mama soup

✰ 22 | she/her main blog

[souperbloom]

welcome! ☮︎𓇢𓆸

if you’re looking for my work, you can find it all here.

wwe sideblog: @punkssavior | djo sideblog: @djob00bies

[souperbloom]

i’m gonna need you all to bear with me as i’m not the best with formulating thoughts like this, but i needed to address the situation at hand.

in light of recent events, i will be taking a step back from writing for, and the 5sos fandom as a whole.

i cannot sit idly by and watch my black friends and family have their worries and matter of safety be glossed over. i cannot sit by and watch them be told that they’re dramatic and ridiculous for being upset. as a white fan, who owes just about everything to the black people in her life, i feel it is unjust for me to continue to act as though these racist comments interacted with by 5sos were just a PR stint to be swept under the rug.

to my black peers, fellow 5sos fans, i love you. i will continue to fight for you. i will be on the front lines to defend you and i have been furious for you for days. i’ve been in twitter spaces fighting tears while listening to the testimonies of young black women who once felt safe and loved by the fandom, telling me through shaky breath that they no longer feel that way.

racism is never okay; no matter the context, no matter how long ago it was. our black 5sos friends deserve an apology and for the band to take accountability. i hope you all can see where i’m coming from, and i hope you all are just as angry as i am.

soup

[souperbloom]

YOURE BACK YOURE BACK YOURE BACK SOUND THE ALARMS 🚨🚨🚨🥳🥳🥳‼️‼️‼️

YIPPEE YIPPEE YAYYY!!!! IM BACK!!!! :D thank u all for having me!

[undersugarnights]

hey… hi… how yall doing…. i posted a new fic on wattpad, and i would very much appreciate if you guys could give it some love!!!

it’s set in the same universe as You Make This All Go Away, but it’s a luke fic!!

Go read Pulse

[souperbloom]

GO READ MY BBYS NEW FIC ITS AMAZING SHES AMAZING!!!! <3

[souperbloom]

DUDEEEE THE NEW ASH IS INSANE!!! we missed u !! so glad to see you’re back

AHHH thank you so much !! im happy to see ppl are loving it, especially after i took the leap of faith and tried something new with my trope :)) so glad you enjoyed my love <3

[souperbloom]

not dead yet. [A.I.]

🔪 Ashton x fem!reader (AU)

in which Ashton is a wanted criminal, and you’re his safe haven — in more ways than one.

a/n: trying something new with this one! heavy content warnings and a fresh new trope. surely this is what the fans wanna see :)

huge love and hugs to my bby @undersugarnights — who is largely the reason why this fic exists. my motivation and favorite brainstormer. thanks for your endless amounts of patience with me <3 couldn’t have done it without u! xoxo

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut!!!! dirty talk/pet names (ashton calls you pigeon), fingering, KNIFE/BLOODPLAY, (subsequently) mentions of blood/minor injury, unprotected pnv, creampie, porn with a decent amount of plot, straight up fiiiilthy shit.

wordcount: ~7.2k

── .✦

THE RETURN OF ROBIN HOOD:

LOCAL BANKS TO INCREASE SECURITY FOLLOWING A FOURTH SMALL SCALE ROBBERY IN UNDER A MONTH. SUSPECT IS STILL AT LARGE.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

You toss the TV remote between your palms as the headline that you’d just damned scrolled across the screen. Nothing about these headlines and their fanfare surprised you anymore. In fact, you thought they could’ve been a little more creative.

A huff escapes your lips as the news anchor bores you half to death, rambling on about how local bank owners should take note of the descriptors that characterize this wanted and dangerous criminal.

The suspect is said to only strike when disguised. But not in anything ridiculous like a chicken costume or a pair of fishnet tights. The disguise in question was actually rather tasteful, and enough of a signature to keep them from being mistaken for anyone else.

Your eyes hung low, unamused as the police sketch graced the screen— an image of what was believed to be the suspect, up close and personal.

Shaggy black curls that spilled out of a tied-up black bandana, with another identical one covering the lower half of his face. Deeply set, almost dead looking eyes that the police took the liberty of drawing with the least amount of character imaginable. You wince at the inaccuracies, the TV remote now resting on your chest as you watched the rest of the story unfold.

You imagined it was hard to get a good idea of what this man could possibly look like after following his every move through grainy security cameras. But you hadn’t the mind to empathize with those pig bastards, nor step into their shoes. The pit in your stomach was never the result of feeling bad for a cop.

Bang bang bang.

The storm door of your grandfather’s wooden cabin rattled violently, right up until your hand was resting on the door knob.

When you swing it open, that knot that formed in your stomach suddenly dissolves.

“Robin Hood? Really?”

Tired, yet somehow still vibrant green eyes shoot you a lazy glance, the cool night breeze blowing wind through floppy black curls, “It’s better than the Bandana Bandit. Left a note this time and everythin’. What am I without a signature?”

He asks you the question as if you were stupid— his body slumped lazily against the door frame with a black fabric bag slung over his shoulder.

“A guy in green tights that rides around on a horse?”

“Yeah, and fuckin’ kills rich dickheads to give their fortunes to the less fortunate. Duh.”

You cross your arms, ignoring his snark, and take a moment to admire just how rugged he looked in the moonlight. Leather jacket taut against his broad shoulders, dark wash jeans wrinkled, and stained with motor oil. It took longer than you planned to really take him all in.

“Just gonna stand there, Pigeon? Or are you gonna let me inside?”

Your head cocks to the side, gaze steady and searing, “Why do they always sketch your eyes to look so…lifeless?”

He chuckles, body language stiff, and still leaning towards wanting to be inside already, “Each city draws me differently, sugar. That’s just the way it is.”

“Well, I think that’s silly. Your eyes are practically disco balls right now,” you comment, slowly backing up to gesture for him to follow.

“You flatter me, Pidgey,” he brings his fingers up to point at himself, “But these bad boys are too tired and have seen way too much shit to be shimmering like you say.”

You don’t even get the chance to process his presence before his hands are on you and truthfully, you never really do.

You’d known Ashton since high school. Forgetting about him for a while, then reconnecting with him after swiping right on him on a dating app. A random night where you felt like maybe a little company would do you better than being locked up in an outdated cabin in the woods.

Unfortunately, that same ‘random night’ ended with six nails in your tire, and a trip to the ER due to a blood pressure spike that felt like you were having a heart attack. After all was said and done, you prayed to whatever God there was that you were never in another situation that forced you to see Ashton again.

But the cycle kept repeating.

Despite the initial messy run-in —in which he likely needed a new identity afterwards— he never seemed satisfied by the risky life he lived. Whether it was sticking up corrupt pharmaceutical companies and stripping them of everything they’re worth, or going on month-long bank-robbing sprees to donate the earnings ever so graciously to charity, he was always back for more.

He lived for the thrill of the chase. He lived for the danger. He was simply insatiable.

And so, rather than attempting to talk sense into a man who juggled with hand guns and tossed money out of the car window for pure enjoyment, you simply promised to just— be there.

No matter what or when, you somehow always were.

When he needed another getaway driver, or to sharpen up his knife collection, you were his golden girl. Though you hadn’t much experience in a life led by crime, you picked up a thing or two in your time. You weren’t oblivious, and you certainly weren’t stupid.

If Ashton ever needed a place to crash, be it a day or a month, your door was always open. You just wished his choice of career wasn’t so… fickle when it came to that sort of thing. Housing a vigilante who you may or may not have had the hugest crush in the world on seemed to be doing numbers to alter your brain chemistry.

“Pigeon, you with me?”

You were so lost in your own train of thought that you’d completely forgotten where your mind actually was. Ashton’s hands were planted on your hips, the black cloth bag once draped over his shoulder was now spilling out on the floor. Stacks of one hundred dollar bills graced your carpet like land mines as Ashton walked you backwards towards the wall.

“Would you laugh at me if I said I kinda’ missed you and your dumb face?”

Ashton’s mouth slides into a devilish smirk, his nose barely grazing yours just as your back hits the wall with a thud.

“You know I’ll always come back.”

His words shoot down your spine like a bolt of lightning. Sincerity was rare, coming from him— which is why you just assumed there was nothing behind those words at all.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, throat dry, “only when you need somethin’.”

“Thought that was part of the deal.”

Before you get the chance to reply, Ashton’s lips come crashing into yours. He sucks in a deep breath when the two of you collide, his hands unsure of where to rest as he tastes you for the first time in quite a while.

Your body goes limp in his arms as he holds you— he’s practically the only thing keeping you upright at this point. You feel as though you have no choice but to lace your hand through his thick curls, tugging ever so gently at the roots that were scribbled messily on your TV screen in charcoal just minutes ago.

It was true that Ashton came to you only when he needed something, but you weren’t as bothered by it as you make it out to be. You enjoy hearing his stories, knowing that he’ll always end up back here eventually, and wishing him nothing but the best in his endeavors.

When you don’t hear from him, you don’t really panic. You know that he’s out there somewhere, that signature midnight blue Corvette revving as he splits down backroads like a banshee.

