

“God,” he rasped, eyes fixed on you. One hand came up, his finger lightly trailing down your slit, making you hiss. “You’re fucking soaked, baby.”

You began to lower yourself slowly, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. Ashton gripped your hips and pulled you down against his mouth in one swift, hungry motion.

The second his tongue touched you, your moan echoed through the room—loud, helpless. He licked a long, deliberate stripe through your folds, savoring the taste, before circling your clit in slow, maddening motions.

“Oh my—fuck,” you gasped, the words dissolving into a strangled cry as your hands scrambled for purchase on the nearby nightstand.

Ashton’s lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently, then with a little more pressure. Your hips jerked in response, grinding down instinctively, chasing the searing high he was building with every flick of his tongue.

His stubble burned deliciously against the soft skin of your thighs, only heightening the sensation. He alternated between languid, lazy licks and pulling your clit between his lips, suckling it like he had all the time in the world—and every intention of wrecking you slowly.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably on either side of his head as you rode the delicious flicks of his tongue. When Ashton groaned into you, the deep vibration sent shockwaves straight through your core.

It felt so good—too good. Your free hand tangled in his dark curls, your head tipping back in pure ecstasy as a crescendo of moans spilled from your lips. He encouraged the slow grind of your hips against his mouth, both hands gripping your thighs as you chased your high.

The room was filled with the sound of wet, sinful pleasure—his mouth working you over with no mercy. You chased every swipe of his tongue, every deliberate kiss to your throbbing clit, your hips stuttering with every stroke.

A deep throb coiled low in your belly, tightening fast as your breathing grew uneven and your moans climbed in pitch.

“Oh God, Ash,” you whimpered, voice cracking on his name. “Your mouth feels so fucking good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Ashton hummed in response, the sound rumbling against you as he squeezed your thighs tighter.

“Come for me,” he growled, voice muffled and rough. “Be a good girl and come all over my fucking face.”

That was all it took.

With one last flick of his tongue, your orgasm slammed into you, stealing your breath and darkening your vision. Your entire body shook, thighs quivering as a sob wrenched free from your throat—his name falling from your lips like a broken prayer.

Your spine arched, hips jerking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Ashton didn’t stop—not for a second—his mouth working you through every pulse, every aftershock, until your cries blurred into whimpers of overstimulation.

By the time you came down, your arms gave out and you collapsed forward, catching yourself on trembling hands. Ashton eased you off his mouth gently, and you rolled off him until you were seated back on the floor, chest heaving.

“Fuck, your wife is lucky,” you muttered, pushing damp strands of hair out of your face as Ashton propped himself up on his elbows, wearing a thoroughly smug grin.

“She is,” he said, voice thick with satisfaction as he sat up and got to his feet. “But I’m here with you… and I’m not finished.”

You blinked up at him, still dazed, trying to piece your mind back together.

Fuck. He never came.

Ashton extended a hand, and you took it. With his help, you stood on shaky legs, and he placed a steadying hand at the small of your back.

“You can handle more, can’t you, sweetheart?” he growled into your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

He guided you toward the balcony, pushing the glass door open. Warm spring air hit your flushed, naked skin, and you gasped at the contrast—the city lights glowing just beyond the railing, the hum of the night surrounding you like a secret.

“Hands on the railing, babygirl,” Ashton instructed, voice firm as he stepped in behind you and bent you forward.

Your hands flew out to grip the railing, knuckles turning white with anticipation.

Ashton let a hand trail slowly down your spine, the light touch making you shiver. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” he murmured, voice low and dark. “And I need everyone in this goddamn city to know it. Got it?”

You bit your lip, nodding eagerly, the thrill of his words pulsing between your legs.

He moved your hair gently over your shoulder, exposing the curve of your neck. His lips followed, soft and deliberate, as he kissed the sensitive skin. You exhaled a content sigh, eyelids fluttering as he scraped his teeth along your pulse point.

Then he sucked—slow, deliberate—drawing a deep mark that made your knees nearly buckle.

You could feel the heat of him behind you, the weight of his cock as it was pressed against your ass. Gently, Ashton adjusted his grip on your hips, the warm night air doing nothing for the goosebumps that decorated your skin at every minor touch.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Ashton groaned, voice thick with lust. “You look so fucking good like this—bent over, gripping the railing, dripping for me like the cockwhore I know you are.”

His hands roamed slowly down your back, spreading you open with a deliberate touch that made your breath hitch. You were completely exposed, completely at his mercy—and he reveled in it.

“Keep those hands right where they are, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. His voice softened just enough to make you melt before his fingers teased your entrance.

You let out a stifled moan, your body already throbbing for him. When he pushed one finger inside, your eyes rolled back.

“So fucking tight still,” Ashton hummed, pleased, like he wasn’t already obsessed with how you felt. “Gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

A second finger joined the first, stretching you out, filling you. The sensation was intense, especially with how sensitive you still were—your climax from his mouth barely in the rearview.

You clenched around his fingers, hips shaking, legs trembling from the effort to stay upright. His pace was unhurried, torturous, and you could feel the smirk on his face even without looking.

Then, without warning, he pulled them out, and you whimpered at the loss.

You heard the slick sound before you even saw it—the unmistakable sound of him sucking your arousal off his fingers.

“Taste like fucking candy,” he groaned.

“Ash, please—” you started, only to be cut off by the slow, maddening drag of his cock teasing your entrance. He rubbed against your clit deliberately, and your knees nearly buckled.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried, hips jerking.

He chuckled darkly behind you. “You like that, baby?” he asked, taunting. “Look at you—clenching around nothing. You’re so damn desperate.”

“Ashton, please,” you begged, voice wrecked. Your fingers tightened around the railing, white-knuckled, as your whole body cried out for him. “I need you.”

And finally, finally, he gave in.

The air left your lungs in a gasp as Ashton pushed inside—inch by inch—stretching you open in a way that made your mind go blank.

He bottomed out with a low, guttural moan. “Oh fuck, that pussy’s perfect,” he hissed. “So tight around me, so wet. You feel fucking amazing.”

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises—marks you knew you’d wear proudly tomorrow.

Then he moved.

Without warning, Ashton pulled back and slammed into you, drawing a loud cry from your throat. The sound was lost in the buzz of the city below—but you knew you were only going to get louder.

His hips were relentless, slamming into yours with the kind of force that had your body jolting forward, the railing shaking beneath your grip. Your cries mixed with his breathy groans, the air between you thick with sweat, heat, and need.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Let them hear you. Let this fucking city know who owns this pretty pussy.”

Your head fell forward, resting against your arm as your body trembled with every deep, punishing thrust. The pleasure was blinding—overwhelming—consuming every thought until the only thing you could register was Ashton’s cock driving into you over and over again.

Your legs barely held you up as Ashton continued to pound into you, merciless and relentless. Your skin buzzed with electricity, every nerve ending alive, your moans dissolving into broken, choked-off cries as each thrust hit deeper than the last.

“Right there, Ash,” you gasped, voice echoing into the open night. Anyone could see you—if they stepped onto their balcony or even glanced out a window, they’d be greeted with the filthy, breathtaking sight of Ashton fucking you senseless.

And Ashton wasn’t faring much better. His composure had shattered, his strangled moans mixing with yours, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air.

You were gone—completely undone. Your body no longer felt like your own, just a desperate vessel for Ashton to use, to ruin, to worship with every precise snap of his hips. He kept hitting that spot inside you—over and over—that made your vision blur and stars explode behind your eyes.

Your thighs shook violently, every thrust knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, yes—right there,” you cried, the words barely intelligible, your mouth working around them between moans. But he understood. Oh, he understood.

His grip on your hips tightened like a vice. He knew from the way you were trembling, the way you clenched around him like a vice—you were close. So fucking close.

“You gonna come for me?” he growled into your ear, voice a low, filthy rasp. Each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust that had your hands gripping the railing like your life depended on it. “I can feel it. This tight little pussy’s begging for it. Begging for me to fuck it dumb.”

A choked sob ripped from your throat just as Ashton’s hand left your hip and slipped between your thighs. His fingers found your clit instantly, rubbing tight, ruthless circles that made your back arch and a scream claw its way from your chest.

The only sounds were your cries, the wet slap of your bodies, and Ashton’s ragged breathing at your neck.

“You’re gonna milk my cock dry, aren’t you?” he snarled. “Fucking wring every last drop out of me, you dirty little whore.”

You bit your lip, mustering just enough strength to nod—but even that felt impossible. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming every thought, every breath, every nerve in your body. Words were out of the question.

“Come for me,” Ashton snarled, his fingers rubbing ruthless circles on your clit. “Fucking come for me. Make a mess, baby—I wanna feel you soak my cock.”

With one final, devastating snap of his hips, your body seized up and you screamed his name into the night. Hot, blinding, electric pleasure crashed over you like a wave, so intense it shattered every thought. You were reduced to nothing but a gasping, writhing mess—your back arching, toes curling, mouth open in a silent cry.

And then it hit.

Just as your orgasm peaked—when you thought there couldn’t possibly be more—your body let go completely. A powerful gush spilled from between your legs, soaking your thighs and Ashton’s hips, the force of it making you collapse against the railing with a broken moan.

“Holy fuck,” Ashton breathed, voice wrecked, completely stunned. “That’s it, baby—good fucking girl. Squirt all over me. Goddamn.”

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The sight of you losing control like that only pushed him further. His thrusts turned savage, unrelenting, and your legs gave out beneath you. Ashton didn’t falter—his hands clamped around your hips, holding you upright as your body went limp.

“Look at this pussy,” he panted, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder. “Fucking soaked for me. You’re a mess, Y/N—the hottest, filthiest fucking mess I’ve ever seen. And I’m not stopping till I’ve come so deep it drips out of you for days.”

You whimpered, exhausted and overstimulated, but fuck if his words didn’t light you up all over again.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, chest pressed to your back, one hand gripping the railing while the other snaked around to hold you still. “You drenched me, sweetheart. You’re mine. You hear me? This pussy—this sloppy, dripping, perfect fucking pussy—belongs to me.”

“Only to you,” you managed to breathe, voice raw as another moan tore from your throat. “It’s yours, Ash. No one else’s. Ever.”

He groaned like he was losing his mind, lips dragging across your skin as he chased his own release. “Fuck, you look like sin,” he growled. “Bent over like a perfect little slut, dripping down my cock, soaking my thighs—you love this, don’t you?”

After a particularly brutal thrust, you let out a strangled gasp.

“I fucking love it,” you sobbed. “I love how deep you are. I love how you ruin me.”

That was all he needed.

One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your back flush to his chest as his other hand slid up to grab your tits, fingers rolling your nipples between them as your head fell back against him.

“God, you’re so fucking filthy,” he hissed into your ear. “Still begging for my cock even though you can barely stand. You squirted all over me and you’re still taking it like a good little whore.”

You moaned loud and broken—speech long gone.

“You want it?” he growled, cock throbbing inside you. “You want me to fill up this tight little cunt? Pump you full until you’re leaking down your thighs?”

“Please, Ash,” you begged, vision swimming. “Come inside me. Fill me up—I want to feel it dripping out. I want your cum fucking everywhere.”

He snapped.

With a loud, guttural groan, Ashton slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock twitched deep inside. You could feel the heat of it—thick, hot spurts filling you, spilling into every inch.

“Fuck—fuck, take that,” he gasped, grinding into you through every last pulse. “Take my cum, baby. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full. This pussy was made to be ruined by me.”

You cried out, shaking as the warmth of his release spilled out of you, dripping instantly down your thighs. His hips jerked through the aftershocks, unwilling to let go of the moment.

He stayed there, pressed tight against your back, panting hard, fingers bruising your hips as he came down.

Finally, with a low groan, he pulled out—and the slick sound of his cum dripping out of you made him hiss through his teeth.

Before your legs had the chance to give out, Ashton scooped you up effortlessly, one arm behind your back, the other under your thighs. You sagged into him, boneless and ruined, as he carried you back inside.

He kicked the balcony door shut with his foot, his lips brushing your temple as he carried you through the room. Slowly, he walked you over to the bed and laid you down with care, then padded into the bathroom to grab a towel.

Your mind was still a haze of afterglow and overstimulation, but clarity gradually returned. The trembling in your legs faded, replaced by a deep, warm relaxation that spread through your entire body.

When Ashton returned, he wore a dopey, satisfied smile as he sat beside you. He gently spread your thighs, the towel in his hand already damp with warm water. With careful, tender motions, he began cleaning you up—wiping away the mix of arousal and cum with quiet focus.

You hissed when the fabric brushed over your still-sensitive skin, and Ashton’s head immediately shot up. A stray black curl fell over his eyes as he checked your face for any sign of discomfort.

You slowly sat up, your hand reaching for him. With a soft touch, you brushed the hair from his face. His expression softened as your fingertips skimmed his cheek.

“That was fun,” you murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

Ashton grinned, setting the towel aside on the nightstand. “Yeah, it was.” He paused, eyes gleaming with mischief as he added, “Too bad you’re married…”

You arched a brow, already bracing for it.

“To me,” he finished with a shit-eating grin.

You let out a dramatic groan, dropping your head to his shoulder. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

He burst into laughter, clearly pleased with himself. “Oh, baby, come on!” he said, cupping your face with both hands and forcing you to meet his eyes. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t the hottest sex we’ve ever had.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. “Maybe,” you grumbled. “But did you really have to keep bringing up the wedding band you picked out mid-fuck?”

Ashton grinned, entirely unashamed. “I really outdid myself, what can I say?”

Your glare was unimpressed. “I pity your wife.”

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, his teasing fading into something tender. He tilted his head, studying you with the kind of reverence that could only come from someone completely, hopelessly in love.

“She loves me,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nuzzling deeper into his hand. “I do.”

Ashton smiled, flashing you a dimple. “I love you too, baby.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

[souperbloom]

ashton x fem reader.

reader is close friends with calum & her and ashton secretly have something going on.

they end up in a situation where they’re at some sort of gathering with all the boys & ash and reader are next to each other kind of being touchy and one of the boys catches on…

tension gets thick and they sneak off together and the rest is all yours 🪿

hella good. [A.I.]

this picture is making me spiral. picture him. PICTURE HIM.

🥃 fwb!Ashton x reader

a/n: heyyy… long time no see.. how y’all doin?— mama soup is feeling awful for neglecting u all. hope this makes up for it <3 sorry she’s kinda rushed this has been a WIP for such a long time and i did not know how to end it <3

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut! (kinda), makin’ out, bit of tension, pet names.

wordcount: ~3.6k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

As a band, team building is important. When you’re stuck on the road together for months at a time, it can be easy to forget the little things in life. The power of friendship can get lost in translation, especially when it’s your best friends who are the ones working beside you.

Love is power, love is important. Love is the glue that bonds you. Love is music.

Love is also a speech that precedes Luke’s third margarita.

“Mate, what are you even saying?” Michael has had enough.

On the other hand, Ashton begs to differ, “Just let him talk, he’s on a fuckin’ roll.”

It was hour three of the band’s ’team building outing’, and you were just along for the ride. Your best friend Calum had invited you out to join them, at a rooftop bar on a Saturday night. And after mulling over all the better things you could do, which weren’t many, you decided it would be fun if you tagged along.

You shifted comfortably in the corner of the large, L-shaped patio couch, watching dumbfoundedly as the four guys you were here with spoke in boyish tongues and laughed until their stomachs hurt.

This wasn’t the first “band-outing” that you had the pleasure of being a part of. Calum and the band appreciated your presence, as you proved time and time again to be the most level-headed of the friend group.

“If he keeps going he’s gonna start fuckin’ crying, watch. It happened last time—”

Calum grumbles to your left, putting his head in his hand. But you place a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from preventing Luke’s lovesick ramble.

“No, no. Let him finish. I wanna hear what spiritual shit he’s gonna say next.” A smile crawls across your face as you watch Luke stumble his way into a train wreck of words and appreciation. You egg him on with your eyes, listening to the rest of the band let out a collective groan.

To your left was Calum. Who had tried his hand at consoling a very emotional Luke the second the tequila hit his bloodstream. Across the glass table, Michael was attempting to sit Luke back down onto his respective cushion.

And to your right, was Ashton. Who had been nothing but a pain in your ass the whole night so far.

You and Ashton had a— thing. As childish and ‘high school’ as it seemed to put it in that way, it was true. You had a thing for him, he had a thing for you. Therefore, the weird flirtatious, unspoken situation that the two of you shared in sworn secrecy could only be described as a thing.

It started off simple. Flirting here and there when the stage lights went down, and when the show opener was distracting enough for the two of you to make googly eyes at each other from across the wings. But the more he looked at you, the more he liked what he saw. And the more he liked what he saw, the more of an issue it became for the both of you.

Throughout this entire outing, that ‘thing’ was hard to ignore. He was hard to ignore. No matter how many times you got up to grab a drink or use the bathroom, Ashton was always one step behind. You wished he wasn’t so obvious about it all, for the sake of your friendship with Calum, and to spare the awkwardness that would follow him finding out.

“You guys— you don’t get it. I love you all so much it fuckin’ hurts! It pains me, really!”

Luke was back again. After a successful 5 minutes of consolation and a few pats to the back, he picked up right where he left off.

“I know, Luke. We love you too,” Calum sighs, frustrated enough already.

“I’m so glad we’re here. Aren’t you guys glad we’re here?!”