“You seem distracted tonight.”

His gravelly voice breaks the spell. Ashton was looking at you now, his eyes searing bullet holes into your cheeks.

“Hm? No, I’m not, I just— a lot on my mind I guess.”

“That sounds a lot like a distraction to me. What’s bothering you?”

It truly was harder to focus on just one part of his face the closer he neared, but not because of his intimidating stare or the smell of cigarettes that clung to his jacket like it were made to be that way. You weren’t scared of him, and that was partially the reason why he kept you around.

The weight of his body leaned up against yours was the only thing you were feeling right now.

“Nothin’ bothering me. Just— happy you’re here, is all. Happy you’re not dead.”

Ashton hums in delight, viridian eyes flicking to gold for nearly a second as he finishes your sentence.

“Yet.”

A broad hand cups your chin, giving your cheeks a gentle squeeze. The eye contact makes you want to crawl out of your skin— you hated your body for being so reactive.

“Right. Not dead yet. and hopefully not soon, asshole.”

“You never know.”

Your head was begging you to shut him up with a kiss. The loosely titled “partner in crime facade” had finally faded— as you were now entranced by his grip on your face and the feeling of his knee wedged between your legs. Ashton stares at you for a moment, before dipping down to nip at your neck.

You wished for a warning, yet had no complaints as a moan flew past your lips. Your hand clutched the nape of his neck for dear life as he suckled at your skin, already feeling the desperate shock waves shooting right down to your core.

“Ash, fuck,” you whine, your hand now tucked into the collar of his jacket, the leather cool against your knuckles.

“Whatdaya’ need, Pigeon?”

You stammer; speechless, almost dizzy. His hand was pressed against your hip, fingertips digging into the soft flesh exposed above your sweatpants. The scent of his cologne was almost intoxicating, momentarily bringing you back to the night you met him. You shake yourself out of it, drawing your eyes back into his.

“You.” Your answer was simple.

“Mmmh,” Ashton hums, low and gravelly, reaching up again to hold your chin, “you need me? To what? Scratch your back? Change the smoke detector batteries?…Or fuck you ‘til you’re drunk off my cock?

Despite the lump in your throat, you scoff, “Don’t flatter yourself, Robin.”

Ashton’s eyes narrow, his face nearing closer and his lips ghosting yours. Your breath hitches as the hand that once cupped your face was quickly shoved into your panties.

You gasp, his slender fingertip showing all of your cards as it laps up the arousal between your folds with one swipe. He pulls it out of your pants, and holds it in front between your faces.

The juices dribbling down his fingertips mocked you.

“Yeah. Okay.”

The hazel in his eyes is mostly swallowed by the sheer size of his pupils, dark and hungry as he studies the slickness that coats his fingers. Slowly, he moves them apart, eyes glinting in satisfaction as the sticky arousal shines in the light.

When his eyes meet yours again, they burn through you like lasers, and he brings his fingers up to his mouth. Wrapping his plush lips around his digits, he lets out a pleased moan at the taste of you, eyes fluttering shut with bliss.

“Can’t play coy with me when I’ve got you wet like this, Pigeon.”

Without much of a thought, or any semblance of a word, you pull him back into you, the taste of your own pitiful excuses lingering on his tongue as he swipes it across your teeth.

You hum into his mouth, your body rolling, aching, to be closer to him. His hand slides back down into your sweats with no questions asked, his fingers continuing their slow drawl and pulling moans out of you like they were mining for gold.

“We have a lot of fun together, don’t we?” Ashton coos, the words jumbling together into one long sound as his fingers remained relentless.

“Y— fuck, we do.”

“Mhmm. Like that first time I called you up, just days after the night we met again, when I needed my getaway driver…”

Your brain short circuits— the combination of Ashton’s low voice vibrating against your lips and digits chipping away at your patience against your clit was getting to be too much. You couldn’t help but sigh and melt into the wall when he speaks.

“…We had so much fun that day, Pidgey. You were nervous as all hell, shakin’ like a damn’ baby deer. First day jitters, maybe. I still couldn’t tell ‘ya.”

“Ashton,” your voice is weak when you warn him, but your threat was empty, and the menacing smile that slid across his face told you he knew that.

“Shh, baby, I’m talking,” he tuts, leaning closer until his lips brush the shell of your ear. His fingers keeping steady between your legs, now pumping in and out at a maddening pace.

“God, I fucked you senseless that day. ‘Surprised you knew your left from right after that. Remember how you rode me then? How tight this pretty little pussy squeezed me, and milked me dry… Do you remember what happened next?”

You whine in protest, body jolting each time his long fingers reach that sweet spot, “Oh fuck you— you’re doing t-this on purpose.”

“C’mon. Tell me what happened. Tell me how good I fucked you.”

Your mind is suddenly transported back to that day. The second time you were ever an accessory to one of Ashton’s heists. Adrenaline was high, nerves were pumping. And the only thing the two of you could think about during your stakeout— was each other.

You’d gotten past the formalities quickly. Getting to know each other on a deeper level had flown completely out of the window as your hands were like moths to a flame, tracing and memorizing each and every dip and curve of one another. You remember exactly how his signature leather jacket felt pressing against your bare chest, how cool it was to the contrast of that hot summer day. He had gotten you so riled up that you’d felt as though you had no other choice but to let him take you in the driver’s seat.

In front of a bank. In broad daylight. Right before he went in and threatened every soul in Willow Creek Credit Union with their life.

Back to reality, your body shuddered as you were now dangerously close to your orgasm spilling over the edge. His fingers worked tirelessly, his snarky face remaining as he continued.

“I left you filled— to the fuckin’ brim. And you just sat there n’ watched me rob a god damn bank with my cum dripping down your legs. Your eyes were practically beggin’ me t’ fuck you, Pidgey. Can’t get that picture outta’ my head…”

“Ashton, please.”

Less of a warning, more so begging this time, you moan his name like a song.

You remember exactly what was running through your mind that day, too— how desperate you felt clawing over the center console as he kissed you goodbye. How weak your knees were, and how they buckled as you slid over into the driver’s seat after he’d left you spent and empty. The feeling of his hot cum dripping down your thighs towards your knees as you watched through the windshield with your hands clutching the steering wheel. You wondered how on Earth you’d pull yourself out of your Ashton-induced haze, and sober up enough to be a successful first time getaway driver.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, orgasm teetering on the edge. Your back stung against the chipped paint on the wall as Ashton made it a point to moan, yet again, into your ear.

“Nice and wet for me. Just how I like it. You wanna get fucked, don’t you?”

“I’m so fuckin’ close, Ash, please. Please don’t stop.”

“What was that bank called again, sugar? The one I fucked you out in front of?”

“Agh, fuck—” you hiss, your body stiffening as you just about reach your peak with your nails practically digging holes into his flesh, “I—I can’t— fuck, Ash!”

“Ahh, I’m sure you remember. Just don’t got the strength t’ tell me now,” Ashton chuckles, a grunt soon followed, “Baby’s first stickup, how could she forget?”

Your eyes were screwed shut, though you could hear his cheeky smile. It was just enough to send you over the edge. Stars flooded the backs of your eyelids as you suddenly went limp in his broad arms.

Of course, he was right there to catch you.

“Atta girl. You sure know how to make a man work for it,” Ashton puffs, scratching the back of his neck with a free hand as you both attempt to collect your breath. The throbbing between your thighs was inescapable— you were nowhere near satisfied yet.

“It’s one of my specialities,” you say, breathing in sharply when Ashton’s hands travel to cup your face and catch you completely off guard with their tenderness.

“Special Agent Sexy,” he snarls, fucking up the moment like always, top lip curled like an old timey mobster. A face that made you want to tense up and run off like a threatened cat.

“Aaand you ruined it. Buh-bye.”

You feel him harumph as you spin away from him, beelining towards the kitchen to make the two of you something to drink. His hands hit his sides loudly, dramatically, almost intentionally annoyingly.

“You used to be fun. What happened to that?”

Ashton knew how to push your buttons. But when to push them? That was left up for debate. He always seemed to catch you at the worst moments, especially after he made you cum.

“Life got tough, and far too real. You should know.”

Ashton starts to speak again, but his words are cut short by the whirring of a 10 year old coffee machine. He smacks his teeth in frustration, loud enough to still hear him while in the kitchen.

“Y’know, one of these days I’m gonna get ya’ a new Keurig. Your shit’s so old. My coffee always ends up tasting like the bottom of a boot.”

“It’s not my fault you take your coffee with no cream or sugar,” you defend your decrepit Keurig, patting the top of it as it chugged along and dripped noticeably burnt coffee into a mug.

“Black coffee’s an acquired taste, Pidgey. Nobody on this planet wants to drink seven sugar cubes and a half gallon of creamer besides you.”

You roll your eyes; if liking your coffee light and sweet was a crime, you’d be doing 40 to life.

Ashton always seemed to nitpick the parts of you that never really mattered to anyone else. Hell, they never really mattered to you, either. But you supposed that getting in the mix with a devilishly good looking, unbelievably smart vigilante douchebag would call for some psychoanalysis here and there.

You feel his body nearing after he’d taken off his jacket, black cowboy boots tapping on the tiles while you wince to yourself at the fact that he hadn’t taken them off and left them at the door. His coffee was left at the side of the machine, the handle out-turned and ready for him to grab. Yours was just about finished sputtering into your favorite red mug.

“Ignoring me?” his voice from behind spooks you.

You shake your head, soft laughter barely leaving your throat while your eyes stay trained on those last few drops of coffee. But he got the memo, sliding beside you to lean onto the counter with his elbow. You can’t help but glare at him, that smug smile painted back onto his face.

“Where’s the button that makes you less insufferable?” you ask.

Teasing. Not really.

“Gotta find it,” he shrugs, taking his coffee in one of his hands and gesturing down to his belt with the other, “be my guest.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“And you fuckin’ love it.”

Silence encompassed the kitchen as Ashton’s words reverberated against your skull. It was like he shouted them out into a long hallway, and your brain was the wall they bounced off of before they fluttered into the abyss.

Hearing Ashton use the word love made your stomach hurt. You didn’t even think a man of his nature and demeanor could even comprehend the weight it held.

Did you love Ashton? No, you didn’t think so. You didn’t think he was around enough to fall to the point of no return. He was, in turn, around enough to fuck you to the point where your legs trembled for days. Enough of a reminder of him to keep his essence burnished onto your mind.

Surely your feelings—or feelings in general—were just as confusing for him as they were for you. The both of you had chosen your own paths to isolation, with each other as your safe haven. The only real difference being that Ashton had a distraction. A life led solely by heart-crushing and thrill-seeking; not to mention the fact that the two of you were nowhere near exclusive.

You, on the other hand, chose to be stuck in a dilapidated family heirloom that you unconditionally adored. Though you loved the peace and quiet of your grandpa’s cabin, it left far too much time for you to sit and think.

You’re caught off guard by the feeling of a broad arm snaking around your waist from behind, the scent of cigarettes and woodsy cologne wrapping around you like a vine.

“Why’re you so spaced out? Did’ja cum too hard or somethin’?”

Ashton buries his face into your neck and you groan in turn, just the thought of him saying something so crude making you annoyed. You lay your palm flat against his forehead and push him away.

“First you bully my poor old Keurig and insult the taste of my coffee, now you’re all up on me like a cat in heat— make up your mind, dude.”

Your tone isn’t serious in the slightest, but your grip on that coffee mug after feeling the presence of the hard on in Ashton’s jeans was.

“Mmmh, not feeling good. ‘Think I’m sick.”

“Yeah, sick in the head.”

“Once again, no fun.” Ashton’s words thrum against your earlobe as he leaves a gentle kiss in their wake. You want to feign annoyance, tell him that his coffee will grow cold and end up tasting more like mud than the sole of his old cowboy boot. But you remain motionless, letting Ashton’s subdued breathing and occasional neck kisses put you in a trance.

Despite your own body betraying you, with Ashton’s hands already sliding down past your waist to your hips as he plants a wet, open mouthed kiss on your jaw, you clear your throat.

“Oh sure, says the guy who threatens people for pure enjoyment’s sake. Sounds like loads of fun. I’m sure you’re a catch at parties.”

Ashton’s mind was clearly elsewhere; his hands were massaging soothing circles against your hips, up towards the small of your back as you spoke, your words leaving your mouth and bouncing off of his head like it were made of rubber.

“There are other ways to have fun.” His retort was simple. An obvious attempt at shutting you up.

You couldn’t help but melt even further into his palms, letting them work their way towards the band of your sweats. He was still kissing you, despite his inability to ever let you get the last word in.

“What, like fucking other girls?”

And suddenly, everything stopped.

The breathing, the humming, the mindless traipsing of hands; it all came to rest. You breathe out shakily, as if doing anything more would crack the wall of tension that somehow materialized in a matter of moments. Ashton’s body tautened behind your shoulder, the swell of his chest pressing into your back.

You hear his dark chuckle, the sound as riveting as it is infuriating. Then you feel the flex of his muscles, the way his hold on you tightens, and the telltale flick of a blade.

Cool metal kisses the bottom of your throat, sharp enough to have you drawing in a shallow breath. Panic pricks your skin, but the sickening thrill that runs through you is almost more horrifying.

“Nuh-uh, pidgey,” he tuts, warm breath caressing the shell of your ear. “Better watch that mouth. Bad girls get their throats slit.”

You’re still paralyzed, the sting of Ashton’s pocket blade being something that you were more familiar with than you’d like to admit. A smile spreads across your face as his other bicep, sans weapon, tightens around your waist. He had you in a death lock, another move of his you were well acquainted with.

“Yeah?” you challenge Ashton’s empty threat, adrenaline rushing through your veins as the knife remains deathly still, “and good girls get eaten out, I hope.”

When Ashton’s body moves to pull you closer, enough to give you a jolt, a cold flash of fear washes over your spine; a stark contrast to the flash of heat and pressure between your thighs. He somehow always knew what worked for you.

Fear and arousal? Hand in hand.

“Oh baby,” he draws out the pet name, letting it linger on his tongue, heavy and sweet like honey, “good girls get fucking devoured.”

You giggle, almost too sweetly for the severity of the situation, and Ashton is as receptive as ever. His pulse was beating out through his skin, you could feel its gentle rhythm tapping against his wrist, against your shoulder.

“Mmmh,” a sound other than laughter finally leaves you, toying with him, “what else?”

“They get spoiled. Rotten. Treated so damn’ good that they forget who they are n’ where they came from.”

You open your mouth, a witty reply sitting at the edge of your tongue, yet all bets are off when the knife suddenly slips down.

“And, if they’re lucky…” he begins, that sudden movement seeming less accidental now, “they get fucked ‘till they can’t move for days. You won’t be able to breathe without remembering how deep inside I was.”

His words echo in your mind and you shudder, the promise he makes feeling heavy on your chest. Almost as heavy as the weight of his arm holding you still with the sharpest, most prized knife in his collection.

In that moment, in some extremely morbid and fucked up way, you felt special.

“Big talk,” you mask your sudden stomach ache with bravado, feeling microscopic beneath his hold, “you’re still all bark and no bite, Robin Hood.”

“You really think so? I’ve got a fuckin’ blade to your jugular and you’re calling my bluff. You are— unbelievable.”

Ashton’s grip tightens; it's slight, but noticeable. You feel the pressure on your abdomen becoming more prominent when he presses down, swirls of arousal coming to fruition with the mere sound of his voice. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

“C’mon Pigeon, haven’t I taught you anything? Show me how to get yourself out of a mess like this.”

With his instruction, you close your eyes. Ashton had taught you how to disarm someone— but it was months ago, and duly proceeded with some of the steamiest shower sex you’d ever had.

“Get out? Of this?” you laugh, his hold on you unwavering, “No shot. Not in hell.”

“Just try it. Promise I’ll be careful,” he murmurs into your hair, placing a kiss atop your head as he lifts his pinky from the knife, “Pinky swear.”

With a sigh, and not much sense left, you start off slow. Your hands grab onto his bicep, making sure not to tug on him too abruptly as to not slice your neck open. Ashton’s stance is strong, natural confidence and pure lust keeping him planted on his feet.

“Use that pretty head,” he encourages you, his soft voice an oxymoron in itself.

“M’tryin’.”

Everything else after that moment was a blur. Once you managed to spin yourself around, keeping your arteries intact and leaving Ashton momentarily stunted, you were suddenly, somehow, right back where you started. A blade pressed to your neck once again.

Only this time, you were facing him, your fronts pressed together and all of the air knocked out of your lungs.

“What the hell, Ash?!” you squeal, breathlessly, damning yourself for sounding so weak.

“I said I’d be careful, not go easy.”

A sly smile appears on his face, and you wanted nothing more than to slap it right off. The countertop dug into your back as he chuckled condescendingly, this new position much more uncomfortable than the last.

You huff out a frustrated breath. There has to be a way out of this, some kind of trick you can pull that would be enough to catch him off guard. His eyes burn into yours, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

Your hands shoot out to grip the knife handle, using the momentum to push it out of his grip with your knuckle. It’s not ideal, definitely not any kind of move he’s taught you before, but the absurdity of it seems to catch him off guard.

His grip falters, and for a second you feel the blade loosen enough for you to swoop in and take. You try to do just that, but Ashton is quicker— so much quicker. He catches the blade between his fingers, a small hiss leaving his lips as he pulls his hand and holds it away from you.

That’s when you see the bright bead of fresh blood, dropping down his hand, down his wrist, until it hits the floor with a plop.

“Ash, holy shit I—I’m so—“

Your words are caught off by him gripping your chin, tight enough to command. He studies his bloodied hand, the same one that still clutches the knife. He lets go of your face, switching the blade to the other hand.

Then, he reaches out again, bloodied thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He lets out a growl, something primal and lustful that has you growing dizzy in seconds.

“You did always look like a fucking dream in red.”