“Yes, Luke. We’re all happy to be here.” Michael had given up on physically restraining Luke. He was just grateful for the fact that he wasn’t standing on the table like he did last time.

You enjoyed the boys and their banter, comfortable with certain inside jokes and feeling ‘in the loop’ when it came to their personal lives. As fun as it was to watch, it was even more fun when something went awry. Hence why you sat in amused silence as Luke derailed once more.

“Luke, sit down, please…” Calum reaches out towards Luke’s belt loop, attempting to pull him down as he progressively gets louder and louder.

“Unhand me! Unhand me, I say!”

You can’t help but giggle, hiding your smirk behind your cocktail.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ashton’s leg slowly creeping towards yours. Not as if he were moving closer, but more so as a little reminder that he was still sitting right next to you.

Although you appreciated the knee to knee contact, you didn’t need that reminder. For her reminded you of all the things on his mind a little over an hour ago.

“Jump.”

“What?”

“You fuckin’ heard me, Y/N, I said jump.”

You obliged to his simple request, jumping up into his hands as his lips attacked at your jaw and hands tangled in your hair. The bathroom counter was cold against the backs of your bare thighs, denim shorts being the most appropriate item to have worn on a cool summer night.

You wished you’d worn something with a bit easier access, but a button and a fly would have to do. The time crunch was inevitable when it came to you and Ashton; you’d done this dance many times before.

Ashton gets you situated on the counter, slotting himself between your legs as his hands explore every dip and curve he could feel beneath your blouse. You sigh, outward satisfaction towards the bathroom tiles as his lips danced from your neck towards your chest.

“Gotta get this off,” he mumbles into your collarbone.

“No. Don’t— don’t have time.”

“Why not?” he groans, popping his head up and fiddling with the spaghetti strap.

“‘Cause I just said I was going to the bathroom. We’ve already been in here for like fifteen minutes. They’re gonna think I fell in the toilet.”

Your words were broken up by staccato heavy breathing, Ashton’s lips were restless against you and the most you could do was moan and wish it didn’t have to end as quickly as it began.

“Fine. Keep it on. But— you owe me later.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” you giggle quietly, but not long before Ashton shuts you up by pressing his lips onto yours.

Back to reality. Ashton’s knee was touching yours.

“What?” He catches you staring down at the holes in his jeans.

“Nothing.”

“Fine! You win!”

Both you and Ashton’s attention snaps towards Luke, who had just gotten done yelling about how he didn’t want to sit down. He’d given up the fight, slumping back down onto the patio couch and tossing his head over the back of it.

“You guys are so booooringgggggg,” he complains, crossing his arms like a pouting toddler.

“Luke stop, you’re acting like a fuckin’ baby.” Michael whacks his shoulder, which makes him flinch.

“God, I need another drink.” You look over at your best friend, index fingers massaging his temples. He glances over at you, and your cheeks go red when you realize that Ashton’s hand was now resting at the top of your thigh.

For the love of God Cal, please don’t look down.

“I’m with ya’ buddy,” Michael agrees, shifting forwards to stand up as Calum does the same, “You guys alright to stay here and babysit?”

You open your mouth to reply, but Ashton beats you to the punch.

“Oh yeah, we’re chilling. Go take a lap, shake out those shoulders. We’ll handle this shit.”

His headstrong answer makes you cringe internally, his hand having left your thigh the moment Michael and Calum’s attention landed on you. You pass them a meek smile and a thumbs up, sneaking a look over at Luke who was engulfed in his phone and curled up in the corner of the couch.

“We won’t be long. I’ll probably get a round of shots. Any preference?” Calum asks the two of you, lowering his voice to ensure Luke doesn’t get the opportunity to ask for more tequila.

“Green tea?” you suggest, but Ashton snarls.

“Gross.”

Michael rolls his eyes, antsy to get over to the bar and far away from Luke for a moment, “Nevermind, then.”

No other words are exchanged between Ashton and his fellow bandmates as they salute and walk back towards the inside portion of the bar. The silence, although not very silent at all, is tense for a moment. It’s almost as if Ashton is begging to make some snide remark, but is waiting for your eyes to land on his face.

You look straight ahead, watching Calum and Michael pull open the glass double doors and disappear into the bar. Almost as though it were on some sort of cue, Ashton opens his mouth.

So do you.

“Did you—”

“Wanna—”

Oh. You spoke at the same time. How awkward.

“What were you gonna say?” you ask, still avoiding the staredown from his hazy, honey green pupils.

“No no, you go first,” Ashton motions with his hand to you, which you only catch out of your peripheral vision.

“I was gonna say, did you wanna maybe— do something after this?”

Despite your many encounters with Ashton in club bathrooms, venue dressing rooms, tour buses, the works— they never fail to be as nerve wracking as the first time. For you, at least.

As for Ashton, he seemed amused by your blundering charm, the way any mention of something sexual or romance-adjacent makes you flustered enough to want to leave the room. He likes to mess with your head, the same way he would with any of his friends. But you were a bit different. He enjoyed the many shades of ruby that washed over your cheeks, the way your hands would clam up and sweat whenever he got too close. It was all a little game, and Ashton loved to play.

“I was gonna ask you the same question, sugar,” the nickname is haunting, but you can’t seem to ignore the way his arm makes its way to the backside of the couch, “Whenever we get the hell out of here, we’ll make a plan.”

You swallow hard, trying your hand at matching his energy, “Wouldn’t it just be easier to do that now? Y’know, while they’re uh— not here?”

Ashton lets out a chuckle, “With the shit we’ve gotten away with while they have been here, I doubt it’d be an issue if you and I— snuck away for a while.”

There it was again. Ashton’s favorite color, spreading across your face at the mention of the two of you, alone together. You muster up the courage to finally look him in the eye, regretting it almost immediately.

“Y’know, I rather like it when you look at me. Makes me feel like shit when ya’ don’t.”

“Stop it,” you murmur, subtly scooting closer to him, but not enough for him to notice, “You know how I get.”

“Embarrassed? Flustered? Red in the face? I’m a walking thesaurus sugar, tell me when. I could do this all night.”

You chew on your bottom lip as the sound of his voice rumbles around in your head. You truly did want nothing more than to pounce on his lap right then and there, let him have his way with you right here on this rooftop patio. But that would be unethical. At least, for the circumstance.

“Stop talking.” You grumble, bringing Ashton to let out a pitiful laugh as his hand slowly creeps towards your shoulder.

“Did that upset you? Oh come on. You know how fuckin’ cute I think you look when you get all awkward n’ shit? You look like the prettiest little basket of red apples in the world.”

As compliments float off Ashton’s tongue as if they were feathers, you glance over at your drunken friend. Luke, still engrossed in his phone, has yet to even turn around to acknowledge you at all. He could’ve been fast asleep for all you knew.

However, the only thing you truly knew was how badly you wanted to tackle Ashton onto that couch.

“God, I wanna’ kiss you so badly right now.” Ashton reads your mind.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You could feel the bead of condensation rolling down your face, the antsiness building in your legs as they start to bob up and down. But before you could respond, make a face, or even process his words, Ashton’s mouth is millimeters away from the sweet spot on your neck. The one that his lips had claimed not long ago.

“Would we be the worst friends in the world if we just— slipped away?”

His words fan across your cheek, his smile radiating a sinister energy that makes you clutch your imaginary pearls, “I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You don’t know if you want to leave with me? Or you don’t know if we’d be exiled for leaving Luke out here alone?

Your mind spins. You felt as though your heart was racing at a mile per minute. It was hard to be unresponsive when it came to Ashton— for he was just too good with his words. His favorite thing to do was to butter you up, and make you sweat.

“I just don’t know, Ash. Sue me for thinking critically, here.”

Ashton chuckles. He’d finally backed away from you, though he was still close enough to raise some eyebrows. You could still feel his eyes burning holes into your blouse and the weight of a heavy hand on your thigh.

“Let’s rationalize this. Let’s say that Luke is down for the count. Cut off from the bar and completely annexed from the tab. Leaving him here to sober up wouldn’t be the worst thing, in theory, would it?”

“What are you even saying?” you scoff, nervously swatting at your shoulder, “Leaving anyone alone while drunk out of their mind is bad. End of story.”

“You aren’t even willing to be convinced. Have you always been this stubborn?”

“Shut the fuck up—”

Oh God, this was it. You were starting to get angry. And the angrier you were, the hotter the sex was. That cheeky fuck knew you hated to argue, even more so about something as stupid as this.

He was doing this on purpose.

“Look, all I’m saying is there’s a somewhat up-to-code bathroom stall out there with our names on it. Pick your battles, sugar. Pick ‘em wisely.”

As you muster up the courage to speak, you hear a familiar sound. Laughter. Michael and Calum were returning from the bar, gaining on you and Ashton while still stuck in this compromising position.

“Ashton, knock it off,” you warn him through gritted teeth, fiddling mindlessly with the hem of your shorts, “They’re coming back.”

“Don’t be like that.”

His words were simple, yet they clawed at your insides.

“What the fuck?”

And just like that, the dominos fell.

“Cal! Hey— hey, buddy,” you wince at your inability to think of anything smoother to say as you scramble away from Ashton’s grip, “Find the bar okay?”

Your tremored laughter met Calum’s unamused face with dismay, a hard lump forming in your throat the moment the two of you locked eyes. You could see Ashton grinning out of your peripheral, motioning up to Michael with his hands as the world around you started to get dizzy.

Michael hadn’t seen a thing.

“What the fuck was that?” Calum leans down to only you, the sweat from his glass dripping down onto your legs and furthering the pit in your stomach.

“What? What was what?”

“Whatever the fuck just happened on this couch,” Calum raises his eyebrows at you, making you feel almost— stupid.

“I— don’t know what you’re talking about,” you defend, shifting uncomfortably in both your seat and your skin, “We were just sitting here.”

“Ah, see! You just ratted yourself out!” his accusatory whisper bites, “I knew there was something going on with you two!”

“Shhh! Cal, stop it! Seriously!”

You had mentally surpassed any amount of embarrassment you’d ever felt. The hushed conversation taking place right now started to feel like a humiliation ritual, meanwhile Ashton had gotten off scot-free with a tipsy Michael and a borderline-blacked out Luke.

Ashton was acting innocent, seemingly minding his own while sneaking glances at you over his shoulder. Though you were being interrogated by your best friend, it was hard not to let yourself get lost in a sliver of those dumb, green eyes.

“You didn’t even deny it! Oh my God, I can’t even look at you right now,” Calum shudders, floating down to his original spot with a roll of his eyes.

“Holy shit, you’re dramatic.”

“I’m about to go wash my eyes out with bleach,” he pauses, finally catching onto the fact that you were still distracted, despite being reprimanded, “Stop fuckin’ looking at him, weirdo!”

The quiet, sour-mouthed dialogue between you and Calum was heating up. It had resorted to name calling, which wasn’t uncommon, and led to you standing up with a huff.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” You blurt, out loud. The entire group’s eyes were now on you. Even Luke’s.

Calum’s teeth grit, and his eyes bounced immediately towards Ashton. He knew how this night was going to end, but you were sure that he’d hate to admit it.

“Don’t get lost,” your best friend mutters, taking a large gulp of his drink to watch you walk away.

You sped off to the inside of the club with your eyes glued to the ground, absolutely mortified. You knew that eventually, the secret little wall you’d built around you and Ashton’s rendezvous would come crumbling down. But you didn’t expect it to be so soon.

The nightclub was impossibly busy, you were dodging people and bumping shoulders left and right. The bathroom at the end of a dimly lit hallway was the light at the end of your tunnel. You sought refuge against the wall next to the door, huffing to yourself as you scrambled to pull your phone out of your back pocket.

You expected to feel a little nauseous at this point. However, you did not expect to see a text from Ashton lighting up your phone.

Luke’s standing on the couch again.

Sit tight.

A wave of relief crashes over you. It was pathetic to think that words on a screen could have you feeling so flustered to the point where you started to sweat. A hot summer night was no match for the way Ashton made you feel.

You stood against the wall awkwardly, almost as if you were pinned to it by the straps of your tank top. You scrolled your phone, tapping your foot and watching Instagram posts fly by whilst trying to look busy. A few people walked by you, entering and exiting the all gender bathroom but not long before a slender leg was entering your eyeshot and stepping in front of you.

“Miss me, sugar?”

“God, you’re an asshole.”

Soon enough, you were pinned to the wall once again. This time at the hands of Ashton’s chest pressing against you as he pounces into a kiss. His hands snap to your waist, thumbing the loops of your denim shorts to hold you in place.

“They’re insufferable,” Ashton mutters into your lips, completely unaffected by the people passing by, “But I think I’ve bought us time.”

You attempt to breathe, suffocated by the intoxicating smell of his cologne and the sheer weight of his lips on yours.

“How much?”

“How much what?” he asks innocently, slowly pulling your leg up to rest on his hip.

“Time, Ash. How much time?”

“Fuck if I know. Stop talking.”

You’re engulfed in the kiss once again, Ashton’s teeth sink into your bottom lip and pull it away, his hands now trailing beneath your shirt.

It was far from outlandish to see two people making out against the wall of a club. However, the images of Calum’s reaction to your little rendezvous flashed in your mind like a bolt of lightning.

But despite the embarrassment and emotional turmoil that came to admitting to your crimes, you were too busy to care. Your hands were working at the soft curls that sat against the nape of Ashton’s neck, while he took his time dragging the kiss down towards your neck and chest.

You swallowed hard as he worked at you, “Maybe we should take this somewhere else.”

He doesn’t reply. He simply ignores you, and bites at your neck.

“You care too much.”

A gasp leaves your lips as his body flushes fully against yours, leaving nothing beneath his clothes to the imagination. You feel the softness of his stomach contradicting the hardness in his jeans— it was all too much. All logic and reason had suddenly flown out of the window.

Ashton was right. You did care too much. So, to make up for it, you tug at his roots, and the action makes him moan.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” you bite, staring into those buggish hazel eyes that were drowning in lust, “You’re such a bad influence.”

“I can be a whole lot worse,.” He smiles, index finger trailing up towards the side of your breast, “I’ll be anything you want, sugar. Just say the word.”

[sugaryewscythe]

just a reminder that this blog is run by someone who:

— is anti ICE & fascism — is pro-choice & feminist — supports trans & queer people — hates generative AI & capitalism — supports immigrants & people of color — is pro-environmentalism & social justice — supports palestine & all other territories unjustly suffering

[jessmm7]

masons taxi ad 🥵

I've been busy all day so I've only just seen it but damn he looks so fit 🫠

Plenty of space for activities in the back of his taxi am I right...? 😌

[mmountseb]

Havent deem it yet omg where

[jessmm7]

I saw it in his instagram tags 🫶🏼

[mmountseb]

Didnt see anything :/

[jessmm7]

masons taxi ad 🥵

I've been busy all day so I've only just seen it but damn he looks so fit 🫠

Plenty of space for activities in the back of his taxi am I right...? 😌

[mmountseb]

Havent deem it yet omg where

[anonymouslyforareason]

Pairing — Mason Mount x Reader

Word count — ~1.2k

Warnings — fluff, soft tension, realistic setting

Summary — You’ve just moved to Manchester for work and don’t really know anyone yet. A rainy morning and a crowded coffee shop lead to an unexpected connection with someone who feels strangely easy to talk to.

⸻

When It Rains in Manchester

It wasn’t supposed to rain that morning, but Manchester clearly had other plans.

You’d only lived here for a week, and already your umbrella had betrayed you — flimsy, bent, and barely surviving the walk from your flat to the tiny coffee shop tucked away on the corner of Deansgate.

The bell above the door jingled softly when you stepped inside. Warm air, the smell of roasted beans, quiet music — for a moment, it felt like you could breathe again. You were halfway through ordering when someone brushed past you, muttering a quick apology. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bump into you,” a voice said — low, warm, slightly breathless.

You turned, ready with a polite smile. The guy standing there wore a baseball cap and a grey hoodie, rain still clinging to the fabric. He smiled back, a little sheepishly, and stepped aside.“It’s fine,” you said, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “Honestly, I’m surprised anyone’s surviving this weather.” He chuckled — that quiet kind of laugh that instantly softens the moment.“Yeah, Manchester doesn’t really do sunshine. You new here?”You nodded. “Moved here last week. Still trying to figure out where everything is… and when it’s safe to trust the weather forecast.” “That’d be never,” he said, grin tugging at his lips. “You’ll learn.” You smiled. “You sound like you’ve been here a while.” “Almost three years,” he said, nodding. “Guess that makes me a local, technically.” “Then maybe I should take notes,” you teased lightly. He laughed again — and you noticed the small dimple that appeared when he did.

When your orders came up, he hesitated before speaking. “Mind if I join you? It’s kind of packed today.” You gestured to the seat across from you. “Sure.” You talked until your coffees were half gone and the rain outside had slowed to a drizzle. There was something comfortable about it — like a conversation you’d had a hundred times before, even though this was the first.“Didn’t mean to hijack your morning,” he said as you both got up to leave. “You just looked like you could use some company.”You smiled, tucking your phone into your pocket. “Do I really look that lost?” “Not lost,” he said, shaking his head. “Just new. It’s easy to spot — I used to be the same.”

Something in his tone was soft — almost familiar. You didn’t know why, but you liked the sound of it. “Well,” you said with a small grin, “if you’ve got more local tips, I’ll take them.” He smiled, holding the door open for you. “I’ve got plenty. Maybe I’ll share a few next time.” You stepped out into the damp air, warmth still lingering from the conversation. You didn’t even realize you hadn’t asked for his name — or why the thought of seeing him again made your chest feel a little lighter.

You nodded, wondering if there would be a next time. The thought made your chest feel unexpectedly lighter, even as you walked away from the café. And when you realized you hadn’t asked for his name, you felt a small flutter of regret. But the idea of seeing him again didn’t seem so impossible anymore.

[neverinadream]

a lesson in pleasure (rh & mm)

summary: a storm interrupts what was meant to be a few days away with your boyfriend and some friends.

pairings: rasmus højlund x fem!reader / mason mount x ex fem!reader / rasmus højlund x fem!reader x mason mount

word count: 3k+

warnings: 18+, minors dni, pre-established relationship between the reader and rasmus, a past relationship established between the reader and mason, consent check-ins, threesome, rough mdom (mason), softer mdom (rasmus), fsub (the reader), dirty talk, praise, teasing, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, nipple play, slapping, unprotected p in v, bodily fluids, finishing inside,

kinktober masterlist / previous post

a/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! oh this one hurt my brain a lot!!!!! threesomes are truly a pain to write and this is why it's like the third one i've properly written, and maybe my last one. anyway, i don't want to beg, but feedback is always appreciated - give writers feedback, people.

The air was hot and sticking to your skin, which dripped with beads of perspiration that rolled down your temples as you tossed your head back, moaning out Rasmus's name like it was a prayer to the Gods. Your body was electrified by pleasure, every inch of you burning with pure unadulterated desire. A whimper slips out as his large hands manhandle your thighs, pushing them up and opening you wider for him to dip his tongue into your aching hole. He groans, your taste exploding on his tongue, the vibrations making you squirm.

“Stay still, skat,” he grumbles, two piercing blue eyes looking up your body through the dimly lit room. They're dark, swirled with lust and a hunger for you. “Already making such a mess on my face.”

“How does she taste?” Mason's gruff voice carries from across the room, the chair he occupies facing the bed, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, slowly stroking himself. Rasmus mumbles something under his breath, drowned out by Mason's nonchalant laughter. “There's nothing better, right?” His rigid length slaps against his lower belly as he lets go, standing to his feet. “Like fucking honey, aren't you, baby?”

“Don't call me that,” you bite bitterly at him.

He meets it with more laughter, kneeling at the foot of the bed, one hand stroking your face. “Oops,” he grins out of the corner of your left eye, “I forgot that's loverboy's privilege now.” His mouth meets your temple, kissing it with soft, feather-like brushes. “I get a few privileges back tonight,” he whispers, just low enough for you to hear, “like fucking this bratty mouth. Open up.”

Your eyes flick to Rasmus for permission.

He lets your clit go with a pop. “Go on,” he nods at Mason, “open up; take care of our unexpected guest.”

A chuckle bubbles up to the surface. “You too, with all that shit?”

“Mate, you knew you weren't invited,” Rasmus hits back, adjusting your knees over his shoulders. He lines his fingers up, pushing in slowly, lowering his eyes to watch you stretch around them. “Just feel lucky I stopped her from kicking you out into the rain.”

Mason straightens up, his hand stroking over the tip of his cock, eyes lowering to you, your head now hanging off the edge of the bed, pushed up by Rasmus. “Oh, I'm about to feel real lucky.”

He looks larger looming over you, a thigh on either side of your head, his cock gaining all of your attention as it bobs in front of your face. A quiet chuckle breaks the silence, Mason watching you subtly lick your lips as you wait for his move.

“Missed this?” He hums.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Liar,” Rasmus chuckles, his voice muffled, his mouth latched back on your cunt. Mason lifts an eyebrow. “You clenched around my fingers the second your eyes locked with his cock, skat.”

“Did she now?” Mason drags the tip along the seam of your closed lips. “Want this, baby?” He lowers his voice.

The quietest plea unexpectedly leaves your mouth. “Please.”

“Open up then,” he instructs, tapping himself against your cheek. A groan breaks free as he slides the smooth and impressive length of his cock into your mouth - you jumping quickly to obey him. “Fuck-!” His chin tucks in, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuckin’ missed this.” He lifts his head, taking a deep breath, the air coming out steady as he slowly fucks your mouth. “Do you know how fucking lucky you are?”

Rasmus's mouth ticks up on one side, smirking as he turns his head and kisses the inside of your thigh. “I know.” His fingers, still set in a steady rhythm fucking you, scissor, spreading you wider, working you open. “And I don't need you to tell me.”

He flicks his tongue up and down your slick, puffy folds, tasting every inch, and you moan loudly around Mason. The vibrations force his head back, and he groans, pushing his hips forward to drive his cock deeper down your throat. Gagging, fresh saliva splatters and drips out the corner of your mouth, wetting your chin and dripping onto your cheek, creating a mess.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Mason grunts, pulling out and wiping the spit away with his tip. “Just making a mess on both ends.”

He stuffs himself back between your lips, hitting the back of your throat, your neck slightly bulging, with every thrust, and reaches out in front to slap your tit. The sting of pain turns to pleasure and you whimper out, clenching hard around Rasmus's fingers, as Mason does it again.

“Sure she's okay with you doing that?” Rasmus asks, driving his fingers deeper, curling them to meet that spongy spot, your hips jerking up into his face as he repeatedly hits it. Your fingers curl tighter in his hair, but your attempt to push his mouth back down was weak.

“I think I might know a thing or two about what she likes, mate,” Mason tuts, pinching your nipple, before giving it another slap.

“I don't care if you know what she likes.” Rasmus's jaw ticks. Your past was your past, he didn't care if Mason knew you as intimately as he did, but he did care about your comfort and your safety. “You get her permission first or this stops.” He pins him down with a look. “Got it?”

He kneels, his fingers stroking over the back of your head, bending to kiss you. There's nothing sweet or caring about it - he's doing it to claim you - and he pulls hard on your hair, stuffing his tongue down your throat as you gasp against him.

His free hand moves down the front of your chest, thumbing your nipple, feeling it tighten, the subtle reaction making his cock throb against his lower stomach.

You whimper as he bites your lip, pulling at it as he breaks away. “You're okay with what I just did, right?” He looks across at Rasmus.

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly.

“You liked it, right?”

“Yes.”

His hand keeps playing with your nipple. “And you want me to keep doing it, right?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “Please.”

“Good enough for you?”

Rasmus just grunts and shrugs off your knees, sitting back on his heels. “Come here.” He beckons you forward with his fingers and you crawl towards him, leaving Mason at the end of the bed. He runs a thumb over your chin, wiping away the rest of your spit. “God, you really are a mess. What has he done to my baby?”

“Nothing you haven't done before.” The blush that creeps up his neck lasts only for a few seconds, but it's one that brings out a giggle. “You're cute when you blush,” you whisper, looping your arms around his neck. The material of his t-shirt rubs against your nipples in the right way.

“You're pretty cute with a cock stuffed in your mouth,” he mumbles, reaching his hands low and squeezing your bum. He gives it a gentle slap, nothing like the ones Mason had given, and enjoys the noise you make. It's a soft moan, very similar to the sound you make every time you sink yourself onto his cock.

You cock an eyebrow, your head tilting to the right. Nothing stops the grin that tugs on your lips. “You liked seeing another man's cock in my mouth, huh?”

“That's not what I said.”

“Kinda sounds like what you said,” you fire back, before your voice is quickly snuffed out by his mouth.

He kisses you slowly, taking his time, each squeeze and movement of his hands deliberate as they search their way up your back, seeking out familiarity. His tongue strokes into your mouth and you moan quietly, tasting yourself and allowing yourself to sink further into his hold.

“Need you,” you whimper into his mouth, lowering your hands to the front of his jeans.

He doesn't stop you, but helps to remove his clothes, starting with his shirt, tossing it off the side of the bed. The upper half portion of his chest is covered with enough chest hair to make you stop and squeeze your thighs together, a new rush of pleasure trickling down there. You sigh happily as he springs out of his boxers, slapping hard against his stomach. The tip is thick and a deep shade of pink, weeping tears of precum, and you shuffle back on your knees, your ass sticking up in the air, as you bend low to lick it up.

“Now that's something I've missed,” Mason says, taking the time to kick off his jeans and crawl onto the bed. He reaches out and grabs your hip, his cock looking perfect pressing up against the crack of your ass. You look back, eyes straining over your shoulder, to see him drip a large glob of spit into his hand, before wiping it over his tip. “Can I, baby?”

“Don't want a taste first?” You ask, keeping yourself balanced on one elbow. Your hips shimmy, teasing him. “You'll never get the opportunity again.”

He swipes his fingers between your thighs, a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl rattling around deep inside his chest as he feels just how wet you are. “Goddammit girl,” he mutters, breaking your entrance with one finger and then a second. If he had the time, he would work you up to taking a third. You clench hard around him and his cock throbs, desperate to feel it again. “You're fucking soaked,” he says, the squelching of his fingers filling the moments of silence, “did sucking my cock do this?”

Rasmus rolls his eyes. “She was a mess before you even touched her lips.”

“I'm sure she was,” he quips, chuckling as he withdraws to lift his fingers to his mouth. They breach his lips with a hard moan, sucking and licking them clean. “Sweeter than honey, baby.”

“Still using that old line?”

You work your hand slowly up and down Rasmus, thumbing the thick tip. He shudders out a groan, a jolt of electricity rippling up his spine.

“Worked on you more than a few times.”

You lift an eyebrow, winking up at Rasmus, who stifles a laugh. “Did it though?” You look over your shoulder, locking onto his eyes. “I could've been faking it the whole time.”

His hand strikes your bum hard, making you gasp, the corners of your mouth curling up as the stinging turns quickly to pleasure. “You're no actress, sweetheart.”

Rasmus hand smooths over your jaw, gaining your full attention. “Don't have that problem with me, do you, skat?” Rasmus states, smiling all smug-like, running a hand through his hair.

You giggle, shaking your head. “Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ in a cutesy, sing-song voice.

“Wanna know something, Rasmus?” Mason asks, wetting his tip with your arousal. Rasmus barely bothers with a grunt, too focused on the portion of his cock being swallowed into your mouth - the rest of him jerked slowly with your hand. “It's always been a fantasy of Y/N's to be taken by two guys at once.” He notches his cock in line with your entrance, the heat pressing against you tempting your hips to push back. “Isn't that right, baby?”

You pull off Rasmus, breaking the string of spit with a quick lick of your lips. “This is…sort of a taste of it.”

The man's eyes above you widen, his cheeks flushing pink. You and him were nowhere near at a point in your relationship to be exploring those fantasies yet.

“She's a dirty girl,” Mason says, gritting out a groan between his words as he pushes forward, working his full length into you until your bum is resting against his thighs. It's like sinking into a warm bath. His hands grab at your hips, keeping you in place, as he pulls out, admiring the sheen you leave on his cock. “And the longer you're with her, the more open she'll be about all those little, sordid thoughts running around that pretty, little brain of hers.”

Rasmus's erection is hot and heavy in your hand, the tip dripping saliva as you spit a big glob onto it, working it up and down with your fist, almost matching the steady rhythm Mason has set. Your other hand cups his balls, rolling and squeezing them, before taking them into your mouth and sucking.

“Jesus, where the fuck did that come from?” He groans, half-laughing out of disbelief. You sucked him off more than a few times, but never with this much enthusiasm. It's all so dizzying he could topple over, but he doesn't, propping himself up with one hand on the back of your head, as you lick your tongue up and down him.

“That's it,” Mason grunts, his cock throbbing along your fluttering walls, “being such a good girl for us, making us both feel so good.” He grips your hips harder, thrusting with punctual strokes that hit the spot, making you moan around Rasmus. Ecstasy spreads across his features, matching yours and the guy's across from him.

“That's all I want to do,” you mumble incoherently, running your tongue along one side, licking from base to tip, and back down again.

“He's right, baby,” Rasmus bobs his head, nodding, “god, you're so fucking pretty, right now.” He trickles out a chuckle. “Left my phone downstairs, otherwise I'd take a picture just so you could see how pretty you look.”

You smile, biting your bottom lip. “Maybe some other time.”

“Does that invitation extend to me?” Mason asks, smiling devilishly.

Your head snaps to look at him. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Being trapped between your past and your present - and hopefully your future - was hotter than it should've been. Taking Rasmus back into your mouth, he grunts hard, feeling him nudging the back of your throat. You keep going, breathing through your nose, trying to swallow him deeper, fresh spit coating your chin as you choke him down.

“Oh, shit, skat-!” His breathing becomes choppy, a soft squeak breaking free as you grab his ass and pull him deeper. “Fuck, keep it nice and deep, yeah?”

You let out a long moan as the salty taste of his cum hits your throat, your pussy gripping Mason tightly as your orgasm rises and washes over you quickly, triggered by Rasmus's release.

“Get it all,” Mason reaches over and pushes your head lower, making sure you get every last drop, “we want to see you swallow it.”

“Show me before you swallow it,” Rasmus pleads, and you open your mouth, showing him. He pushes your chin up, closing your mouth. “Now, swallow it.”

It goes down with a hearty sigh, the corners of your lips tugging up into a dream-like smile.

“Not finished with you yet,” Mason says, wrapping an arm around you, and pulling you up to his chest. He sits you deeper onto his cock, making you whimper from the new angle. You're boneless as he pounds into you, nonsense spilling from your mouth, a few yeses and ohs, as you scramble to hold onto the arm wrapped across you. “Coming on my cock as he's coming down your throat?” He teases, “fucking dirty, bet you didn't even notice, probably too cock drunk.”

“Talk about cock drunk,” Rasmus snickers, subtly shaking his head. He takes a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look at him. “Does that feel good?” You whimper, biting your lip and nodding. “You gonna come again?”

“Please,” you plead, nodding your head so hard it could snap.

He looks over your shoulder. “Think we should let her come again?”

“Maybe if she begs for it.”

“Please, I need to come again,” you beg, turning your head between them, your vision becoming a blur.

Rasmus pinches your nipple. “Come on, skat, you can do better than that.” His mouth lowers to your ear. “I've heard you do better than that.”

“I've been such a good girl for both of you!” Another orgasm rises quickly, the knot in your stomach twisted tight and uncomfortable. “Please, let me come! Please! I'll do anything!”

Mason breathes a sound out of his nose like he's trying not to laugh at your attempt. “I think that's good enough.” He clenches his jaw, relief washing over him watching Rasmus nod, because there was no way he was holding off any longer.

White hot heat floods your body as your orgasm roars forth, the vice-like grip of his cock between your walls triggering his own, and he grunts out your name, spilling thick, hot ropes into you. Rasmus cradles your face, watching you ride out your orgasm, whispering sweet praises that your ears can barely register.

You're still trembling when Mason pulls out, letting you go to fall against Rasmus, and neither you look over as he steps away from the bed.

“You good?” Rasmus kisses your shoulder, and strokes his hands up and down your back as you gradually catch your breath. “That wasn't too much, was it?”

You shake your head against him, your voice lost for the moment. Everything that had just happened was beginning to catch up with you, temporary panic flaring in your eyes, but unnoticed by him, as it all sinks in. The relationship was fresh and Mason's little stunt might have ruined it.

“Mason?” His head pops up, looking over at the two of you, his jeans hanging loose on his hips as he searches for his top. “You can get the fuck out now,” he instructs, stroking his hand over the back of your head, and nodding to the bedroom door, “I wanna spend the rest of the night with my girlfriend.”

“What just happened?” You ask, after hearing the door click.

“I don't fucking know.” Rasmus breathes out a chuckle, his breath hot, fanning your face as he kisses your forehead. “That was crazy. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? We'll talk about it later.”

tagging: @livinginastory @thoseboysinblue @mountttmase @saltyheartnightmare @randompointlessbeauty

[footballerimaginess]

Spooky House

HALLOWEEK 7. Going into a spooky house Mason Mount Word Count: 334 “You are going to hate this, I know you will. I can’t wait to see your face when you see where I’m taking you” Mason tells you with a huge grin on his face.

“So why are you taking me her and doing this to me if you know I don’t like it. You’re mean Mase” you told him as he still had a huge grin on his face. “I’m not mean, you are just being a baby” Mason told you as he parked up in the car park. “I’m not a baby, right I’ll show you” you told him as you got out of the car, clutching his hand as you walked to the spooky house. “Oh right hmm” you gulped loudly as you tried to hide the fact you were really scared as you walked into the dark house. “Not scared are we?” He asked as you shook your head as he pushed you forward to go towards the room with all the mirrors. “Well you’ll love this place, get to look at yourself all the time in different angles, mr vain.” You smirked. “Ha ha hilarious aren’t you. So what about this room? See there are some clowns, I know they are your favourite” Mason says with again the biggest smirk on his face. “You again are so mean, right this will be over quickly” you breathed in and walked through with clowns so close to you that you could feel their breath. “Omg stop” you whispered as you closed your eyes and walked out as Mason grabbed your hand. “Stay here, you will like it please. Just do this for me” Mason urged you. “You know I hate clowns please, just leave me or I will walk home right this second” you shouted as you felt all the clowns eyes were on you. “Okay” he smiles as you spend the rest of the time walking through the spooky house.

[anonymouslyforareason]

Pairing - Mason Mount x Reader

Summary - After a painful breakup, you run into your ex-boyfriend Mason Mount at mutual friend house party.