When Ashton leans in for a kiss, it isn’t rough and sloppy like you expect. His lips press against yours deliberately, tongue licking into your mouth and attempting to savor the taste of you. You hum into him, the knife still present in his hand yet discarded at his side.

“Ash,” you mumble, knocking noses with him, “D’ya want a bandaid or somethin?”

“Mmh, no,” he replies, barely audibly, wrapping both arms around your waist and rolling his pelvis into your hips. His pace is intoxicating, kissing you like you were the last person on Earth and the taste of your tongue was the only thing keeping him alive.

The kiss grows more primal, and raw, Ashton dipping you backwards and overtaking your body as the blade of the knife is now pressed against your back, aligned with your spine. You gasp at the prick of cool metal through your tee.

“Take this fuckin’ shirt off before I shred it up.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you breathe, pulling away to look down at the cracked college graphic screen printed on the shirt, “I’m tired of seeing this shit in the laundry, anyway.”

Without hesitating, you feel the tug of fabric against your front, and hear the sound of tearing cotton. The shirt falls off of your shoulders, landing on the floor with a soft fwup.

Ashton takes a moment to admire your bare top half, his breathing shallow and wanton. He discards the knife on the counter behind you, letting you prop yourself against the lip of it with your hands.

“Like what you see?” you muse, his eyes leaving smoke in their burning trail.

“More than like,” he swallows, taking that injured hand and raising it between your bodies. He hesitates, glancing down at the dried blood trail down to his forearm, before reaching out to you with a still bloodied palm and wrapping his fingers around your neck.

You sigh into his hold, his index finger and thumb pressed against the pressure points that make you just the right amount of lightheaded. That smile on his face never faltered— he loved seeing you this way.

Helpless, wanting, bloodied.

“Wanna’ fuckin’ ruin you, Pigeon. Mark you up n’ let everyone know you’re mine.”

You stay back and let his eyes continue to roam, his body language a tell-tale sign that the sight of his own blood smeared across your neck and chest was getting him more worked up than you’d ever seen before. His eyes darkened, that familiar sage green flicking emerald.

His hand anoints your chest with the last of the fresh blood and suddenly, you were the only two people on Earth. There was something eerily intimate about this; you wished you’d had more of the mental capacity to explore this new outlandish and primal feeling, but the situation at hand left no room for you to even breathe. Ashton’s lips were on you again, this time with his thumbs looped onto the band of your sweatpants in an attempt to rip them off of you.

Your fingers flew to his belt, undoing it sloppily and with enough fervor and greed to fuel a jet engine. A sigh barely escapes your lips and tangles with his as he manages to step you out of your sweats and leave you completely bare.

“No panties…‘figures.”

“You always preach easy access,” you giggle, lacing your fingertips through the clipped curls at the base of his neck, “‘thought I was doing us both a favor.”

Ashton’s next movements are hasty— he’s lifting you, practically tossing you to sit on the countertop and instructing you with his eyes to wrap your legs around his waist. He shimmies out of his jeans, kicking them off to the side and reaching down to peel the shirt off of his slick torso. When he takes a breath in, it’s sharp, almost pained, the fabric of his tee coming into contact with his fresh wound and painting one of his signature white tees crimson.

You watch his every move with glassy eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you observe the way he deals with the pain. He is so laser focused on you; not wanting to make you wait any longer for what he’d promised you just minutes ago. His lips curl in concentration as he reaches down to pull his cock up and out of his briefs.

“Jesus.” You couldn’t help but let the expletive slip, surely Ashton didn’t mind.

He glances up at you, amused, still in a daze after the stare he was holding to your bare tits. “Tell me how ‘ya really feel,” he jokes.

“Hmm. Pretty,” you hum, the compliment mindless, reaching down between your bodies to give his cock a gentle and encouraging stroke. You feel it strain between your palm and fingers, the tip already glistening with pre-cum before he even got the chance to feel you wrapped around him.

Ashton may tease you for your responsiveness, and how the simplest thing could get you going, but he sure as hell was guilty of the same.

“I’m pretty? S’that what you’re sayin’?” Ashton's bottom lip catches between his teeth, a sweetness in his eyes that never usually comes around, unless for a moment like this. He takes his cock from your hand, his fingertips brushing against yours and motioning for them to be elsewhere. You sigh as he lines himself up with your entrance, gaze unwavering, staring you down and effectively nailing you to the marble.

“Yeh,” your voice is clipped, breathless, halted by the sensation that’s yet to come, “Think you’re real’ pretty, baby. My pretty, pretty boy.”

With that, Ashton is sinking into you. You let out a loud mewl as he dips in, immediately pulling out only to plunge himself right back, to the hilt. The sensation is overwhelming— you’re digging your nails into his back and squeezing his hips with your calves tight enough to keep him still for a moment.

Ashton leans forward with a licentious grunt, knocking his forehead against yours, his cock buried the deepest it can be with the only thing not shared between you was the timing at which you were breathing. Sage green irises rapidly searched for yours, non-injured palm taking your face in a fistful to squeeze.

“Fuck me, I’d be your pretty boy any day of the week, Pidgey girl.”

His lips slam into yours, and his hips pick up slack. He’s fucking into you hard, fast, wrecklessly. The same way he chose to go about his every day. To navigate this thing he calls life.

The sounds of your arousal echo against his front, ricocheting across the kitchen; though your moans harmonizing with Ashton’s were just too loud for you to notice.

“Oh my God,” Ashton mutters, cock throbbing, hips spasming. Your eyes are pinched shut to chase your own high, clenching your pussy around him just enough for him to notice.

“Ashton—” you bumble, your words practically unintelligible, “fuck me, Ashton. Feels so fuckin’ good, baby. Harder, please—”

As his dick continuously bucks to hit that sweet spot that drove you up the wall, his hands kept you stable by the backs of your thighs. The blood on his palm had since dried, the look in his eyes searing bullet holes into yours as he fucked you senseless. You toss your head back, writhing in pleasure, your nails clawing into his back deep enough to leave gashes and scars.

“I’m so close, Ash, please—” you moan, your head tossed back, “help me out here, baby, fuck!”

With a groan of acknowledgement and a particularly rough thrust, Ashton’s sliding his hand between your bodies to attach his index finger to your clit. He rubs in quick circles, faster, faster, faster until the pace of it lines up just right with the rhythm of his hips.

He lets out another moan, his face buried into your neck, lips just barely brushing against your earlobe before he speaks:

“Cum again for me, Pidgey. Cum all over this fuckin’ cock like a good girl, yeah? Fuck baby— whose pussy is this?”

“Yours, Ash— oh my God, please. S’all yours. Everythin’s yours… I’m yours.”

And just like that, you were coming again, at the hands of a man that cut you out of your shirt with a pocket knife and knocked on your door with a bag full of blood money slung over his shoulder. You collapse onto him, the residual aftershocks occasionally jolting your body as the last of your orgasm is spent at the expense of Ashton’s fingertips.

He finishes in tandem, cock twitching as he leaves you full, and jaded. He takes a moment before sliding out of you, your face coming to a pinch as the sensation of his cum dribbling out of you hits faster than you expected.

“Shit,” Ashton finally utters, his forehead slick with sweat, curls rearranged to his forehead haplessly. He guides you to stand back onto the kitchen floor, keeping his arm out in the event that your legs were too trembly to hold you upright.

“Shit, indeed,” you chuckle, the air in your lungs but a memory as you lace your arms around his neck. Ashton’s still gazing down at you, at your bruised up, bloodstained neck and chest, at the way your hips and thighs were flushed scarlet due to the sheer force of his grip.

“Did a number on ya’ didn’t I?” Ashton comments, overly self aware yet somehow still tender as he swipes a rogue lock of hair away from your face. The two of you standing naked and entangled in this kitchen happened more often than one would think.

“People are gonna think you tried to murder me in here,” you tease languidly, interrupted by him stealing one last peck from your lips.

“I’ll tell ‘em you fucked me, fled, n’ left me in my underwear. Would probably end up with me gettin’ arrested and you on the news as some sorta hero.”

“As if I would even dream of ratting you out.”

You scoff at the accusation, the ever present wetness between your thighs getting harder to ignore. You shift uncomfortably, and Ashton notices, reaching behind you to swipe a dishcloth from the counter. He extends it to you, the faintest of smiles present on his face.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t be throwin’ out accusations like that,” he chuckles, finding his underwear in the haphazard pile of discarded clothes and stepping into them, leaving you still indecent and leaned up against the counter. He offers you his bloodsoaked shirt without question,

Silence passes over you and Ashton, but it isn’t tense, nor uncomfortable. It’s a knowing silence, one that’s complimented by the way you’re untroubled by the amount of blood that had dripped all over your sweats after he sliced his hand open with a switchblade.

He was half dressed, as were you, simply coexisting in the bloody afterglow.

“Y’know, I’ve got a suitcase full’a money in the trunk,” Ashton blurts. You were now sitting on the counter, watching him as he finished his coffee that had since, undoubtedly, turned cold.