Warnings - Explicit sexual content, rough sex, jealousy, roral implied but not detailed.

—————————————————————————

What still burns

The bass from the music thumped through the walls of Luke Shaw's sprawling house, vibrating under your feet as you stepped inside. It had been months since the breakup with Mason Mount—months of radio silence, of scrolling through his Instagram highlights from away games and training sessions, pretending it didn't sting. Luke had invited you, swearing it would be low-key, just friends unwinding after the season. You hadn't expected him to be here.

You wove through the crowd in the living room, nursing a drink, when you felt it—that prickling awareness on the back of your neck. Turning slightly, your eyes locked with his across the room. Mason stood by the kitchen island, beer in hand, surrounded by a few teammates laughing at some inside joke. But his gaze was fixed on you, dark and unreadable, his jaw tightening as he took you in. The fitted black shirt hugged his athletic frame, sleeves rolled up to show the veins in his forearms, a reminder of all the times those arms had pinned you down.

He looked away first, but not before you saw the flicker of something raw in his eyes—hurt, anger, maybe both. You forced yourself to mingle, chatting with a couple of mutual friends, but the air felt thicker now, charged. That's when you noticed him watching again, this time as you laughed at something one of Luke's mates said, the guy leaning in a little too close, his hand brushing your arm. Mason's grip on his bottle whitened his knuckles. He set it down hard enough to draw eyes, then excused himself from his group. You pretended not to notice, but your pulse raced. Jealousy looked good on him, even if it was irrational. He had no claim on you anymore. Or so you told yourself.

The party noise started to grate after an hour—the laughter too loud, the bodies too close. You slipped away upstairs, needing a moment to breathe. The bathroom at the end of the hall was mercifully empty. You locked the door behind you, leaning against the sink, staring at your reflection. Your makeup was still intact, but your eyes betrayed the turmoil. Why did seeing him still twist you up like this?

A sharp knock rattled the door. "Occupied," you called, splashing water on your face. "Open the door. It's me." Your stomach dropped. Mason's voice, low and edged with that familiar authority. You hesitated, fingers hovering over the lock. Against your better judgment, you twisted it open. He pushed in without waiting, the door clicking shut behind him. The space felt tiny with him in it—six feet of coiled tension, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His eyes raked over you, from your tousled hair to the hem of your dress riding up your thighs. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled, stepping closer until your back hit the sink. "Luke invited me. Same as you, I assume." You crossed your arms, trying to steady your voice, but it came out breathy. "We don't have to do this, Mason." He laughed, bitter and short. "Do what? Pretend like you weren't just letting that prick touch you down there? Laughing like nothing happened?" His hand shot out, not touching you, but caging you in, palm flat against the mirror beside your head. The scent of his cologne—woodsy, intoxicating—flooded your senses, dragging up memories you'd buried. "He's just a friend," you shot back, but the words felt weak. Heat bloomed between you, the air crackling. "You lost the right to care when you walked away."

His face twisted, eyes flashing with regret and fury. "Walked away? You think that's what happened? You shut me out, acting like I was just another notch." He leaned in, breath hot against your ear. "But I see it in your eyes. You still want this. Still mine." Before you could protest, his mouth crashed onto yours—hard, demanding, all the pent-up months pouring out in the kiss. You gasped, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed to push away. He tasted like beer and salt, his tongue invading, claiming every inch. He broke away just enough to spin you around, pressing your front against the cool porcelain sink. His body molded to your back, hips grinding into your ass, the hard length of his cock already straining against his jeans. "Look at yourself," he murmured, voice rough as he forced your chin up to the mirror. "See what you do to me? No one else gets this." Your reflection stared back, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. His free hand slid down your side, bunching your dress up over your hips, fingers digging into your thigh. "Mason... we can't—" "We can," he cut you off, nipping at your neck, teeth grazing skin hard enough to mark. "And we will. Because you belong to me. Always have."

He yanked your panties aside, calloused fingers finding your slick folds. You were soaked already, betraying every denial. He groaned against your shoulder, circling your clit with precise strokes, the kind only he knew drove you wild. "Feel that? Your pussy's weeping for me. Not for him. Me.” You whimpered, hips bucking back, the jealousy in his tone fueling the fire. He plunged two fingers inside you, curling them deep, pumping in a rhythm that made your knees buckle. The wet sounds echoed in the small room, obscene and intimate. "Say it," he demanded, thumb pressing your clit. "Tell me who you belong to." "You," you gasped, the word tearing free as pleasure coiled tight. "Fuck, Mason—yours." He withdrew his fingers abruptly, leaving you aching, and you heard the zipper of his jeans. His cock sprang free, thick and hot, slapping against your ass. He teased your entrance, the head nudging your folds. "That's right," he rasped, one hand gripping your hip, the other tangling in your hair to arch your back. "No one else fucks you like this."

With a single thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you full. You cried out, the burn exquisite, his girth splitting you open. He didn't give you time to adjust, pulling back only to slam in again, setting a punishing pace. Each drive of his hips slapped against your ass, his balls smacking your clit, the mirror fogging from your ragged breaths. "Mine," he grunted with every thrust, possessive and feral. His hand snaked around to rub your clit in tight circles, pushing you higher. The angle hit that spot inside you relentlessly, building the pressure until you shattered, walls clenching around his cock, milking him as you came with a muffled scream. He followed seconds later, hips stuttering, hot spurts of cum flooding you deep. He held you there, buried inside, both of you panting, the party noise a distant hum below. As he pulled out, cum trickling down your thigh, he turned you gently, eyes searching yours—still stormy, but softer now. "Don't make me chase you again," he whispered, thumb brushing your lip. You didn't answer, heart pounding with the weight of it all. The breakup's scars lingered, but in this moment, tangled and claimed, the angst felt like a promise of more chaos to come.

[mmountseb]

Man I just wish there was someone who wrote for Franjo Ivanović 😔

[neverinadream]

rasmus in this shade of blue

[neverinadream]

rasmus shirtless

[mmountseb]

WHRRE

[taylorswift]

And, baby, that’s show business for you. New album The Life of a Showgirl. Out October 3  ❤️‍🔥

https://taylor.lnk.to/TSTheLifeofaShowgirl

Album Producers: Max Martin, Shellback and Taylor Swift 📸: Mert Alas & Marcus Piggott

[megs-1800]

Missed your writing!!

Request ideas-

Due to it being the first day back of preseason, maybe you work for United and there is some tension and this is the first you’ve seen each other. Or you’ve seen each other over the break, accidentally bumped into each other on holiday maybe something happened. Now you’ve got to navigate being around one another at work.

Friends to lovers but this has taken years! Things have happened between the two when they were teenagers and as adults when drunk but the reader has moved to Manchester due to work so maybe it’s their time??

Its Always Been You

Notes: So sorry it has taken me so long to write. I have been so busy and it took me ages to get this one right. Hope you enjoy :)

Word Count: 17k

Pairings: Mason Mount x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff and Smut

The airport was already buzzing, humming with suitcases wheeling and early morning coffees clutched like lifelines. You could feel it in your chest, the excitement, the nerves, the quiet promise of recklessness that only a girls’ holiday could deliver. “Right,” Lola grinned, dropping her tote onto the floor and cracking her back theatrically. “Who's ready to get absolutely feral in Mykonos?”

A chorus of laughs and raised boarding passes echoed through the little circle of girls. You were all slouched across plastic chairs near the departure gate, sunglasses already on, even though it was barely 9 a.m. You had a lukewarm Pret coffee in one hand and a croissant flaking on your leggings, but none of it mattered. You were leaving the country, the weather was set to be 32 degrees, and for once you didn’t have to pretend you were fine.

"Shots as soon as we land," Mia added, pulling her hoodie tighter over her head like she was bracing for impact.

“Oh, shots before we even take off,” Zoe said, waving a mini Smirnoff she’d snuck in from duty-free. “You think I’m paying ten quid for a warm prosecco on the plane?”

You laughed for the first time in what felt like weeks. It vibrated through your ribs and made your eyes prickle. You’d almost forgotten what it felt like, that kind of heady, stupid joy that came before a holiday. A clean slate, a fake tan, a week where you didn’t have to see his name pop up on your feed. Not that he ever messaged you anymore, not since her.

"Anyone got the hotel booking screenshot?" Mia asked, thumbing through her phone with manicured fingers. “I’m the worst at this shit.”

“Hang on,” you muttered, tapping your own screen. “Pretty sure I saved it—yeah, here—” but your thumb froze mid-scroll. The familiar photo popped up in your gallery like a ghost. A photo of Mason, blurry and laughing, head tipped back in the half-light of some house party. You could hear the moment again if you let yourself, his voice low in your ear, the way his fingers curled in your belt loops like he didn’t want you to leave. God. You hated that you still remembered how he tasted.

Lola caught the flicker in your face. She didn’t say anything at first, just leaned over and stole a bite of your croissant like she was trying to give you a second to recover. But then she sighed, too knowing. “Still thinking about him?”

You didn’t answer. The group shifted, sensing the change, the subtle turn in the wind that happened every time Mason got mentioned. “Sorry,” she added quickly. “Didn’t mean to bring him up. I just... saw your face. You get this look.”

“What look?” you said, brushing flakes off your lap even though your stomach had closed up.

“The ‘I wish I’d said it first’ look.”

You didn’t say anything for a beat. Then: “I did say it. Just too late.”

Mia glanced over, tone a little softer now. “It’s been a year, babe.”

“I know.”

“He’s with that girl still?” Zoe asked, her brow furrowed. “The brunette with the Instagram quotes?”

You almost smiled. “Yeah. Sophia.”

“Ugh. She looks like the type who puts crystals under her pillow and blocks people for asking if she wants ketchup.”

“I blocked him,” you said, more to yourself than anyone. “Or tried to. Doesn’t stop him living rent free in my brain though, does it?”

There was a pause, the weight of old habits sat between your knees like another piece of luggage. It always came back to him. Mason and the night you bumped into him outside Shoreditch House and ended up in his bed. Mason and the blurry taxi ride where you told him you missed him with your mouth on his throat. Mason, who told you that you were dangerous because you always made him forget what he was supposed to want.

You’d thought it meant something, that last time. He’d held your hand in the morning. He hissed your knuckles, told you he couldn’t do this anymore, not with other people in the picture and you’d believed him. Then, two weeks later, that Sophia showed up on his arm at the FA Cup gala.

Lola nudged your leg. “This week isn’t about Mason Mount. It’s about cocktails and the sea and inappropriate decisions with Greek waiters. Yeah?”

You grinned, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah.”

Mia stood. “Let’s get to the gate. I want to be tipsy by the time we hit passport control.”

As you filed through the departure lounge, the summer heat of the duty-free perfume aisle wrapping around you like a warning, you wondered if this week would finally be the one that loosened his hold on you, but somewhere in your chest, you knew the truth. Mason wasn’t the kind of boy you got over on a beach. He was the kind of boy you carried with you.

The departure lounge smelt faintly of Pret sandwiches and expensive perfume. Someone nearby was popping a bottle of prosecco into plastic cups, and the sound made Mia’s head swivel like a meerkat. “Right, we best have good seats on this plane,” she said, tugging her carry-on forward. “We need a base. Somewhere the drinks trolley can’t ignore us.”

“You realise we’re only on here for four hours,” Zoe said, but she was grinning.

“Exactly. Four hours of preparation for one week of chaos.”

You followed the stream of passengers towards the gate, the tannoy voice echoing overhead: Final boarding call for flight EZY 4183 to Mykonos… It sent a thrill through you, that fizzy pre-holiday buzz you used to get before school trips but this time with the added promise of strong cocktails and questionable life decisions. Lola stepped beside you, linking arms. “So,” she began, in that careful tone that meant she was about to prod at something, “you and Mount. You were, what, fifteen the first time?”

You smirked despite yourself. “Sixteen. But yeah… first proper boyfriend. First everything, really.”

You could see it if you closed your eyes: the summer you met him, your hair always smelling like chlorine from the community pool, his skin tanned from training. Back then, he wasn’t Mason Mount, Premier League footballer. He was just Mason. The boy who’d cycle over to yours after school with a bag of Tangfastics, who kissed you for the first time behind the corner shop like it was some huge secret.  It had been easy then until it wasn’t. Until he left for the academy full-time and the texts got slower, until you started hearing his name linked with other girls in other cities. You’d tried to keep it going, but you were seventeen and he was already learning how to be adored by strangers and when it ended, it was with the kind of blunt finality you’d only ever read about before just one text that said I can’t do long distance anymore. You deserve better.

“Heartbreak number one,” you muttered.

“And the rest?” Lola asked.

You shrugged. “We’d bump into each other. Nights out, birthdays, random summer BBQs. Always the same. A couple of drinks, a stupid look across the room… and then it’s three in the morning and I’m in his shirt again.”

“Like muscle memory,” she teased.

“Exactly. Except… last time was different. I thought—” You stopped yourself. No point saying it out loud again. “Doesn’t matter.”

By the time you reached the gate, you’d buried the heaviness under the holiday chatter. Boarding passes beeped, passports were handed back, and the air shifted into that thick, metallic scent of the tunnel to the plane. Mia was already planning the first night’s itinerary. “So, rooftop bar when we land, then dinner, then Scorpios. They’ve got that DJ from Ibiza playing.”

“By dinner she means chips on the way,” Zoe said.

“And by chips she means five tequilas and a regret.” Lola was laughing now, her arm still hooked through yours. You stepped onto the plane, the blast of recycled air hitting you instantly. The cabin was half-full already, groups of twenty-somethings in linen shirts and sundresses, all with the same electric anticipation in their eyes. You found your row—three seats together and one across the aisle.

As you shoved your tote under the seat, you caught yourself smiling. Mykonos was going to be feral. It always was. Whitewashed buildings glowing in the sun, beaches that felt more like festivals, bars where the music shook your bones. And the flirting—God, the flirting. Half the fun was in the game itself: tanned strangers leaning over to ask where you were from, the heat, the music, the way the salt air made you reckless. This was exactly what you needed. A week of sunburnt shoulders and cocktails in the sand, of dancing until your calves ached, of kissing someone whose name you’d forget by breakfast. And yet deep down, in that quiet, irritating part of yourself, you knew there was still one name you’d remember, no matter how many Greek waiters smiled at you. You settled back into your seat, buckled up, and let the engines start to roar. If you were lucky, Mykonos might drown him out.

The plane touched down with a bump that made Mia squeal, clutching the seat in front of her. “We survived,” she announced to the cabin, as if we’d just crossed the Atlantic in a paper boat. The air hit you the second you stepped off the stairs onto the tarmac, thick, warm, and humming with salt. It smelled like sunscreen and cigarettes, the kind of heat that stuck to your skin even in the shade.

“Jesus Christ, I’m sweating already,” Zoe muttered, shoving her hair into a messy bun as you queued for passport control. By the time you’d wrestled your suitcases off the carousel, crammed into a taxi, and wound your way through the dusty white streets towards the hotel, the sun was starting to dip, the sky bleeding pink over the rooftops. Every corner you turned looked like a postcard, blue shutters, overflowing bougainvillaea, cats sprawled across stone steps like they owned the place. The hotel lobby smelled of citrus and cold marble. A man in a linen shirt greeted you with a grin that was definitely two seconds longer than polite, and you felt the group’s mood shift instantly into “holiday mode.”

“You’re in 204 and 205,” he said, sliding keys across the desk. “Pool bar’s still open. Happy hour until seven.”

The rooms were perfect, crisp sheets, a balcony with a sea view, tiny bottles of shampoo you’d inevitably steal. Mia flung her suitcase open. “Right. First night outfits. Let’s ruin ourselves.”

You’d barely unpacked your outfit before Zoe was passing around cans of pre-mixed cocktails from her suitcase. Music started blaring from someone’s speaker—dancehall, bass bouncing off the tiled walls and within minutes the room was a mess of clothes, makeup brushes, and perfume clouds.

By the time you stepped out onto the cobbled streets, the air was electric. Music thumped from rooftop bars, waiters called out menus in three different languages, and the sea shimmered just beyond the row of whitewashed buildings. The first stop was a tiny rooftop bar with tables made from barrels and fairy lights strung overhead. The cocktails came in glasses bigger than your head, garnished with whole slices of pineapple. “To us,” Lola said, raising her drink. “May our tans be even and our choices questionable.”

It didn’t take long before you were tipsy, warm, and laughing so hard your cheeks hurt. Somewhere between the third round and the bill, Mia had already pulled the number of the waiter, he was tall, tanned, with a smile so sharp you could cut glass on it. The next stop was the club everyone on the plane had been talking about. Scorpios. Even from the entrance you could feel the bass, it was deep and steady, like a second heartbeat. The place was open-air, the dance floor spilling out towards the beach, bodies moving under strings of bare bulbs. It was chaos in the best way. A blur of salt in the air, heat on your skin, hands brushing your waist as people passed. Men in unbuttoned linen shirts leaned in close to be heard over the music, their breath warm against your ear. You found yourself dancing with strangers, laughing at jokes you couldn’t hear, the beat vibrating in your chest.

Zoe disappeared with a boy in a backwards cap. Mia was at the bar, pressed shoulder to shoulder with the waiter from earlier. Lola leaned in close to you, her hair sticking to her temple. “Told you this place was feral.” And it was but in the middle of the lights and the music, you caught yourself thinking, just for a moment, how Mason would hate this. Too crowded, too loud, too many people watching. He’d be the one at the corner table, nursing a drink and watching you dance, jaw tight. You pushed the thought away, tipping back the last of your cocktail as the song changed. Tonight wasn’t about him, tonight was about losing yourself in the music, in the sea air, in the kind of heat that made promises it couldn’t keep and God, Mykonos was good at making promises.

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The first thing you were aware of was the sun.  Too bright, too hot, stabbing through the thin curtains like it was out for revenge. The second was the taste in your mouth, it was like tequila and regret had thrown a house party somewhere between your teeth and your tonsils.

“Y/N/N,” Lola groaned from the other bed, voice muffled by a pillow. “Tell me my feet are still attached to my body because I can’t feel them.”

You cracked one eye open. “You were barefoot dancing on the beach at four in the morning. I’m surprised you’ve got skin left on them.”

Mia emerged from the bathroom wearing sunglasses and sipping from a bottle of water like it was holy. “Zoe’s not coming to breakfast,” she announced. “Said she’s ‘communing with the universe.’ Translation: she’s dying in the shower.”

Dragging yourself upright felt like an Olympic event. Makeup still smudged under your eyes, hair smelling faintly of sea spray and cigarette smoke that definitely wasn’t yours. You threw on the first oversized shirt you could find, shoved your sunglasses on, and followed the others to the little outdoor breakfast terrace. The sound of plates clinking and cutlery scraping was almost too much to handle. You sat down and immediately ordered the strongest coffee on the menu, plus a bottle of water so cold it steamed in the heat.

“Does anyone remember leaving the club?” you asked, wincing at your own voice.

“Nope,” Lola said through a mouthful of bread. “But I do remember you dancing with that guy in the white linen shirt. He was obsessed with you.”

You smirked faintly, but your brain was too foggy to picture his face. Your phone buzzed on the table and you groaned, half tempted to ignore it. Probably just the group chat from home but  you picked it up and froze. The notification wasn’t from the group chat. It was from Instagram.

Mason Mount liked your story.

You stared at it for a moment, the words swimming on the screen. Your story from last night, it was a blurry boomerang of the dance floor at Scorpios, the lights flashing, the music thudding in the background. You hadn’t thought much about it when you posted it at 3 a.m., just one of those drunk uploads you’d probably delete later. Your stomach did a slow, disorienting flip. Mason hadn’t liked anything of yours in a year. Not since Sophia. Not since the night you saw her on his arm and decided you weren’t going to be one of his background options anymore.

“Uh oh,” Lola said, leaning over to peek. “And here he is. Mr Mount himself.”

Mia lowered her sunglasses. “What the fuck? You two haven’t spoken in—”

“A year,” you finished, still staring at your phone.

“And now he’s lurking at half nine in the morning from God knows where,” Lola said, grinning like she could already see the drama. “This is suspicious.”

You locked your phone and shoved it face-down on the table, heart hammering in a way you hated. “It’s nothing. Probably an accident.”

“People don’t accidentally go on your story,” Mia pointed out. “Especially not people who haven’t even double-tapped your dog pictures for twelve months.”

The waiter appeared with your coffee, and you clung to it like it was the only stable thing in your universe. You weren’t going to think about it. You were in Mykonos, the sun was blazing, the sea was glittering just beyond the terrace, and you had a full day of doing absolutely nothing lined up. But even as Lola launched into a story about the waiter from last night, your mind kept drifting back to that little red heart because if Mason was watching your stories again… what else was he thinking about?

The Mykonos sun didn’t care about your hangover. It beat down with the kind of unapologetic heat that made even walking to the pool feel like a workout. By midday you were stretched out on a lounger, bikini straps untied, sunglasses perched on your nose. Around you, the hotel pool was perfect, bright turquoise water, lazy music drifting from a speaker, and the smell of coconut sunscreen hanging in the air. It should have been bliss. It was bliss. Except for the little itch under your skin.  You could almost picture it, him somewhere far away, phone in hand, thumb pausing just a fraction too long over your name.

“Earth to Y/N,” Lola said, leaning over from her lounger. She had a cocktail in each hand and her hair piled into a messy knot. “You’ve been staring at the same palm tree for ten minutes.”

“Just… thinking,” you said, reaching for one of her drinks.

“About?” she pressed.

“Nothing important.” You took a long sip, letting the cold, fruity sweetness distract you.

The afternoon blurred in that hazy holiday way, drifting between the pool and the bar, stopping only to dip into the sea that lay glittering just beyond the hotel’s private stretch of sand. You were ankle-deep in the surf when Mia called out from the loungers.

“Y/N/N! Your phone’s buzzing!”

You padded over, water droplets tracing down your legs, and dug into your tote. One glance at the screen and your stomach tightened. Instagram again but this time it wasn’t just a like.

Mason Mount replied to your story.

You swiped it open before you could talk yourself out of it. It was the panoramic beach shot you’d posted an hour ago with the blue sky, white umbrellas, the edge of your knee in the bottom corner. His reply sat underneath in two simple words:

"Not bad."

You stared at it, the sea breeze cooling the back of your neck. No emoji, no over-the-top flirtation, just… casual. Like he hadn’t been silent for a year, like this was normal.

Lola craned her neck to see. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’s fishing.”

“It’s nothing,” you said automatically, locking your phone again but it wasn’t nothing. It was the first time Mason Mount had slid into your messages in twelve months and no matter how much you told yourself not to reply, you could feel the words already forming at the tip of your tongue.

The girls were already planning that night’s bar crawl, voices overlapping with talk of sunset shots and DJ sets. But even as you nodded along, all you could hear was the echo of his message in your head. Not bad.

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The sunset in Mykonos didn’t creep in gently, it crashed into the sky in streaks of orange and pink, the whole horizon bleeding like it had been set on fire. By the time you girls were dressed, the streets were glowing gold, your sandals clicking against the cobblestones. Someone’s speaker was already blasting down the narrow alleyways, music bouncing off the whitewashed walls. You were in a strappy black dress, hair still warm from the shower, skin slicked with that coconut-scented oil that made everything feel like a scene from a music video. The first stop was a bar perched right on the cliff’s edge, all wooden decking and low cushions, the Aegean glittering far below. Shots came before the drinks. Then drinks came before the second shots.

You’d been good all day, phone zipped in your bag, mind firmly on the sun and the sea and the way Lola was somehow collecting admirers like she was handing out business cards. But the alcohol made the edges of your restraint fray. By the time you were three bars in, you were scrolling through your DMs in the corner while Mia tried to convince the bartender to give her the shaker so she could “help.”

Mason’s message from earlier sat there like a dare:

Mason 💜 Not bad.

Your thumb hovered for a second before you typed:

You 💜 You’ve seen better.

You hit send before you could think. Immediately regretted it but then immediately didn’t. He replied faster than you expected, in less than a minute.

Mason 💜 Doubt it.

Your stomach flipped. You told yourself it was the tequila but it wasn’t. “Y/N/N!” Zoe yelled over the music. “Stop sexting and come dance!”

“I’m not—” you started, but your phone buzzed again.

Mason 💜

You out there alone?

You smirked, the alcohol making your brain bold.

You 💜 Do I ever go out alone?

Three dots. Then:

Mason 💜 I meant… is there anyone there I should be worried about?

You stared at that for a beat, the noise of the bar fading under the thud of your own pulse. Lola appeared beside you, sweaty from dancing, eyes dropping straight to your phone. She took one look at his name, rolled her eyes, and grabbed your wrist. “Oh, he’s jealous. Absolutely not. Come on before you end up telling him to fly out and give him our room number.” But you didn’t move right away because the truth was, the thought of him jealous, him still caring, wasn’t something you were ready to let go of.

The club was a furnace. Bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, bass rattling your ribs, lights slicing the dark in deep blues and hot pinks. Your hair stuck to the back of your neck, your dress clung to your skin, and your brain was happily floating somewhere between your last tequila and the DJ’s bass drop. You were dancing, sort of more half swaying, half laughing at whatever nonsense Lola was shouting in your ear. But every couple of minutes, your hand drifted to your bag, well actually to your phone, to him.

Another message had come in while you were ordering drinks.

Mason 💜

You’re quiet.

You typed back without thinking.

You 💜

Music’s too loud to text.

Mason 💜That’s never stopped you before.

You laughed right there in the middle of the dance floor, earning a confused look from the guy who’d been trying to get your attention for the last song and a half.

You 💜

Maybe I’m enjoying myself too much to text you, Mount.

You shot back, tossing the phone back into your bag but you didn’t last two minutes before you checked again and there sat a reply from Mason.

Mason 💜

Enjoy yourself all you want. Just don’t forget me.

It was ridiculous how those eight words could cut through the alcohol haze. They lodged under your skin like something you weren’t supposed to touch.

You 💜

Impossible.

You sent, and instantly hated how honest it felt. The night blurred after that, more dancing, more drinks, someone spilling half a cocktail down your arm. When you finally staggered into the hotel room at god-knows-what-time, your makeup was smudged, your shoes were dangling from your fingers, and your head was full of static. You collapsed on the bed, dress still on, legs dangling off the side, and fished your phone from your bag. The screen lit up with another message from him.

Mason 💜

Still out?

You 💜

Just got in,  Why, jealous?

You typed, thumbs clumsy.

Mason 💜

Always.

You bite your lip, the room swaying slightly. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the heat still clinging to your skin, but the next thing you knew you were typing—

You 💜

Bet Sophia wouldn’t like that.

It sat there for a second, daring him. When his reply came, it was fast.

Mason 💜 Wouldn’t matter. She’s not around anymore.

You blinked at the screen. The words sat heavy and light all at once.

You 💜

Since when?

Mason 💜

A while. You didn’t ask.

You stared at that one for longer, a hundred things you could say stacking up in your mind. Instead, you typed—

You 💜Didn’t think I could.

Another pause. Then—

Mason 💜You always could.

Your pulse picked up, your brain screaming don’t go there, but your thumbs ignoring the memo entirely.

You 💜

Remember that night after your birthday?

He is quick to reply:

Mason 💜

When you wouldn’t let me leave the bed until sunrise? Yeah.

Heat flushed up your neck, even though you were alone.

You 💜

You were impossible to get over.

You sent before you could stop yourself.

Mason 💜Then don’t.

Maybe I’m closer than you think.

You 💜

What does that mean?

Mason 💜

Just saying… Mykonos is nice this time of year.

You locked your phone, heart hammering, refusing to let yourself think about what that might mean because if you did, you knew sleep would be impossible and something told you, Mason was already making sure of that.

You wake up to sunlight searing straight through the thin hotel curtains, stabbing at your eyes like it’s got a personal vendetta. The air conditioning hums weakly in the corner, doing nothing to ease the sticky film of sweat clinging to your skin. Your mouth is dry, cottony, a faint tang of tequila still lurking like an unwelcome guest. Someone in the hallway slams a door, and your skull rattles like it’s been hit with a brick. You groan, dragging a pillow over your head, but the other noise in the room, giggles, groans, someone slapping around for their phone tells you the girls are just as wrecked.

A soft ping from the nightstand. You know before you even turn over what it is. Your phone is face down, but the screen glows faintly in the low light. It’s not the ping that makes your stomach flip, it’s the hazy, fragmented memory of the messages you sent last night. You reach for the phone, hand sluggish, and flip it over and there it was. Your chat, sitting right at the top, bold with unread messages. Your heart squeezes.  You scroll up, trying to piece together the whole drunken chaos. Now your brain’s buzzing, not from last night’s shots (though they’re still lingering like ghosts in your bloodstream), but from the chat.

"Ugh, my head is pounding," Mia groans from the other bed, hair sticking up in an impressively tragic halo.

"Yours and mine both," you mumble, locking your phone before anyone sees the flush creeping up your cheeks but you can’t stop the question from worming its way in:  Is he actually in Mykonos? Or is this just Mason playing his usual game—dangling the hook, knowing full well you’ll bite eventually? Either way, you’re in trouble.

By mid-afternoon, the girls had dragged you out into the blinding Mykonos sun, armed with oversized sunglasses, iced coffees, and the kind of optimism only tourists with a day’s worth of drinking ahead of them could carry. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t so much as glance at your phone before dinner. Last night’s thread was still sitting there, heavy and tempting like a secret I shouldn’t know. The words burned in your brain, flashing in neon every time my mind drifted. Mason Mount, after a year of radio silence, after Sophia, after all the unanswered questions… suddenly deciding to dip his toe back into your life.  It was textbook Mason — just enough to get under your skin.

“Why are you so quiet?” Zoe asked, leaning over her sun lounger at the beach club, a strawberry daiquiri in hand. “You’re usually leading the chaos.”

“Headache,” you lied, twirling the paper straw. “From the hangover, not from the fact my brain is an overthinking death trap.”

Lola wasn’t buying it. She slid her sunglasses down just enough to meet my eyes. “You’ve been acting shady with your phone all day. Spill, Y/N.”

You shook your head. “It’s nothing. Just… someone from home.”

Her brows shot up instantly. “Mason?”

“Jesus, can we not—” You started, but the smirk on your face told you you’d already given the answer.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, settling back like she’d just secured front-row seats to a soap opera. “After everything? You’re not seriously entertaining him again.”

“I’m not,” you snapped, a little too quickly. “I’m just… curious. He’s been acting weird. Flirty. But you know what he’s like—probably bored.”

Inside, the defensive walls were rattling. Every time you remembered how he’d made you feel, the long nights, the teenage promises, the slow-motion heartbreak when he pulled away, you wanted to throw your phone into the Sea. But yet, the curiosity was poison you kept sipping.

By the time you got back to the hotel to start getting ready, you’d resolved to play it cool. Your hair curled perfectly, makeup done with precision, and your short black dress clung in all the right places. Mykonos was feral at night, wild energy, sticky air, music spilling from every bar and I planned to match it.

“Post something,” Mia urged, phone in hand, ready to document.

“I’m not posting for him,” you said, even as you adjusted your pose in the mirror.

“Sure you’re not,” she teased.

You took the picture anyway, all of you lined up on the balcony, golden hour turning your skin into warm honey, the turquoise sea in the background. You uploaded it without thinking too much, captioned simply: round two.

By the time the lipstick hit your clutch, my phone buzzed.

Mason 💜

Don’t tell me you’re going out looking like that.

Your stomach flipped. God, he was infuriating. And God, he knew exactly how to get a reaction out of you.

You 💜

You don’t get to have an opinion on what I look like anymore.

The typing bubble popped up almost instantly.

Mason  💜

Never stopped having one and I think you know I’m right.

You leaned against the bathroom doorframe, chewing your lip, trying not to let the smile win. Lola appeared in the doorway, already halfway into her heels. “You’ve got that face,” she said knowingly. “The Mason face.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, shoving your phone into your bag but not before you read the last message again.

Mason 💜

You look unreal. Always did.

And just like that, the walls you’d spent the day rebuilding cracked.

The group was still buzzing from dinner as you got ready to leave the restaurant and head back out. You took another group photo at the restaurant. You posted it without thinking, tagged the location, shoved the phone in your bag. You’d barely made it two bars into the crawl before it started buzzing again.

Mason 💜

Dangerous dress, babe.

You swear your knees actually went weak. You rolled your eyes, shoved the phone back without replying but another came through before you’d even taken your next sip.

Mason 💜

You always knew how to cause trouble, didn’t you?

Your lips parted, like your body was reacting before your brain caught up. It had been a year and here he was, slipping into your night like he’d never left, like he hadn’t left you in pieces more times than you could count.

You typed back before you could stop yourself. You  💜

Maybe I just finally learned from the best.

Three dots appeared instantly.

Mason 💜

Don’t tempt me.

You locked your phone like that would stop your pulse from spiking, like it would stop you picturing him saying it, voice low, eyes lit the way they always were when he was about to ruin you. You hated him for it  and hated yourself more for wanting to see how far he’d go.

The music was loud enough to rattle your ribs, but your phone screen still had your full attention. It had started as stupid banter, Mason had replied to your Instagram story of the first round of shots with a lightweight, but after three drinks, you wasn’t in the mood to play nice.

You 💜

All good to fuck me and then show up with Sophia at the FA cup gala tho.

You smirked at the screen. Petty? Absolutely. Accurate? Unfortunately.

Mason 💜

Babe…

You 💜

No don’t call me that, I must just be great for a dirty little secret, ey?

It took him a minute, which only made you more smug until his reply came through.

Mason  💜

You were never a secret. You’ve always been the best thing I’ve had.

You stared at the words, suddenly less sure of your footing.

You 💜

Funny way of showing it.

Mason 💜

I messed up, I know that. But you’re not just good in bed, Y/N/N. You’re funny, stubborn, smart as hell. You’re everything, I was just too stupid to see that x

You locked your phone. Your throat felt hot, your eyes a little blurry and you told yourself it was the vodka, not him. That’s when the shouting started. Mia and Zoe were nose-to-nose by the bar, someone’s drink went flying, and the next thing you knew, them two had stormed outside in a huff, Lola was nowhere to be seen she probably hocked up. You followed, but in the chaos of everyone leaving you ended up on the curb alone.

Your phone buzzed again in your palm, like he knew you were alone.

Mason 💜

You okay? Where are you? I am in Mykonos I will come to you x

You didn’t reply, not right away. You just sat there, the screen lighting up in your hand, his name staring back at you like it had a thousand times before, and wondered how many more times you was going to let him pull you back in. The screen lit up again before you could shove it into your bag.