“Yeah?” you quiz, eyebrows raising in intrigue.

“Mhm. Wanna count it with me? Maybe if you’re good, I’ll fuck ya’ on it. Wolf of Wallstreet style.” His eyebrows waggle, and you just roll your eyes; you couldn’t bear to gaze lovingly at that mess of black curls and terribly timed jokes any longer.

“I genuinely hope I never see you again, sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay. Imagine if Bonnie said that to Clyde?”

“She’d have been a smart lady,” you chuckle, hopping off the counter and stepping closer.

Ashton’s hand finds your hip instantly, the other still holding his mug. He gazes down at you with a placid smile and right then, everything was right in the world.

“She’d have been smart for it, sure. Not t’ mention they’da both made it out alive. But— where’s the fun in that?”

You shoot him a crooked smile; one that screams what you’re feeling without needing to say a word.

“Oh, so now the deputy sheriff of the fun police cares about fun, huh?”

His lips purse, agitated, yet bewitched by the way you just so effortlessly put him in his place. You plan to retort, but are interrupted by Ashton scooping you into his arms and putting you back into a headlock.

How? You hadn’t a clue.

“You’re under arrest, sweet cheeks, for a crime only punishable by letting me hit it from the back. On a pile of money. That you also gotta’ count.”

With not an ounce left of care in the world, you fall back against him, looking up at him from being backed against his broad chest, “In your goddamn dreams, Robin Hood.”

[keer-y]

Reciprocal

pairing: teacake meacham/f!reader wc: 4.8k tags: casual sex, fwb, oral sex [f and m receiving], face sitting, 69 position, rimming, friends to lovers (but they are just friends. really.), lowkey bittersweet ending?, little bit of a weird dynamic bc they obviously like each other but won't admit it. also teacake calls reader babe but in a fun casual friend way! you know how you call your best friend babe and let her sit on your face? a/n: save me teacake meacham. teacake meacham saVE ME

this is lowkey for @souperbloom tyfyt reblogs, likes, and comments are very much appreciated! &&

“Please answer... please answer...” you mumbled, holding your phone to your head as it trilled in your ear, ringing repeatedly. You'd left work after the worst fucking day dealing with customers that you'd had in recent memory and when you were walking to the bus stop, it had started drizzling. Just your luck, you thought, pulling up the hood of your jacket. At least it wasn't pouring—

And as though the universe heard you think it, the skies opened up, drenching you immediately even with the nylon of your windbreaker. It had pissed you off so quickly that you actually stopped in your tracks, took a moment to seethe quietly, and then pulled your phone out of your pocket and dialed Teacake.

You weren't sure if he was working—his schedule was so sporadic, day- and timewise, that it could be a shot in the dark whether you'd catch him available to get together.

You and Teacake had been close friends since high school—before he was even called Teacake—mostly because you always tried to look out for him and keep him from being taken advantage of. He was too trusting, and too quick to go along with anything anyone told him. Suggestible was the word you liked for him, and when you saw him getting played by countless girls (and some boys) in your class, you just couldn't abide. You attached yourself to him at the hip, just so he had someone a little more cynical on his side. Because Jesus Christ, people would end up eating this boy alive.

Which is exactly what happened, but that was another story.

After he'd gotten out of prison, you two had remained just as tight as you had in high school, with some new additions to your, um, friendship.

You know... Sex. Mutually beneficial and absolutely no strings. Teacake was extremely generous and happy to do anything you asked, so you returned the favor. He made it easy, really—he was a sweet guy who took care of your needs without worrying too much about his own. The ideal fuckbuddy.

You did think of him as more than that, truthfully, because he was also the person you called with good news, work news, family news, or even when you wanted to go see a new movie that was coming out and everyone else blew you off. Didn't matter. Teacake had somehow become your best and oldest friend, and you really didn't want it any other way.

“God damn it,” you said, lowering your phone when he didn't answer. The little shelter for the bus stop was just ahead—you could see it in the distance, a lone streetlight flickering above it, but the wind was blowing the rain on an angle and you knew even if you stood under there, you wouldn't be protected from the elements.

You decided to try Teacake again. This time, he answered on the second ring.

“Hey!” he said, obviously happy to hear from you, and you smiled despite yourself, beginning the trudge to the useless bus stop structure. “It's raining!”

You laughed despite yourself and how annoyed you were—you could never stay pissed off with Teacake on the phone. “Yeah, I know,” you said. “I'm outside.”

“What? Why?” he asked, and then without giving you a chance to respond, he went on. “Are you walking to the bus stop again? Why don't you just let me come pick you up from work? Geez.”

“Because our schedules like, never ever line up, you know that.”

“I can come getcha now,” he offered. “Car's still warm. I just got home.”

“I'm already at the stop,” you said. “Where were you, work?”

“Grocery shopping,” he said. “Take the bus to the stop near me. I'll make you dinner!”

Rolling your eyes good-naturedly, you loosed a short sigh. It was nearly 10'0'clock. “I already ate.”

“Dessert then, they had donuts on sale. I got two boxes. Buy one get one half off.”

“You're so frugal.”

“Thanks,” he said. “No, really, come over. You sound exhausted.”

You leaned against the side of the bus shelter, the wind blowing at you at a right angle. “I just had a long day.”

“Anything in particular?” he asked, and you heard him clinking and clanging around, probably cooking the dinner he'd offered you even though you'd told him not to.

“Just the general public testing me,” you replied. “Same as always.”

“Mm, mhm,” he hummed. You heard water running and the sound of two pieces of cardboard being pulled apart, probably a box of something he was opening. “Well, yeah, come on over and I'll make you feel better.”

You smiled to yourself, tucking your chin against your chest, fingers curling around your phone—you knew what he meant, and now that he'd suggested it, you kind of wanted to take him up on it. “You don't have to.”

He laughed, then pulled out the secret weapon that always won you over. “Babe, I want to.”

You weren't his babe, he wasn't your guy. But when he said it, like you could be just for the night, forgetting all the bullshit and letting him take care of you, heart, body, and soul, well. Teacake might just be all you needed, really.

“All right, fine,” you said, like he'd had to convince you to exercise the “benefits” part of your friendship. “I think the next bus is in like twenty. I should be to yours by 11.”

“The pasta will be ready for you,” he said, making a smoochy noise at the phone and then hanging up.

&&

The bus only had one old pervert on it, and he seemed to be asleep in the last row, so that counted as a win after the horrific day you'd had. Customer after customer had just been riding your ass and not even in the fun Teacake way—no, just asking question after question, insisting you go into the back to check if certain items were in stock (they never were, everything you had was out on the floor already), expired coupons, returns with no receipt, can I speak to the manager? It never fucking ended.

The rain was still coming down hard when you got to Teacake's apartment, and he opened the door quickly after you knocked, like he was waiting just on the other side. He smiled when he saw you, then frowned.

“You're drenched,” he said.

“Observant,” you replied, stepping in and bending down to untie your shoes, leaving them in the corner of his small entryway. You peeled off your windbreaker next, which had done next to nothing to keep the rest of your clothes from getting saturated.

“Hold on,” he said, “I'll get you something to change into.” He disappeared back around the corner that you knew led to his bedroom while you waited, dripping rainwater onto the linoleum tile below you. You heard him hurrying back, a pair of grey sweatpants that were already turned up at the ankles from the last time you wore them, and an orange t-shirt from Atchison Storage that said SECURITY on the front in black block letters.

“Wow, your work clothes,” you said, taking them as he offered them to you. “Thanks.”

“Hey, you love those sweats, and I don't know what they made these shirts out of but they're literally the softest material ever. Feel it.” He took the shirt back from your hand and rubbed it on your face. “See?”

You snatched it out of his hand and clutched it to your chest. “Yeah, all right.” He stepped back to let you walk past him and into the living room. You headed to the bathroom while he went back to the kitchen. As you closed the door behind you, you heard a few mechanical beeps and then the hum of the microwave kicking on, and you just knew that he was heating up food for you, even though you'd told him you'd already eaten.

Leaving your wet clothes in a heap in the bathtub, you took off your bra but left your panties—really more for plausible deniability than anything else; you hadn't only come over to fuck him—and stepped into the sweats, pulling them up over your hips. The t-shirt was soft, which, even though he'd given you empirical evidence of that, you wouldn't have expected. Nothing neon-orange colored tended to be actually comfortably wearable, but this wasn't so bad. It didn't stick to your clammy skin the way a regular t-shirt might, and it was big enough that you felt cozy in it. Using his bath towel to tousle your hair a little, you opened the door and smelled the jarred sauce he always used when he made pasta.

Padding to the little kitchenette he had in his place, you saw he'd already set a bowl of elbow macaroni covered with marinara sauce on the table for you, with a fork stuck in it and a can of Mountain Dew beside it. Because all he had to drink was Mountain Dew, you had empirical evidence of that too.

“Thanks,” you said, sitting down and taking a bite of the pasta, mostly to feel warm instead of waterlogged and chilly. It wasn't even good—the pasta was overcooked—but you ate it anyway, because it was better than nothing and Teacake wanted you to, and the way you both worked was reciprocal, you did for him and he did for you. That was what best friends did.