Mason 💜

 Y/N/N? Talk to me. Where are you? x

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, you didn’t owe him this but your head was starting to spin from more than the vodka now, and the night air was getting sharper with every breath.

You 💜

By the beach. That bar with the blue awning. Don’t come.

It was a warning, not an invitation or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You’d just tucked your phone into your lap when you saw him, he had his hood up, head down, like some undercover mission gone wrong. Even with his face half-hidden, you knew the way he moved anywhere.

“You weren’t supposed to—” you started, but he was already shrugging off his hoodie.

“Put this on.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, your arms crossed tight.

“You’re shivering,” he countered, holding it out until you took it. The cotton was warm from his body, smelling faintly of his aftershave. He pulled the hood up over your head himself, fingers brushing your hair, and you hated the way your chest clenched.

“Trying to hide from the paparazzi or from me?” you muttered.

“Both,” he said with the ghost of a grin. “Though you’re scarier.”

You snorted, looking away so he wouldn’t see you smile.

“What happened to your friends?”

“They’ve got the hotel keys. Took off during the whole… girl fight thing.” you gestured vaguely toward the strip of bars. “Not sure where they ended up.”

He glanced toward the water, then back at me. “Come on. Let’s walk. Warm you up a bit.”

You both kicked off your shoes and headed down the sand, the sound of the tide smoothing over the chaos behind us. For a few minutes, it was just the waves and our footsteps.

“You always end up like this, you know,” he said eventually.

You glanced at him. “Like what?”

“Half-cut on a beach somewhere, pretending you don’t want me to find you.”

“Maybe I don’t,” you shot back.

“Then why tell me where you were?”

You opened your mouth but then closed it again. “Maybe I just wanted one of your hoodies.”

“Sure,” he said, but his eyes flicked to yours, searching.

You walked a bit further before you asked, “So… you and Sophia. Done?”

“Yeah.” His answer came quick. “A while ago now.”

You kicked at the sand. “Doesn’t erase the FA gala, you slept with me made me feel things for you again and then just throw me away like nothing because you had someone better to go with.”

His sigh was long, heavy. “Y/N/N, that night wasn’t what you think.”

“Oh, enlighten me.”

He stopped walking, so you did too. “I was stupid, yeah. But I didn’t take you for a dirty little secret. I’ve never been prouder of anyone in my life than I’ve been of you. And I don’t just mean the—”

You held up a hand. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“—the way you are in bed,” he said anyway, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth. “Though, yeah, that too.”

You rolled your eyes, but heat crept up your neck. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m honest,” he said. “You’re smart, stubborn, infuriating sometimes. But you make me feel like… me. Like I’m more than a headline or a stat sheet.”

The tide rolled up to your ankles, cold and foamy, and you looked away before your face gave it away.

“Why now, Mason? Why chase me down here?”

“Because I hate the thought of you drunk, alone, cold, and thinking I don’t care.” He stepped closer, close enough that his voice softened. “I do care. I always have. And just for the record I didn’t chase you, I just happened to be here too.”

For a second, you let yourself believe it. The sound of the waves, the hoodie around your shoulders, his eyes on you like you was the only person in the world. Then you laughed it was sharp, deflective. “You’re still not getting this hoodie back.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Keep it. I’ll just come find you next time I want it.”

You carried on walking, the conversation dipping into old memories,  the festivals, the stupid dares, the first time you kissed, each one a thread you kept tugging at, knotting yourself back together without meaning to. By the time you reached the end of the beach, your toes were numb, but your chest felt warmer than it had in months.

You padded alongside Mason back up the beach, toes digging into the cool sand, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your hands. The faint hum of a distant bar was the only reminder you were in Mykonos and not somewhere far more private. He didn’t rush you, letting you match the slow, unsteady pace of someone tipsy but starting to sober up.

When you reached the road, he glanced over. “Text me when you’re inside,” he murmured. “I’m not going until I know you’re safe.”

Something about the way he said it, it was soft but unarguable, it pulled at a part of you that had been locked away for years. “You’re bossy,” you muttered, but your voice lacked any bite.

Back at the hotel entrance, the lobby lights felt harsh, but Mason stayed with you, leaning casually against the desk while you explained to reception about the missing key. He didn’t leave when the staff fussed, or when the spare card finally clicked green in the door.

“Go on,” he said, lingering in the doorway. “Get into bed. I’ll let you go.”

You smirked faintly, leaning on the frame. “That sounds like you’re doing me a favour.”

He didn’t rise to it, he just gave you that slow, knowing look you’d been trying not to remember all night. “Maybe I am.”

The next couple of days became your own quiet rhythm. It wasn’t constant messaging, you told yourself you wouldn’t be that girl but every time your phone lit up, it was him. A photo of his breakfast with This is what you’re missing out on and a random “What colour bikini is it today?” in the middle of your afternoon by the pool.

You threw the sass back hard, reminding him of every old wound. “All this sweet talk, but wasn’t I just the dirty little secret back then?” “Careful, Mount, or I might think you’re actually a nice guy now.”

Instead of biting, Mason countered with infuriating patience. “You weren’t a secret. You were the best part.” “Maybe I’m trying to show you I’ve grown up.”

By the second night after the beach, it was less guarded. You caught yourself smiling down at your phone in the middle of dinner, laughing out loud at something ridiculous he’d sent, and in between the teasing, there were slips of little half-confessions from both sides.

You 💜

Do you miss me or just the way I used to let you get your own way?

Mason 💜

Both…but mostly you xx

It was dangerous, that shift and you could feel yourself leaning toward it, one message at a time.

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You stood in the middle of the hotel room, arms crossed, watching Zoe slip into her pyjamas like it wasn’t their final night in Mykonos. Mia was already under the covers scrolling TikTok, and Lola was removing her makeup with slow, deliberate swipes.

“You’re all actually being serious?” you said, incredulous. “It’s our last night and no one wants to go out?”

Zoe didn’t even look up. “Babe, I’m shattered. That beach trip killed me.”

“You’ve had three naps today,” you shot back.

Lola tried to soften it with a smile. “We just want a chill one. We can all go for brunch tomorrow before the flight.”

You sighed, pulling open the balcony doors. Warm night air spilled in, laced with the smell of salt and distant music. She was in the mood for glitter and basslines, not Netflix in bed.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Mason 💜

What’s the plan tonight? xx

You typed back quickly:

You 💜 Apparently nothing. My so-called friends are all old women now xx

Mason 💜

You don’t sound happy about that.

You 💜

It’s our last night and they want to be boring.

Mason 💜

Can’t have that. Come out with us.

You 💜 Us

Mason 💜

Me, Woody, a few of the lads. Just drinks, nothing mad.

Unless you want mad.

You 💜

Pretty sure drinking with you counts as mad by default.

Mason 💜

Then you’d better get ready.

You hesitated, tapping your nail against the railing. This wasn’t about overthinking you was in Mykonos, and you wasn’t going to waste your last night sulking.

You stepped back inside. “Right. I’m going out.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “With who?”

“An old… friend.” you grabbed your bag before they could press further, ignoring Lola’s knowing smirk.

The taxi rolled to a slow crawl along the narrow, cobbled street, the engine’s hum blending with the throb of bass spilling from the bars around the corner. You could taste salt on the air, the Aegean breeze threading through your hair, carrying that mix of perfume, cigarette smoke, and warm sand that clung to Mykonos after dark.

The bar was all open walls and hanging lanterns, spilling golden light onto the street. You spotted Woody first, tall, tanned, laughing with a drink in hand and then him.

Mason was leaned back against the bar, white linen shirt loose and untucked, collarbones catching the light. His eyes found you before you could even pretend to look elsewhere. That grin, the one that had always been your undoing, spread across his face, slow and deliberate, like he’d been expecting you all along.

“Look who finally showed,” he said as you walked up, his voice low enough to cut through the music but still private. His gaze flicked down your dress, it was short, strappy, something you’d thrown on without thinking but now felt like a choice.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though your pulse betrayed you, thrumming in your ears.

Mason’s smirk deepened, and he tipped his chin toward the group. “Drink?”

You nodded, letting him brush past you toward the bar, the familiar scent of his cologne trailing after him. You hated that it made your stomach twist the way it used to. It was going to be a long night.

The first drink went down quicker than you planned. Partly because it was strong, partly because every time Mason leaned in to say something, the low rasp of his voice skated across your skin and made you forget there was anyone else in the bar. He was in no rush to move away from you either. Even with Woody’s mates swapping stories at the other end of the table, Mason kept a steady lean against the back of your chair, one arm draped casually behind it. Not quite touching. Just there. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him through the thin straps of your dress.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said eventually, eyes never leaving yours as he sipped his beer.

You let out a short laugh. “I’ve been on holiday.”

His mouth curved in that slow, infuriating way. “And yet… here you are, on your last night, with me.”

You looked away, pretending to watch the DJ change tracks, but Mason’s hand brushed against your bare thigh under the table, fleeting but deliberate. Your breath hitched before you could help it.The conversation shifted as the group decided to move to another spot, and Mason fell in step beside you as you spilled out into the warm night air. The streets were buzzing filled with music pouring from doorways, the smell of grilled seafood and sea breeze tangling in the air. Mason kept his hand low at your back, guiding you through the crowd. His palm barely pressed against you, but each brush felt intentional.

The next bar was a rooftop bar with views over the harbour, the tension sharpened. The drinks got colder, the music louder, and Mason got bolder. He’d lean in to say something and let his fingers graze your arm, or rest his hand on your hip as he passed behind you. Every small contact felt like a secret no one else was supposed to notice.

“So,” he said, leaning one elbow on the bar as you stood beside him, “are you still mad at me?”

You met his eyes, narrowing yours. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe.” You took a slow sip of your drink, refusing to give him more than that.

Mason’s gaze lingered on your mouth as you set the glass down. “You missed me though.”

“You wish.”

His grin widened, but there was a flicker of something sharper behind it, he knew this was a challenge. He didn’t argue, didn’t push. Just let his fingers brush over yours where they rested on the bar, slow enough that it wasn’t an accident. By midnight, the rooftop had blurred into a haze of music and golden light. You’d found yourself next to Mason on one of the low lounge sofas, knees brushing every time one of you shifted. His arm stretched along the back, fingertips idly playing with the ends of your hair. You told yourself you weren’t leaning into him but when his hand slid down to rest warm and heavy on your shoulder, you didn’t move away.

He bent his head so his lips were close to your ear. “You look good tonight,” he murmured, his breath warm on your skin. “Too good.”

You felt the words more than you heard them. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

His smile ghosted against your temple. “Guess you’ll find out.”

When the group decided to hit one last place before calling it a night, Mason stayed at your side, his hand finding yours in the crush of the crowd. It was casual enough that no one else would think much of it but the way his thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles said otherwise.

By the time you reached the final bar, you’d stopped pretending you weren’t playing this game. You stood close enough that your arm pressed into his whenever you talked, close enough that you could smell the mix of his cologne and the faint salt off his skin. He laughed at something you said, his head tipping back, hand squeezing your waist and for a split second, it felt like nothing had changed. Like it was months ago, before all the mess. But the way his eyes darkened when they dropped to your lips told you this wasn’t nostalgia. It was just the start of trouble.

Before you knew it, you were back at Mason’s hotel. You couldn’t even remember how that happened. The corridors of Mason’s hotel blurred as you stumbled through them, half from the cocktails and half from the way his hand had stayed locked in yours the entire walk back.

You’d told yourself all night you’d be sensible. Last night of the holiday. Don’t do anything stupid. But standing outside his suite now, watching him swipe his key card, you knew you’d already lost that battle.

The door swung open, and you stepped into something that looked more like a villa than a hotel room. White marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows opening out onto a balcony with the whole harbour glittering below. You laughed under your breath, shaking your head.

“Of course yours is nicer,” you muttered, slipping off your heels with a wince.

Mason turned, shirt half-open, hair a mess from the night air. His grin was slow, dangerous. “Only the best, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, trying for nonchalant. “Show-off.”

But then he was in front of you, closing the space, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. The smirk faltered, and for a beat, you just stared at each other, months of distance, anger, longing compressed into one taut moment.

“You really gonna pretend you don’t want this?” he asked softly.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “I wanted to be responsible.”

His mouth brushed the corner of yours, maddeningly light. “Since when have we ever been responsible with each other?”

That was it, the last thread of resistance snapping. You surged forward, kissing him hard, messy, like you’d been starving for it. Mason groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him as he stumbled back, dragging you with him.

The next few minutes were a blur of heat and familiarity. His mouth traced down your neck, teeth grazing that spot that always made you gasp. Your hands tugged at his shirt until the buttons gave, fabric sliding off his shoulders.

“God, I missed this body,” you whispered, palms roaming over the hard planes of his chest, the dip of his abs.

Mason’s laugh was breathless, muffled against your collarbone. “Missed the way you touch me,” he murmured, biting gently at your skin before soothing it with his tongue. “Like you know every inch.”

“I do,” you shot back, tilting his chin up to kiss him again. “And you know mine.”

His answer was a low growl as his hands slipped under your dress, skimming up your thighs. You gasped, clinging to his shoulders as his fingers found the edge of your lace.

“You wore these for me?” he asked, smug, voice thick with lust.

“Not everything’s about you,” you breathed, though the way your hips rolled against his told a different story.

“Yeah?” Mason smirked, lips brushing your ear. “Then why are you shaking already?”

Your answer was swallowed in another kiss, all teeth and tongues, desperate. He guided you back toward the bed, stumbling and laughing between kisses until you hit the edge and toppled onto the soft white sheets.

You looked up at him, his shirt was gone, belt half undone, chest heaving and you felt that same rush you always did, like nothing else existed but him.

“Take it off,” you ordered, tugging at his jeans.

“Bossy,” he teased, but his hands were already working the button. He stripped them off with a cocky grin, climbing back over you, pressing his body to yours. The weight of him, the heat, the familiar press of his hips into yours, it was everything you’d tried to forget.

“You feel the same,” he muttered against your lips. “Just like I remember.”

“Shut up and prove it,” you panted, nails raking down his back.

Mason’s mouth left yours, moving lower, trailing fire down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your chest. His hands were already working your dress up, knuckles brushing the sides of your thighs until you wriggled impatiently.

“Slow down,” he murmured against your skin, grinning when you let out a frustrated huff. “I’ve waited months for this. Gonna take my time.”

“Mase—”

But he cut you off with a sharp nip at your breast, dragging the strap of your dress down with his teeth. You gasped, arching, and he hummed smugly against you.

“Missed these,” he whispered, hands cupping, squeezing, mouth closing over your nipple until your back arched off the bed. “Knew I would.”

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging. “Stop talking.”

“Not a chance,” he said with a laugh, sliding lower. “Not when I’m about to remind you why no one else ever measures up.”

And then his mouth was between your thighs, hot breath ghosting over the lace, tongue teasing just enough to make you squirm. He pushed your dress up higher, peeled your underwear down slowly, like he wanted to savour every second of exposing you.

“Mason,” you whined, hips lifting, desperate for more.

He grinned against your skin. “That’s it. Say my name.”

His tongue finally slid over you, slow and deliberate, and you cried out, clapping a hand over your mouth. Mason chuckled, low and pleased, holding your thighs apart with firm hands.

“Don’t hide it,” he said, voice muffled as he flicked his tongue against your clit. “Wanna hear you. You know that.”

Your hand dropped uselessly to the sheets, clutching them instead, as he licked deeper, tongue working in rhythm until your thighs shook. Then, just as the heat began to coil tight, he pulled back, sliding two fingers inside you instead.

The stretch made you moan loud, head falling back. Mason’s lips found your clit again, sucking, tongue circling, while his fingers thrust hard and deep, curling in that way that made your whole body clench.

“Fuck, Mason,” you gasped, bucking against him.

“That’s it,” he groaned against you, fucking you harder with his fingers. “You’re dripping. All over me. Don’t tell me you don’t still want this.”

“I hate you,” you choked out, though your nails clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer.

He laughed into you, smug and breathless. “Liar. You love it. Always did.”

The rhythm built and broke you, his tongue relentless, his fingers curling in that exact spot only he seemed to know. Your hips rocked wildly, chasing it, until your whole body tightened and the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and overwhelming.

You came with a cry, thighs squeezing around his head, nails digging into his back. Mason held you down through it, groaning like he’d won a prize, tongue lapping up everything you gave him.

When you finally sagged back, panting, he kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and smug. “Told you,” he murmured, sliding up your body to kiss your swollen lips. “No one makes you cum like I do.”

Your head spun, half from the orgasm, half from the arrogance. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re still shaking,” he teased, pressing his hardness against your thigh. “And I’m not even inside you yet.”

The way he said it, it low and certain and made your breath catch. You wanted to snap back, to tell him off, but instead your hips rolled up against his without thinking, desperate. His grin widened. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Mason hovered above you, breath hot against your lips, his cock pressing heavy against your thigh through his boxers. You were still trembling from his mouth, but the need had shifted sharper, deeper, hungry in a way that only he could ever touch.

He smirked down at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You ready to admit it yet?”

“Admit what?” you whispered, though your hips lifted shamelessly, grinding against the outline of him.

“That you still want me.” His voice was low, hoarse, every word dragging heat across your skin.

You met his eyes, defiant even as your body betrayed you. “Shut up and fuck me, Mason.”

That did it. His cock twitched against you, his jaw tightening as if he’d been holding back too long. He shoved his boxers down, kicking them away, and you barely had time to breathe before he was lining himself up, the blunt head sliding against your soaked entrance.

The sensation alone made you moan, clutching at his shoulders. Mason groaned, eyes squeezing shut. “Jesus Christ. Been thinking about this for months.”

“Then stop thinking,” you gasped, digging your nails into him, “and do it.”

His laugh was shaky, breathless. “Always so demanding.” And then he pushed in, slow but relentless, stretching you open until your back arched off the sheets. The burn was sharp, overwhelming, but the fullness, the way he filled you completely, had you gasping his name.

“Fuck,” Mason groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “So tight. Just like I remember. Better.”

Your nails raked down his back, dragging a hiss from him. “Move, Mase.”

He pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back in, both of you groaning at the same time. His rhythm built fast, hard, each thrust slamming you deeper into the mattress.

“God, you feel good,” he panted, his hand gripping your thigh, hiking it up around his hip. The angle made him hit deeper, and you cried out, clinging to him.

“You’re…fucking…arrogant,” you gasped between thrusts, though the way your walls clenched around him gave you away.

He smirked against your neck, driving harder. “Arrogant? Or just right?”

“Shut…ahh…shut up.”

His laugh was ragged, swallowed by the sound of skin slapping, the bed creaking under you. He buried his face in your neck, teeth scraping as he groaned your name like a prayer. Your hips lifted to meet his, chasing every brutal thrust. The coil inside you tightened again, too soon, too much, but you couldn’t stop it. Mason felt it, felt you flutter around him, and his cock twitched inside you.

“Fuck, you’re close,” he growled, hand sliding between you to rub your clit in fast, tight circles. “Cum for me again. Show me no one else can fuck you like this.”

His words broke you. You came with a scream, clenching hard around him, dragging him over the edge with you. Mason cursed loudly, hips stuttering, before spilling inside you with a groan that shook through his whole body. He collapsed onto you, both of you panting, sweat-slicked skin pressed tight together. His lips brushed your jaw, soft now, tender in the aftermath.

“Told you,” he murmured, still inside you, voice a mix of smugness and something more fragile. “You’ll never get over me.”

You smacked his shoulder weakly, but your body stayed wrapped around his. “You’re such a dick.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, kissing your cheek, your mouth, the corner of your smile. “But I’m your dick.”

You both laid there for a minute, the room was quiet now, apart from the low hum of the air con and the faint beat of music drifting up from the harbour below. You were still catching your breath, your head on Mason’s bare chest, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. His skin was warm and damp, rising and falling beneath your cheek in a steady rhythm. For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the kind of silence that only came when you’d completely worn each other out. Mason’s fingers traced lazy circles over your arm, sometimes dipping to tangle with yours.

“You okay?” he murmured eventually, voice softer than it had been all night.

“Mm,” you hummed, not moving. “Better than okay.”

You felt his laugh vibrate against your ear. “Yeah? You’re not just saying that?”

You tilted your head up, giving him a sleepy smirk. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Bit late for that.” He kissed your forehead, lingering. “Swear down, I forgot how good you sound when I’ve got you like that.”

You swatted his chest half-heartedly, earning another low laugh. But instead of following it up with more cocky remarks, Mason fell quiet again, his fingers stilling on your skin.

“What?” you asked, propping yourself up slightly to look at him.

His gaze flicked to yours, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it. “Just… lying here with you, it feels a bit like the first time, you know?”

Your brow arched. “The first first time?”

He shook his head quickly, smiling. “Nah. I mean… the first time we did it. Together.”

Your cheeks warmed at the memory, and you buried your face back into his chest with a groan. “Don’t remind me.”

Mason laughed, the sound bubbling out of him. “Oi, don’t act like it wasn’t good.”

“It was awkward as hell,” you muffled into his skin.

“Yeah,” he admitted, grin audible in his voice. “It was. I was so nervous. Thought I was being all smooth, but I nearly dropped the bloody condom on the floor.”

You sat up slightly, laughing with him now. “You did drop it on the floor! And then you made me turn the light off so I wouldn’t see you scrambling for it.”

His face flushed even remembering it, but he laughed harder, hiding his eyes with his hand. “Stop! Nah, don’t make me relive it.”

“It was sweet though,” you said softly, brushing his hand away. “We were what, seventeen? Sixteen?”

“Seventeen,” he corrected gently. “We’d been at that party remember? Someone’s parents were away, and we ended up back at mine. Lewis kept knocking on the door winding me up.”

You groaned, collapsing back down beside him. “Oh my god, yes. I thought he was going to walk in.”

“Would’ve killed him if he did,” Mason muttered, pulling you closer. He was smiling, though, eyes distant with nostalgia. “Mad, though. How long ago that was.”

You hummed in agreement, running your fingers absentmindedly over the tattoo on his ribs. “Feels like a lifetime. And still, here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoed.

Silence settled again, not uncomfortable but heavy with the weight of years, because it wasn’t just about tonight. It was all the nights before, all the times you’d found your way back to each other, even when you swore you wouldn’t.

“Do you ever think about it?” you asked quietly.

He tilted his head. “About what?”

“All of it. Us. The stupid breakups, the making up. The times we didn’t speak for months, and then suddenly…” You gestured vaguely between you. “This.”

Mason exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling. “All the time.”

Your chest tightened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He turned his head to look at you, expression open in a way he rarely let it be. “I can’t help it. You’re kind of… threaded through everything, you know? Like every stage of my life, you’ve been there somehow. Even when you weren’t.”

You blinked at him, taken aback by the honesty. “That’s… actually really soppy.”

He grinned, cheeks pink. “Don’t get used to it.”

You smiled anyway, brushing your lips over his chest in something softer than either of you expected. “I know what you mean, though. I remember when you got called up for the U19s, and I was so proud, even though we weren’t even talking then.”

He chuckled, squeezing your shoulder. “I remember that too. Saw your name pop up on my phone, and I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot.”

You both fell quiet again, lost in the memories. It was strange lying here now, it was almost too easy to forget the messy bits. The girl he’d dated, the arguments, the times you’d sworn it was over.

“You know what I always think about?” he said suddenly, voice low.

“What?”

“That night after prom.”

You groaned instantly. “Mason—”

“No, listen,” he insisted, laughing. “We were both so drunk, and you made me carry your heels half the way home. I thought my arm was going to fall off.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Because you kept trying to convince me to get in the pool in my dress!”

“Would’ve been iconic,” he argued, smirking.

“Would’ve been ruined,” you shot back, but you were smiling too.

The laughter faded slowly, leaving something softer behind. Mason’s hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin.

“I missed this,” he admitted, voice low.

Your heart clenched. “Me too.”

For a long moment, you just looked at each other all the years, all the mess, all the pull you’d never been able to fight. Mason leaned in, kissing you gently this time, nothing like the desperate hunger from earlier. Just soft, lingering, full of everything neither of you could quite say out loud. When you pulled back, you whispered, “This doesn’t mean anything, right?”

He hesitated, searching your face, then gave a half-smile. “Yeah. Sure.” But the way his hand stayed cradling your jaw, the way his thumb kept stroking your skin like he couldn’t stop, you both knew you were lying.

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Sunlight poured through the gaps in the heavy curtains, slicing the hotel suite into bands of gold. You stirred, disoriented, the sheets tangled around your bare legs. For a blissful moment you just lay there, body sore and satisfied, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the pillow. Then you rolled over, expecting to see him with his messy hair, cheek pressed into the mattress, breathing slow. But the bed was empty. The air stilled in your chest. You sat up, blinking against the harsh light, scanning the room. His shirt was gone from the floor. So were his jeans. His trainers that had been kicked by the door.

“Mase?” you croaked, voice rough from sleep, the silence rang louder than any answer could have.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. Slowly, you climbed out of bed, tugging your dress from where it had landed in a crumpled heap. The dress stuck to your skin, faint bruises already blooming along your thighs, a reminder of everything you’d given him last night. You reached for your phone, desperate for a message, something that explained why he wasn’t here but the only notifications lighting up your screen were from your group chat.

Zoe: Babe where are you?? Mia: We thought you were getting snacks?? Lola: Don’t tell me you ditched us on the last night 👀

Your stomach turned. You shoved your shoes on with shaky hands, grabbed your bag, and slipped out of the suite without looking back.

The walk through the streets of Mykonos felt like the longest of your life. Your dress was wrinkled, your hair still smelling faintly of sex and his shampoo, and every step in your sandals screamed walk of shame.  By the time you reached your hotel, your heart was pounding harder than it had in the club last night. You found the girls sprawled on the balcony outside your room, sunglasses on, sipping iced coffees like they’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“There she is,” Zoe announced, pulling her shades down to eye you. “Look at her! The walk of shame in broad daylight.”

Mia giggled, leaning forward. “Look at the hickey on your neck.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Don’t deny it, babe,” Zoe teased. “Hair a mess, makeup smudged, you’ve been gone all night… You’ve definitely been somewhere better than here.”

Lola, quieter than the others, just raised her brows over her sunglasses. “You good?”

You forced a laugh, dropping your bag onto the chair. “Yeah. Fine.”

But the hollow ache in your chest made the word sound false, even to your own ears. Zoe and Mia carried on, cackling about your “mystery man,” making jokes about how you’d “ditched them for dick,” and normally you’d have rolled your eyes, played along. But today, every word was another twist of the knife. Because you hadn’t just gone home with some random guy. You’d gone home with Mason. Again. And now you were sitting here in the harsh light of day, empty bed behind you, feeling used and discarded like some mistake he didn’t want to acknowledge. Eventually, when the laughter died down and the others ducked inside to grab more drinks, you stayed on the balcony, arms hugging your knees.

Lola sank into the chair beside you, quiet for a beat before speaking. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

Your throat tightened. You stared down at your chipped nail polish. “…Yeah.”

Lola sighed, not smug, not scolding just sad. “And he wasn’t there this morning.”

You shook your head quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Left before I woke up.”

There it was, said out loud. The truth settled heavy in your stomach.

Lola reached across, squeezing your hand. “Oh Babe …”

“I know,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have. I knew better. But when I saw him, I just-” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “And then to wake up and he’s just… gone? Like I meant nothing?”

Lola’s jaw tightened, protective fire in her eyes. “Don’t do that to yourself. You don’t mean nothing to him. If anything, that’s the problem. He’s an idiot, but he’s not heartless.”

Your chest ached at her words. “Then why leave?”

“Because he doesn’t know what he wants. Because he’s selfish. Because he knew if he stayed, he’d have to face what this actually means.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Lola said firmly, squeezing your hand again. “You’re just… still in love with him.”

You let out a weak laugh, though it came out more like a sob. “Yeah. And he’s going to ruin me all over again, isn’t he?”

Lola’s expression softened, and she pulled you into her side, holding you against her shoulder. “Not if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

And for the first time all morning, you let yourself lean into the comfort because right now, you didn’t trust yourself to stop chasing him.

The morning went by in a blur, the girls quickly packed their suitcases, checked out of the hotel and went for a quick brunch. Before you knew it you were on the coach on the way to the airport. The airport was thick with that groggy, post-holiday exhaustion. Everyone looked sun-kissed and worn out, dragging duty-free bags through the long queues, clutching bottled water and boarding passes like lifelines. You shuffled along with Zoe, Mia, and Lola, your sunglasses pushed high on your head though there wasn’t a ray of sun to be found inside. Your body felt heavy, almost like the air had solidified overnight. You kept checking your phone, thumb flicking over the screen with a compulsion you hated but couldn’t control. Nothing. No text. No call. Just Mason’s name buried further and further down your WhatsApp feed, shoved lower by the flood of group chats from the girls and spam messages about airport transfers. Your chest tightened every time you opened the app anyway, hoping, praying, hating yourself for wanting. And then, finally, a buzz. Your heart leapt. You snatched your phone up, breath catching only to see Mason’s private story notification instead.

You tapped it without thinking. A picture of him, grin wide, holding up a ridiculous two-scoop ice cream in some beachside café. The caption: Best hangover cure 🍦. That was it. No mention of you. No apology. Not even a half-hearted you okay?  Your throat burned. How could he post about ice cream like last night hadn’t happened? Like you hadn’t been in his bed, his hands gripping you like you was the only girl in the world, whispering things that made you believe, even for a second, that maybe… maybe it was different this time. You snapped your phone shut and dropped it into your tote, pushing your headphones into your ears with a sharp shove.

“What’s wrong?” Zoe asked, peering at you as they sat down at the gate.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly. You forced a smile, but it cracked at the corners. “Just tired.”

Lola narrowed your eyes from across the row of seats, arms crossed over your hoodie. You didn’t push, but you felt the weight of that stare. It was protective, almost suffocating, like Lola already knew. The plane was boarding when Mia tugged on your arm, laughing. “Honestly, babe, I’m still not over the fact you actually disappeared last night. Walk of shame this morning was iconic. You left us on the last night!”

“Rude,” Zoe added, mock-scolding. “We were supposed to all be boring together, and you went off being… well. You.”

You forced a laugh that sounded hollow to her own ears. “Yeah, sorry. Just… needed a bit of air, I guess.”

They took their seats on the plane, Mia and Zoe swapping TikToks and gossiping about the lads they’d met earlier in the week. You slumped against the window, cheek pressed to the cool plastic, your mind a thousand miles away.

Lola leaned close, dropping her voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “He didn’t message did he?... You don’t have to say,” Lola continued softly, “but I know that look. I’ve seen it too many times.”

You swallowed hard, blinking at the seatback in front of you. For a moment you thought about defending him, laughing it off but your chest was too tight, and your heart felt too raw.

“No,” you whispered. “He didn’t.”

“That boy,” Lola muttered, her jaw clenching. “Babe, you deserve so much better than being some… some convenient nostalgia trip for him. He comes back, he pulls you in, then he disappears. Again and again. It’s toxic.”

“I know.” The words slipped out, barely audible. “I know, Lo.”

Lola reached across the armrest, squeezing your hand. “Then mean it this time. Be done. Don’t let him do this to you again.”

You stared out the window as the plane taxied, your reflection ghostly in the glass. You thought about his laugh, the way he’d looked at you in the dark like you was the only person alive. You thought about waking up in that pristine white hotel bed, empty, cold. You pulled your phone out one last time. The girls were still messaging in the group chat…photos from the trip, inside jokes already forming about tan lines and cocktails. Mason’s name still sat stubbornly in your recent, just under Lola’s. Your thumb hovered over it. You wanted so badly to text him. To demand an explanation, to beg for something…anything…that would prove you wasn’t just another mistake.

Instead, you scrolled back up to his stupid ice cream post and laughed bitterly. A laugh that hurt. Headphones back in, you hit play on your music and turned it up loud enough to drown everything else out. What happens in Mykonos stays in Mykonos. That’s what they always said. And for the first time, you agreed. You closed your eyes against the ache, gripping Lola’s hand like an anchor. Mason Mount could stay in Mykonos. You was completely done.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been 10 months since that holiday and for you time flew. You had been non stop at work and then you were approached by united, they had an admin position open and you used to work with one of the girls there who begged you to apply. When you saw the salary you couldn’t really turn it down, Lola begged you not to take it as you had just finally got over Mason. You had started dating and being involved with him again would ruin everything. You promised Lola that you were just doing admin and you wouldn’t need to be in actual direct contact with the players. When they offered you the job you jumped at the chance and couldn’t wait to start, Lola was septicidal but you need a job like this, and you wouldn’t let Mason Mount ruin something else.

The rhythm of your new job had quickly become comforting. The click of your keyboard, the constant shuffle of papers, the faint buzz of conversations drifting down the corridors of Carrington’s offices…it was all strangely grounding. For once in your life, things felt… still. Professional. Predictable. On day eight, you’d just started to relax into the idea that this was the fresh start you needed. You weren’t thinking about Mykonos anymore. You weren’t thinking about the way Mason had kissed you like he’d never let go only to disappear the next morning. You weren’t checking your phone for his name to appear. You’d buried it, sealed it, and convinced yourself you were done.

At lunch, you were perched at your desk, a tub of supermarket pasta in one hand while you scrolled through emails with the other. The office was quieter than usual, most of your team already in the break room. You’d chosen solitude, half because you needed it and half because you were just tired. The knock came light at first, then firm.

“Come in,” you called distractedly, still typing. The door swung open. A burst of noise, male voices, laughter and then the unmistakable scrape of boots on the floor. You looked up, ready with your polite office smile, only for your chest to seize like someone had pulled the air straight out of you.

Mason.

He looked just as startled, his easy grin faltering as his eyes locked on yours. He wasn’t alone  he was with Luke Shaw, Bruno, and a couple of the younger lads trailed behind, talking amongst themselves but Mason had frozen mid-step. For a second, neither of you said anything. The silence hummed, just a beat too heavy, until Luke nudged Mason with his shoulder.

“Mate, you coming, or what?”

Mason blinked, coughed, and forced himself back into motion. “Yeah yeah, sorry.” His voice was too casual, too quick, like it had been rehearsed.

You straightened in your chair, every nerve alive under his gaze, but you made your face unreadable. Professional. Cool. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. How can I help?”