Among other things.

“So what happened?” Teacake asked, leaning against the side of the refrigerator, facing you with his legs crossed at the ankle, balancing on one foot as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Ugh,” you said, through a mouthful of pasta. You chewed and swallowed. “Just—people do not fucking let up. I worked from 1 to 9 and the second I clocked in—the second, Teacake, I swear—I had people up my ass. Customers, coworkers, even this one lady's dog that she snuck in in a baby carriage like we wouldn't notice the thing yipping at people.”

“Someone snuck a dog in,” he repeated. “What kind of dog?”

You leveled him with a look, like you were wondering how he even dared to ask. He raised his eyebrows. “It was a lhasa apso and it was really fucking cute actually,” you said, and he grinned. “Kinda looked like you.” You lifted your hands to mime his blond hair, falling on either side of his face.

He grinned wider. “Thanks,” he said, “coming from you that means a lot.” He pushed himself off the fridge and pulled out the chair opposite you, sinking down into it as you picked at the pasta. “So just a relentless eight hours of retail hell got you?”

You stabbed the fork into the bowl, finished with it, and leaned back in the rickety dining chair. It didn't match the one that he was sitting on, and neither matched the table. “Yeah, I guess. And that it was the closing shift. I was scheduled until 9 but we never get out on time. Had to catch the late bus.”

“Yeah...” he said, trailing off. You lifted your eyes to look at him because you knew what him getting quiet meant. “Well, I know what'll make you feel better.”

You covered your face with your hands for a moment. “That's not why I came over,” you said.

“I'm aware,” he said. “But that doesn't mean we're not gonna do it anyway.” He gave you a little smile, the one that always tipped you over the edge into agreeing with him. Not that you really needed much convincing.

Sighing out a short laugh, you ran your hand through your hair and pushed it back off your forehead, meeting his eyes. “You sure?” you asked, because you always asked before. That was part of the ritual too: Teacake suggesting it; you checking that he wanted to; him expressing how much he did, in fact, want to; you letting him take your hand and lead you to his bedroom; and then finally, your best friend making everything better in the best possible way.

“Of course I'm sure,” he said, that same little smile on his lips, but with them parted a little this time. Oftentimes you felt that he was more excited about it than you were, but he always assured you that it was just platonic sex. As if there were such a thing. Well, if there was, you and Teacake had it figured out.

“C'mon,” he said, nudging you a little as he stood up and walked past you. “I'll make you feel better.”

“Teacake...” you said, but he reached down and curled his hand around your forearm. He didn't pull you, didn't tug, just lifted your arm so he could take your hand in his.

“Babe,” he said, but with all the affection of your friend, not anything more. You called your girlfriends babe with the same inflection and meaning behind it. “Just get up and come with me.” He chuckled quietly as you allowed him to hold your hand and take you across his living room, down the short hall, to his bedroom. His bed was made, which he said was a residual habit from prison but you didn't quite believe, and he held your hands aloft as he guided you over to stand beside it. He rounded you, threw himself onto the bed, mussing the neatly tucked duvet, rolled flat onto his back, and grinned at you, upside-down. “Climb on up.”

“Travis,” you admonished, amused, still not used to how lewd he could be sometimes. When he was like this—when you were about to do this, he was Travis, not Teacake.

He shrugged at you. “It's one surefire way to get me to shut up and stop asking about your day,” he said. “I could tell you about what I did, if you want. Hour by hour... just walking up and down the units... making sure everything was all locked up, no one left anything weird behind... or that no one was stuck down there... I wonder if they'd ever start up Storage Wars again out here. Probably not, but—”

“Jesus, all right,” you said, laughing as you pulled up the hem of the shirt, which hung to your mid-thighs. Travis watched you, wondering if you'd pull it all the way off, but no—you pressed it to your front with your wrists, holding it out of the way as you hooked your thumbs into the sweats and pushed them down, leaving your underwear in place. His eyes settled between your legs, watching you as you stepped out of the sweatpants and left them on the floor, then stepped closer to the bed.

Lifting an arm to beckon you closer, Travis craned his neck to look up at you the right way up. “You're really something else, you know that?” he asked.

In moments like this, he almost seemed eager to do this for another reason, but things never shifted between you after, never got awkward or tense, you just kept on keeping on as friends and nothing more. By design.

“You're only saying that because you just like using your mouth whatever way you can,” you said, lifting the shirt again and pushing down your panties this time, but he still couldn't get a peek at you because the shirt hung so low and loose on your body. You gestured at him, still clad in his jeans and hoodie. “Come on, I'm not gonna be the only one getting naked here.”

“Hey, I had a great day, and it's about to get better, making my best friend's day better too. And this isn't about me.” He rolled onto his side, leaning his head on the heel of his hand, elbow bent below it. “And besides, you're not naked.” He pointed at you from shoulder to hip, indicating his shirt still draped over you.

“I'm leaving this on until you take yours off,” you said. “Feels like a power dynamic if you still have all your clothes on.”

“What!” Travis said, flattening his lips into a line. “If anyone has the power, it's you. You're on top.”

Your lips curved into a smile, but you looked away so he might not see it fully. “Still.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, but pushed himself to sit up, tugged off his hoodie, and tossed it to the head of the bed where it landed on top of his pillows. “Better?”

Nodding, you pretended that you weren't looking at his torso, the slight tummy over the waistband of his jeans, the thick patch of chest hair spread across his front. He was attractive—not that you were attracted to him, or anything. You just happened to be best friends with a really handsome if not a little bit silly guy.

“All right,” he said, laying down again and waving you over with a hand. “C'mon.”

“Is it weird that we do this?” you asked, climbing onto the bed and kneeling beside him.

“No,” Travis said. “Tons of people go down on each other. Like, every day. That's a science fact.”

You hit him on the stomach, and he laughed as he flinched away. “You know what I mean,” you said.

“No,” he said, more seriously this time. “It's not weird. This is just our thing. It's how we...bond.”

“Bond?” you asked, snickering.

“Yeah. Look, if you wanted to eat ice cream after a bad day, you know I'd have a gallon waiting for you. If you wanted to watch Sugar & Spice—the inferior cheerleading movie, by the way—for the umpteenth time, we'd be watching it. But I know you, and I know what makes you feel better is...” He lifted both hands to indicate his mouth. “So, you can either listen to me go on and on, which I know you love—”

“If I hated hearing you talk I wouldn't be here,,” you interrupted, but he just kept going.

“—or you can do something we both love and have a good night. A great night even.”

“This is what makes it weird,” you decided. “Talking about it.”

“One solution to that,” he said, pushing his hair back.

“You really are insufferable.”

He only grinned up at you, then finally made the first move. He reached over to you and placed his hand on your thigh, stroking up and down the outside of it with his fingertips, just letting them trace over your skin and under the hem of the shirt you still wore. You kept your eyes on his, looking down at him, and even when you reached down to pull the shirt up and off, baring yourself to him, he didn't look away from your face.

“Something else,” he said again, and you reached down to card your hand through his hair before lifting your leg and throwing it over him, facing away from him—which he didn't quite expect but wasn't gonna complain about. “I love being right.”

“About what?” you asked, trying to look back at him over your shoulder.

“I said it twice already,” he said, placing both hands on your thighs now, urging you to back up so you could sit on his face. “You're something else, can you listen?”

“I couldn't possibly listen to anything more than you,” you said, leaning forward and placing your hands on his hips to steady yourself as you backed yourself up over his face, his breath warm on your thigh as you got closer. You shuddered at the feeling of it, and then you felt his lips against your leg, higher up than you expected.

“Just a little more,” Travis said, his lips brushing your labia as he said it, and then one more tiny scooch back and your pussy was practically resting on his chin. He licked into you easily, swiping his tongue over your slit as you heard him hum quietly, already, barely tasting you and already loving it.

You took a breath, your thumbs pressing into the front of his hips, the jeans providing a good surface for you to grip onto, and you spread your knees a little bit, lowering yourself further down onto his face.

Travis closed his lips around your labia, sucking at it softly before he moved his hands to your ass too, letting his thumbs drift between your legs, pulling your folds apart as he tucked his face against you. You loosed a short sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, as his tongue slipped inside of you to fuck you shallowly.

Flexing your hips, you bit your lip as the slight movement of your lower half pulled your cunt away from his mouth, his tongue sliding closer to your clit. He didn't hesitate, didn't break stride—only focused his attention there instead, letting the tip of his tongue circle around your clit while his thumbs still kept you pulled open for him.

“Travis,” you whimpered, pushing yourself back into his face, and he only shifted his hips a little beneath you; you could see that his cock was chubbing up, but in the confines of his jeans, constricting him. Bracing yourself with one hand, you moved the other to undo his fly, tugging the zipper down and letting your fingers touch him through the new open space at the front of his jeans, nimble and fleeting against him. He groaned into your cunt, letting his hands slide up to cup your ass properly, pulling you down closer on his face, his mouth working at your clit so deliciously that you were already shuddering just a little, thighs weak before it had even been half as long as it usually was.