The lads barely looked at you, rattling off a request about some paperwork for sponsorship appearances. You pulled yourself into autopilot, retrieving the right forms, printing schedules, explaining logistics like your heart wasn’t hammering out of your chest. Mason stood off to the side, hands shoved deep in his joggers, eyes flicking between you and the window. When the lads had what they needed, they thanked you and drifted out again, their chatter echoing down the corridor. Mason lingered. You could feel it, his indecision, his weight hovering in the doorway. He looked older somehow, sharper in the jaw, tired in the eyes. The same eyes that had looked at you like you were everything in Mykonos. The same eyes that hadn’t looked at you once after.

“You work here,” he said finally, his voice quiet, almost incredulous.

You stacked the papers neatly, keeping your eyes on your hands. “Clearly.”

“I had no idea.”

“Eight days,” you echoed, tone clipped, “and I was hoping to keep it that way.”

That stung. You saw it in the twitch of his mouth, the slight furrow of his brow. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him like he was about to say something important, but you cut in before he could. “Look, Mason, I’m busy. If you need admin requests, send them by email like everyone else.”

His jaw worked. He wanted to argue, you could see it. But instead, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and gave you a small, unreadable nod. “Right,” he murmured. “Got it.”

And just like that, he turned, slipping out the door with none of the easy swagger you remembered. You sat there in the silence he left behind, your pasta long forgotten, your pulse still thrumming like a warning bell.

The office had been humming the rest of the day, phones buzzing, keyboards clacking, and the soft drone of your colleagues chatting about weekend plans in the office. You’d finally fallen back into a rhythm, paperwork stacked neatly, emails sorted, calendar updated. You finally pushed earlier out of your head and focus on your evening plans.

That was until Mason bloody Mount had walked back in just before the end of the day. You’d played it cool then and you can now, you plastered on a neutral smile, greeting him like you would any other player who needed something processed. The other admin girls had fluttered a bit, giggling behind their hands when Mason laughed at something, but you kept your head down. Pretended he was just another footballer in training gear, not the ghost from Mykonos who still managed to haunt you ten months later. “Sorry to bother, could I just grab Y/N for a second?”

Your head snapped up before you could stop it. Mason was leaning against the doorframe, casual as anything, his eyes trained on you. A couple of the other girls glanced between you both, curious. You swallowed, forcing out a clipped, professional tone. “Yes?”

“Just…quick thing.” He gestured toward the corridor, an easy smile playing on his lips, though his eyes were too sharp, too deliberate. You hesitated, conscious of your colleagues watching, then stood and smoothed down your skirt. Mason moved back into the hallway, waiting for you, and before you could question it, his hand lightly brushed your elbow, guiding you away from the door.

“Mason,” you hissed under your breath once he tugged you into an empty office down the hall. “Please, people are going to talk.”

He closed the door behind you with a soft click, turning to face you with that stubborn glint you knew too well. “I don’t care.”

The words knocked the air out of you for a second. He said it with such conviction, like he’d rehearsed them. Like the watching eyes, the whispers, they didn’t matter. But they did. To you, they always had. You crossed your arms, trying to keep the distance. “You should care. You’re Mason Mount. People will twist whatever they want if they see you dragging me into offices.”

“Let them,” he shot back, stepping closer. His voice dropped, more controlled now. “I didn’t come here for them. I came here for you.”

You shook your head quickly. “No. Don’t. Don’t start this.”

“Y/N—”

“I said don’t.” You cut him off, sharper than intended, but your chest was already tight. You’d replayed this moment in your head for months, but you never expected it to feel like this, too raw, too close.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “We need to talk about Mykonos.”

“No, Mason, we don’t.” The words cracked despite how firmly you tried to say them. “I don’t want to. I’ve spent months letting go of that night, finally allowing myself to move on. And I have. I’m happy now.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like you’d actually slapped him. “You’re with someone?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, forcing strength into the syllable. “And it’s good. He’s good. Better than…than going back and forth with you every few years.”

Mason’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes scanning yours, as if searching for a lie. But you held your ground. Finally, he gave a small nod, swallowing hard. “Well. Good for you.”

There was a beat, so heavy it made your stomach turn, before he added, quieter: “I just…thought that night meant something.”

The words split you open. You blinked at him, disbelief flooding in. “Are you serious right now?” Your voice rose without your permission. “You left me, Mason! I woke up in the morning and you were gone. No text, no call, nothing. You just disappeared, like it meant nothing. And now you stand here acting wounded? Don’t you dare.”

His face crumpled, not with guilt, but anger and confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how I woke up alone in that hotel room, humiliated, wondering how I could be so stupid to fall into bed with you again—”

“Stop.” His voice snapped, sharp enough to silence you. His hands were clenched at his sides now. “What the fuck are you talking about, Y/N? I didn’t leave you. I woke up early, yeah, but to get us coffee and breakfast. I even left a note on the bedside table telling you I’d be right back. I came back twenty minutes later and you were gone.”

Your heart pounded. “No. That’s not—”

“Yes!” His eyes burned into yours, desperate. “Don’t play victim with me. Don’t twist it into something it wasn’t. I came back with bloody takeaway bags and you’d vanished. No note, no text. Nothing. You just—” his voice cracked, breaking the wall of his frustration “—you just left.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear your own pulse in your ears. “What the fuck are you talking about, Mount?!” The words burst out, shaky with disbelief. “I checked. I looked around that room for any trace of you. There was nothing. No note, no coffee. Just me, alone, like always.”

His mouth parted, like he was about to argue again, but then his expression shifted. Softer. Pained. “Y/N/N…I swear on everything, I left that note. I wrote it on the hotel notepad. ‘Back in ten, don’t move.’ I put it right by your phone.”

Your breath caught. The memory stung suddenly, the blur of sunlight through the curtains, your phone buzzing with messages from the girls, your panic. You hadn’t even looked at the bedside table. You’d been too busy pulling your dress over your head, too busy swallowing the humiliation. You pressed a hand to your mouth, shaking your head. “No. No, no, no…”

Mason stepped closer, his voice breaking now. “You really thought I’d just fuck you and leave? After everything? That I’d do that to you?”

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t breathe because for the first time in months, you weren’t sure what was real anymore. The silence after Mason’s last words seemed to vibrate in the air, heavy, suffocating. Mason’s jaw was tight, his hands braced on the desk like he was holding himself back from either punching something or reaching for you. His eyes flickered with a cocktail of anger, hurt, and that unbearable desperation that always made your chest tighten.

“Don’t play victim?” you repeated, your voice breaking on a bitter laugh. “Are you actually…no, Mason, you don’t get to spin this. I woke up alone. No note, no coffee, no fucking breakfast. Just my clothes on the floor and your bed still warm.”

His mouth parted in disbelief. “No, that’s not—Y/N/N, that’s not what happened. I woke up, and I—fuck—I thought I’d do something nice, okay? I went out. Coffee, pastries, the whole thing. I put the note by your phone, on the nightstand, I—”

You cut him off with a sharp shake of your head. “There was no note. You didn’t leave shit.” You tried to think back as hard as you can… there was no note… nothing.

“Yes, I did!” he snapped, stepping closer. “I did, and when I came back, you were gone. You’d left me. No text, no nothing. You just vanished, and I thought—” His voice cracked, hands raking through his hair like he wanted to tear it all out. “I thought you’d finally had enough of me. That you realised I wasn’t worth the mess. And it killed me, Y/N.”

Your throat closed up. “You think it didn’t kill me? You think walking back to my hotel, trying to keep it together in front of Lola while she called me a fucking idiot—”

“Y/N—”

“—pretending I wasn’t breaking inside because you used me and tossed me aside again?!” you screamed, your voice trembling under the weight of the words.

The echo of it filled the little office. Mason’s face pinched, his eyes glassy, and for a second he looked like you’d ripped the floor out from under him. “I never used you,” he said, his voice quieter now, thick with something dangerously raw. He stepped forward, almost pleading. “That night meant everything to me. I thought—I thought maybe it was finally our turn. That we weren’t gonna keep fucking it up again. I woke up and thought, ‘this is it, this is us finally making sense.’ And then you were gone.”

The ache in your chest was unbearable, your nails biting into your palms. “God, you’re so—” You broke off, choking on tears you refused to let fall. “Do you have any idea how much I wanted to believe that? How much I let myself believe that for one night? And then to wake up and find you—” Your voice broke. “I felt like such a fool.”

Mason’s eyes burned into yours, his chest heaving. “You’re not a fool. You’re not. I swear to you, I didn’t leave you like that.”

The room spun with all the years of history, the on-and-off chaos, the missed chances, the sharp words, the softer nights. Every time you’d chosen each other and every time you’d ruined it. And yet, this revelation, this twist of misunderstanding, God, it hurt too much to hold.

“Stop,” you whispered, pressing a trembling hand to your forehead. “I can’t—I can’t do this right now, Mason.”

“Y/N—”

“No.” You shoved past him, your whole body shaking, every nerve stretched too thin. “I cannot do this right now.” Your hand was on the door, your heart hammering, when his voice came low and broken behind you.

“I love you.” You froze, the words cutting through everything else. “I love you, Y/N,” Mason said again, his voice wrecked, desperate. “I always have. I always will. Even if you hate me, even if you’ve moved on, even if I’ve fucked it all beyond repair…I will always love you.”

Your breath shuddered out, your hand tightening on the door handle like it was the only thing holding you up. For a fraction of a second, you wanted to turn, to let yourself believe him but the ache was too fresh, the years too heavy, and your voice came out a whisper as you forced the words through your teeth: “I can’t do this.” And then you pulled the door open and walked out, leaving Mason in the wreckage, his confession hanging in the air like smoke neither of you could breathe.

The air outside the office felt heavier than it should have, stale with the faint smell of photocopier ink and floor polish. You pressed the door shut behind you a little harder than you meant to, your hand trembling on the handle. For a second, you stood frozen in the corridor, blinking against the pounding in your skull. You’d left him. Again. But what choice did you have?

The echo of his voice wouldn’t stop replaying—I love you, Y/N. I always have. I always will.

You shook yourself and forced your feet to move, every step back toward your desk feeling like trudging through cement. The last hour of your shift loomed like a punishment you couldn’t escape. When you sat down, your chair squeaked loudly in the otherwise quiet space. A couple of the admin girls looked up from their computers, offered polite smiles, then went back to typing.

You opened your inbox, stared at the unread emails, and realised you couldn’t even see the words properly. By five o’clock you couldn’t get out fast enough. You shoved your laptop into your bag, muttered a quick goodbye to the girls, and practically bolted for the door. The late summer air hit you like a wall, muggy and close, and you finally exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours.

Your phone buzzed in your hand before you’d reached the bus stop.

Sam xxx

You free tonight? xx

The words glared back at you. Sam. Your boyfriend. The man you’d promised yourself you’d give a fair chance to. The one who was steady, who texted back, who didn’t play games with your heart. The one who wasn’t Mason and yet the message made your stomach lurch because all you could see was Mason’s face in that office, the way his voice cracked when he swore he loved you.

Your throat tightened without replying, you shoved your phone into your bag and kept walking, each step heavier than the last. By the time you reached home, you could barely breathe. The quiet of your room pressed in on you, suffocating. You sat on the edge of your bed, phone clutched in both hands, and stared at the wall like it might give you answers. Finally, you caved and rang Lola.

She picked up on the second ring, her voice bright and warm. “Y/N? Hey, I was just thinking about you. What’s up?”

You swallowed, hard, the sound of her voice almost undoing you. “Lo, I—I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

There was a pause, the rustle of her shifting the phone. “Okay. Slow down. What happened?”

You lay back, staring up at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. “Mason.”

Her sigh was immediate, heavy. “What about him now?”

“He came back to the office. Said he needed to talk. I tried to brush it off, told him I’ve moved on, that I’m happy with Sam. But—” Your voice cracked. “But then he said… he said Mykonos meant something to him. That he woke up and went to get us breakfast, that he left me a note, and I—Lo, I swear to God, I never saw it. I thought he just left me.”

The line went quiet. You could almost hear her piecing it together, the cogs turning in her brain. “And then what?” she finally asked, her voice gentler now.

“And then I lost it. I told him he used me, that he tossed me aside, and he swore he didn’t. And then, right as I walked out, he said—” Your chest heaved, your words barely making it out. “He said he loves me. That he always has, that he always will.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, babe.” Lola exhaled hard, the sound of her nails tapping something plastic filling the silence. “That man is going to be the death of you.”

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered. “I’ve finally been letting go. I’ve been trying with Sam. He’s good for me, Lo. He’s normal. He’s kind. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m losing my mind every five seconds. And yet…”

“And yet Mason says three words and you’re back there again,” she finished for you.

You pressed the heel of your hand into your eyes, hot tears threatening. “Why does he always get to do this? Why does he get to break me and then pull me back in like—like I’m his gravity?”

Lola’s voice softened. “Because you’ve loved him for a long time. Maybe longer than you’ve admitted to yourself. That kind of history doesn’t just disappear, Y/N.”

“But what if he’s lying? What if he’s just saying it because he doesn’t want me to move on?”

“Do you believe he’s lying?”

You didn’t answer straight away. Your mind replayed the image of his face, the way his voice shook. That wasn’t a man playing games, that was a man falling apart and that was what scared you most.

“I don’t know,” you finally whispered.

Lola was quiet for a long moment before saying, “You need to ask yourself something, Y/N. When you picture your future—your real, messy, day-to-day future—who’s standing next to you? Is it Sam? Or is it Mason?”

Your throat closed, you couldn’t answer. Because every time you pictured Sam, the image felt safe, steady, almost muted and every time you pictured Mason, it felt terrifying. Chaotic. Uncertain. But so vivid it was like he was already there, etched into the picture whether you wanted him to be or not. You let out a shaky laugh that turned into something closer to a sob. “I hate him, Lo. I hate him for doing this to me. And I hate myself for letting him.”

“No,” Lola said firmly, her voice cutting through your spiral. “Don’t do that. Don’t hate yourself for having feelings. You’re human and if Mason really loves you like he says… then maybe it’s not about hate. Maybe it’s about timing and whether you’re ready to let him in again.”

You stared at the ceiling until the cracks in the paint blurred, your chest hollow and full all at once. And when your phone buzzed again, another message from Sam lighting up the screen

Sam xxx

Be with me for 8? xx

You realised you still didn’t have an answer. Not for Sam. Not for Mason. Not even for yourself.

Before you know it you were on your way to Sam’s. The street outside Sam’s flat was lit up with orange glow as you pulled up an hour later. Your heart hammered in your chest. You’d been on autopilot driving here, Lola’s words circling your head like vultures.

The door swung open before you could even knock properly. Sam stood there, easy smile on his face, one hand brushing through his hair like he’d been waiting for this all day. “Hey, stranger.”

You forced a smile, stepping inside. His place smelled of laundry powder and takeaway curry, familiar and unthreatening. It was safe. He kissed your cheek as he took your jacket. “Long day at work?”

You nodded mutely, letting him lead you into the living room. He was talking about his shift and about some mate from uni he’d bumped into but you weren’t really hearing him. Your mind was elsewhere. Your mind was back in an office at United. Back in a storm of words and heartbreak and a boy who had been yours and never really stopped being. Sam sat next to you, brushing his hand against yours. “You’re quiet tonight.”

You looked at him, at the man who had been nothing but good to you and you felt the ache in your chest grow sharper. “I just… have a lot on my mind,” you said softly.

He nodded, squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just… stay. Watch a film. Be here with me.”

Your throat closed. That was the problem. You could be here with Sam, physically, but your heart was somewhere else entirely. You leaned into him anyway, resting your head against his shoulder, letting the comfort of his steady heartbeat ground you and for a moment, it was almost enough. Almost but then your phone buzzed in your pocket. You froze but Sam didn’t notice. You slipped it out with careful fingers, shielding the screen.

A name lit it up. Mason. Your breath hitched. The message was simple, but it knocked the air from your lungs:

I meant it. I still love you.

Your heart cracked wide open. You couldn’t stay. Not here, not pretending. You pulled back, standing abruptly. “I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t—”

He blinked, confused. “What? Did I do something?”

You shook your head, tears filling your eyes. “No. You’ve been… perfect. It’s me. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

“Y/N…” He stood too, reaching for you, but you stepped back.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, grabbing your jacket, fumbling with your bag. Your chest was on fire, your head screaming at you for the mess you were making, but your heart already knew where you were going.

Sam’s voice followed you out into the hall, raw and hurt. “Is this about him?” You couldn’t even answer but the silence was loud enough.

The night air hit your face as you stumbled outside, breath shaking, tears streaming freely now. You didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop until you were back in your car and you drove to Mason’s house like it was second nature to you. You finally allowed yourself to breathe as you pull up outside with your phone in your hand. You opened Mason’s message again, your fingers hovering.

Finally, you typed back.

Come outside.

Two minutes later, Mason slowly walked out of his house. His expression was unreadable, half looking shocked and half looking at you with awe. His eyes searching, jaw set with the same determination you’d seen a thousand times on the pitch.

You stepped out of your car, and for a moment, neither of you moved, you just stared. Then you whispered, voice breaking but certain: “It was never Sam.”

Mason closed the distance in three long strides, his hands cupping your face, his forehead pressing to yours. His voice was low, fierce, almost broken. “It was always me and you.” And for the first time in ten months, you let yourself believe it.

[coerririi-deactivated20260202]

I’ve been listening to this on repeat since it dropped today:

like I’m actually concerned, my obsession with building the band bands is getting out of hand 😭 (my faves are Midnight til Morning, Soulidified and SZN4) it's getting worse than I thought and I didn’t even think that was possible to get worse than this.