It took you a long moment to finagle the button, but you undid it and, pushing yourself up for just a moment, well and proper sitting on Travis' face, smothering him with your pussy, you pushed his jeans and boxers down—and while he let you, one of your hands now wrapped around his length, jerking him off slowly—you could also feel his hands squeeze your ass as you tried to bend forward, attempting to keep you in place, wanting you to stay exactly as you were: Planted firmly on top of his head, your pussy right above him, tonguing your clit as his nose just brushed your slit. It had made you worry for him the first time he'd positioned you like this, but he assured you it was “all part of the experience, babe.”

“Travis, let me—” you tried, and he let you lean forward, craning his neck to keep his mouth on your pussy even as you moved away. He hooked his hands around your hips and pulled you closer yet again, mouthing at your cunt, tongue slipping through your folds.

Whimpering, trying to keep your composure, you couldn't help but grind your pussy down onto him, feeling how slick his skin was, the slight rub from his stubble providing just enough of a contrast to the absolute bliss his mouth was giving you—it helped you center yourself, enabling you to part your own lips and take his cock into your mouth, drawing a deep breath in through your nose, knowing you'd need to hold it because his cock was, uh, sizable, and you'd need a minute once you got it in your mouth. He was thick and heavy on your tongue, your jaw stretching wide as you took him in, and you felt his fingers dig into your thighs, his mouth pull away from you for a moment. He leaned his forehead against your ass cheek, breathing heavy—you could hear him—as you fed his cock slowly into the wet heat of your mouth.

“Jesus,” Travis muttered. You felt his breath on your core, making your pussy clench down on his absence before he kissed the fold of skin between your thigh and your ass, and then he was back on you.

You pulled off of his cock, keeping one hand firmly over his hip, the other moving over his length, slick with your spit, twisting around it, sliding up and down, jerking him into your mouth where you kept the head and another couple inches, wanting as much of him inside you as you could bear. With the flat of your tongue, you laved at the underside of his dick, tasting sharp bites of precome as they dribbled out of him, and you moaned low in your throat at the salty sweetness as it hit your tongue.

Behind you, Travis pulled away again, but you didn't think much of it, didn't consider what he might be planning or what his next action would be, but then your hand was slipping off of his hip, your fingers going slack around his cock, because his tongue was moving over your asshole, and you pulled off of his cock to look back at him, half shocked and half enthralled.

He didn't often do this for you, but sometimes the mood struck him when he thought you'd had a bad enough day—or maybe he just felt particularly giving—because he was mouthing at your ass with two fingers of one hand curling into your pussy and two fingers on the other rubbing at your clit, the bud swollen beneath his ministrations.

“Trav—” you gasped, but at the angle you couldn't turn enough to see any part of him—so you returned to what you had been doing, his cock spit-slick, half-shiny with saliva, flagging over his thigh, forgotten. You wrapped your hand around it, holding it upright so you could slide your lips down it again, and bobbed your head this time, wanting to give him a bit extra too, as you felt him working at you on three different places; you fought to keep from twisting your body on top of him, wanting to focus only on his tongue, now gently easing you open, delving just the tiniest bit inside, stretching you ever so softly as his fingers fucked into your dripping cunt, soaking his hand, and your clit, already throbbing under his touch, against his fingers. You closed your eyes, focusing on how his hands felt on you, in you, his tongue moving against your rim—and on the cock in your mouth, wanting to make him feel even half as good as he was making you feel.

You could feel the way his hands faltered just a little as you took him in a bit deeper each time you bobbed your head, the way precome was all you could taste, heady and a little more bitter as he got closer to his release—you knew him that well, weird or not.

His tongue was fully inside you now, fucking your hole, wet and tight, a third finger now stretching your pussy, pressing against your pulsing walls, your clit hard against his fingers as they flicked over it, circling it, fast, faster, fasterfasterfaster until you were almost choking on his cock, gagging on his length as you pushed down too fast, your body tensing, your arm failing to hold you up anymore as you came, hard, Travis' fingers and tongue inside of you, rubbing at your clit to draw out your orgasm as long as he could; you slurped around the head of his dick, sucking him loudly and lewdly and then his hips were kicking up into your face, pushing in, testing the limits of your jaw, and he was flooding your mouth with come, thick spurts hitting your tongue, the back of your throat, tears pinching at the corners of your eyes as you swallowed what he gave you until he relaxed back down, his cock slipping from your mouth, letting his head rest flat against the bed again, easing his fingers from your cunt but still rubbing absently at your clit like he wanted to coax another one from you.

You panted above his cock, come leaking from the corners of your mouth down your chin, and you lifted your arm to wipe your face before moving your dripping pussy off of his chest, lying instead on the bed beside him. You rested your chin on his abs, looking up at him as he propped himself up on his elbows to let his gaze linger on your face.

“Feel better?” he asked, voice thick with residual arousal and...no, nothing.

“Much,” you said. He smiled, his eyes crinkling a little at the corner, and you opened your mouth to say something else, but held yourself back. You guys just had a different kind of friendship than other people—you watched out for him, he took care of you. Mutually beneficial. No strings. Reciprocal. The best kind of friendship.

&& taglist: @freakygyatt @sunriseinhawkins @kravitzwhore @snoopyharrington @ghostlyriddles @sheisjoeschateau @morninglesss

[souperbloom]

JUST DID 6 BACKFLIPS IN A ROW I LOVE YOU TEACAKE!!!!!!!!

[undersugarnights]

So Baby, Take Your Clothes Off

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ pairing: photographer!ash x model!gf reader (aspiring, i should say)

✧ summary: two starving artists in love try to make a living while they make it big. however, their inability to keep their hands off each other certainly hinders said task— albeit deliciously.

✧ warnings: hints of sex work, obsessive lovers, drug use, wax play, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (m and f receiving), dirty dirty dialogue, kinda fluffy, ashton is obsessed with you, spit play

✧ word count: 5.5k

✧ title: loft music — the weeeknd

✧ author’s note: had to tear myself kicking and screaming away from the bta universe, and naturally i landed on this. it doesn’t help that early the weeknd has been on constant rotation recently, and i wanted something that felt like house of balloons and trilogy and this just kinda… happened LOL

@souperbloom you know i wouldn’t have written this without you, so here’s the mandatory shoutout. hype them up and maybe they’ll make a comeback (pls guys bullying works. ok not really BUT SHOW THEM SOME LOVE)

anyways hope you freaks enjoy. come back to chat in my inbox i miss yall :(

Copyright © 2026 undersugarnights. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The large window provided the perfect view of the city as it spans below you. In any other circumstance, you might have been paying attention to the people who briskly walk across the paved streets of New York. 

Unfortunately, you were much too occupied with other things, such as the angle at which your hands rest on the glass, the perfect arch of your back as the shutter of the camera ricochets across the apartment. 

“Get on all fours and look at me like that again,” Ashton says, just as you push off the window and turn around to face him. 

He lets his camera hang against his bare chest just as he leans down and picks an all too familiar baggie off the counter. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he dunks his pinkie inside, coating it in the fine ivory that has quickly become a staple in the house. 

Red tendrils fall across his forehead as he rubs the powder onto his gums, humming along to the soft song playing over the speakers. His glasses frame his hazel eyes beautifully, and you bite your lip as your eyes lazily trail over him. 

“Like how?” you ask, slowly dropping to your knees before heeding his command. You don’t miss the way his breath hitches as he gets a better look at your ass. 

The thong does have his name on the strap, after all.

“Like you’re gonna breathe on my cock for forty minutes straight before you even think about touching it,” he murmurs, half incoherent from the awe. 

Biting back a smirk, you obey. The sound he lets out as your eyes meet his is pathetic enough to send a wave of excitement down your back. You shift your weight onto one hand, biting your nail as Ashton snaps yet another picture. 

He loves this— taking pictures of you in every angle, in various states of undress, with smeared makeup and a smirk. He wanted to make it big— and he wanted to do it with you in the center of it all. 

You didn’t mind, especially since your dream was so tightly intertwined with his. One day, you will be on a big magazine, plastered on a billboard in the middle of a busy city. 

And one day, he’ll be paid millions just to capture something half as exquisite as you. His words, apparently. 

In the meantime, letting your aspiring photographer boyfriend have his way with posing you didn't seem like that big of an issue. 

“Jesus, fuck, you’re sexy,” Ashton groans, eyes trained on the camera. His tongue flicks out to wet his dry lips, the jeans that hang low on his hips drawing your eyes in like a neon sign. 

For someone who loved to hide behind a camera, he was beautiful enough to stand in front of it. 

Your arms grow tired, so you lean your weight back on your heels, letting your finger trail between your breasts as you glance up at the camera. You know the sultry stare is burning a hole through the lens. 

“You’re like a prism of light beamin’ through a water fall, baby. Like— like the fuckin’ sun setting on a field of goddamn daisies.”

You roll your eyes, but the words still prick at your skin like needles of desire. Sitting beneath Ashton’s heavy gaze always made you feel powerful, and today is no exception. 

Ashton clears his throat, jaw grinding as he lets out a disbelieving laugh. 

“You like what you see, handsome?” you ask, unable to contain your smirk as you push your hair over your shoulder, spreading your knees wider. 

The purple lights paint everything in a dream-like haze, making Ashton’s hair almost glow orange. 

“Fuckin’ right I do,” he shakes his head, finally lifting his eyes from the camera and zeroing in on you. He gets on his knees in front of you, cupping your face in two careful hands. 

His pupils are wide enough that you worry you’ll fall in if you stare long enough. “Almost don’t want anyone else to see these,” he frowns. 

You nip at his palm, breaking away from his tender hold. Your hips sway as you stand up, slow enough that you feel his eyes burning through you. 

“You already make people pay for ‘em,” you hum, picking up one of the many neatly rolled pre-rolls and placing it between two plush lips. 

Ashton’s mouth parts slightly. “Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You shrug. “These tits keep the lights on, lover.”

He’s scrambling to his feet, almost falling in his haste to get to you. He pulls out a lighter from his pocket, flickering the flame to life and holding it just at the tip of your joint. The flame catches, though not before lighting your eyes. 

“They do a lot more than keep the lights on,” he smiles, pocketing the Zippo before turning his attention back to the camera. 

You take the first drag of the joint, letting the smoke hang heavy in your lungs before exhaling slowly. Ashton studies the screen with a religious kind of devotion, the light illuminating those shapely lips you spend so much time sucking and biting. 

“Look at this shit,” Ashton turns the camera to you, scrolling through the raw material he’d taken from your impromptu photoshoot. The lingerie is striking against your skin, the purple light making everything feel more surreal. 

A drug-induced haze— probably how Ashton always sees you.

“Hot,” you agree. “Enough to make me famous?”

He laughs, mindlessly placing a kiss on your temple before turning away. “You’re already famous, Peach,” he says mindlessly. “Plenty of people like to see you bent over.”

Biting your bottom lip, you take another drag of the joint. The bass of the music thrums beneath your skin, something sensual playing as you let your eyes flutter closed. 

Slowly, you sway closer to Ashton, hooking your fingers through his belt loops as you walk him back towards the window. 

“Feeling yourself, aren’t we, peach?”

You blink, smiling innocently as you lift the camera strap over his head. You cradle the camera carefully in your own hands, mindful of its importance as you bring your eye to it. 

Glimpsing at Ashton through a camera lens is almost as breathtaking as looking at him normally. You laugh as Ashton raises an eyebrow, amusement breaking through the surface as he hears you snap a few more pictures. 

“You’re wasting battery life,” he shakes his head, running a hand through those thick red strands that always make your thighs clench. 

“Never,” you quip, taking another picture. This one is mostly covered by Ashton’s large palm, obscuring most of the frame. 

He leans against the window before sliding down until he’s sitting on the ground. 

You place a heel over his thigh, taking a photo as he glances up at you. His hand finds your thigh, warm and possessive as it works its way up to your ass to give it a firm squeeze. 

You snap another photo. 

“You’re always talkin’ about how I’m your muse,” you drawl, tongue growing heavy in your mouth. “But what if you’re mine?”

He’s looking up at you through his lashes— those impossibly long eyelashes that make butterflies erupt in your stomach with one carefully timed flutter. He presses his lips to the side of your knee, kissing up your leg with reverence. 

You let out a soft sigh, camera long forgotten as you sink to his level. Your hands card through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp until he lets out the most delicious little groan. 

“You’re the goddess here, peach,” he remarks, letting his eyes fall shut as she nuzzles deeper into your touch. 

Rolling your eyes, you place the camera down beside the two of you with careful fingers. When you turn back to Ashton, he’s already watching you. 

You place the joint in his mouth, leaning forward and licking the shell of his ear. The sharp intake of breath that he takes is enough to send heat straight to your core. 

Your lips trail a path down his jaw to his neck, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. The lingering salt from long-dried sweat is decadent, and you moan. 

His hand rests on your hip as you make your way down to his collarbones, making your way down to his chest. The silver of his nipple rings catches the light, and your tongue flicks out to take one into your mouth. 

He groans, his hand tangling in your hair. 

Your teeth scrape against him lightly, tugging against the metal until you’re satisfied with the cacophony of his sounds. 

“Watcha doin’ baby,” he pants, watching as your manicured nail scratches above his waistband. He’s already straining against the denim, the delicious length teasing you enough to make your thighs clench. 

You glance up at him, remembering the words he uttered at you not even fifteen minutes before. Your nimble fingers work the buckle of his belt, sliding it out of the loops with ease. 

It clatters against the floor when you throw it haphazardly. Slowly, you pull down the zipper. 

“Got me a bit of an oral fixation.”

He’s watching you with rapt attention, stomach tightening as your tongue laps at his navel. He lifts his hips instinctively as you tug at his jeans, enough to let his cock spring free. 

You almost moan at the sight, watching as it slaps against his stomach. The glistening tip makes you salivate, precum already beading enough to have you aching to taste him. 

“Well fuck me,” he breathes. “You’re gonna fuckin’ end me, peach. Kill me dead.”

You huff out a laugh, mean and real, leaning forward to lick at the tip of his cock. The salty tang of him hits your taste buds, making you shiver as you relish in the taste of the gorgeous man before you. 

Ashton moans, loud and unabashed. 

“Dead men taste like fucking sin,” you say through a sly grin. 

His head falls back against the wall with a thud, Adam’s apple bobbing as he chokes on a moan. His jaw is so sharp from this angle, and you duck your head down to capture him in your mouth again. 

Your lips wrap around tightly, eyes fluttering at the taste. He’s heavy and thick in your mouth, your tongue caressing the underside as your hand works on what you can’t fit. 

Ashton arches against the wall, breathless curses falling from his lips as you fight back a smirk. You bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks to make his thighs shake. 

He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, and you drink in his every reaction hungrily. Your free hand runs up and down his thigh, nails scraping against his skin enough to draw goosebumps. 

You flick your tongue against the ridge, relishing in the meek Ashton lets out. His hand cradles your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he encourages the rhythm you have set. 

Each drag of your mouth seems to draw a new reaction, and you can’t get enough of any of them. 

“Sucking my cock like the perfect little thing you are,” he growls, looking down at you with a crazed look in his eye. “So perfect. Mine— all fucking mine.”

You hum around him, the vibrations causing him to shake. You arch your back, making sure he gets a good look at the one thing you know he’s been drooling over. 

Your tongue swirls around the tip, your lips suctioning it hard enough that they grow numb. He hisses as you let off him with a pop, hand jerking him off with expertise. 

“See? You’re so pretty when you fall apart on my tongue.” 

His mouth snaps shut, a whimper escaping despite his best efforts. One of his hands toys with the band of your bra, finger circling the clasp with quiet intent. You hum around him, a wordless encouragement he doesn’t hesitate to follow. 

It’s not like the fabric hid much; it did just enough to accentuate your curves, the see-through material providing the perfect view of your hardened nipples. 

Still, Ashton undoes the clasp, letting your tits spill free. His warm hand finds them easily, cupping them reverently, thumb brushing over your nipple with a satisfied hum. 

You keep working him over, drool dripping down his length and out of your mouth. The sounds echo in the small studio apartment— it’s a shit place, but you and Ashton only got it for the view— and you moan around him. 

“Shit, baby, just like that,” Ashton encourages through gritted teeth, eyes half-lidded as they memorize each of your movements. He doesn’t dare move your head, though you wouldn’t mind. Instead, he just takes whatever you gave him. 

You pull away, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his tip. Your thumb brushes against the ridge, biting back a smirk at his answering hiss. 

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper in delight, licking a long stripe up his length, your wrist flicking lazily. “Wanna make you come so bad, baby. You gonna be good and let me?”

His mouth is slightly patted, puffs of disbelieving breath leaving his lungs as he nods with a pathetic kind of enthusiasm. You take him back into your mouth, continuing your same rhythm. 

It’s always a treat to go down on your boyfriend; his every reaction makes it so worth it. The shake of his thighs, the cadence of his moans, the way he looks at you like you’re the most dangerous thing in the universe is enough of a reward. 

It’s especially rewarding when you know he’s been half-hard for the better part of an hour, ignoring the pleas of his body in favor of his art. He’s so dedicated, and it’s devastating. 

It also helps that he does make you look like a goddess in every regard. 

“‘M so close, peach,” he gasps. “Fuck, just like that, don’t stop.”

You obey, bobbing your head steadily as your tongue works on the underside of him. You feel his stomach tense, and your free hand slips between his legs to cup his balls, gently massaging in tandem with your mouth. 

Ashton comes with a shout, his hot release hitting your tongue. You work him through it, lips still suctioned around him relentlessly, a small smirk forming on your mouth when you finally pull away. 

He’s panting, limp against the wall as he stares at you over his glasses. You carefully lean forward, nudging them up the bridge of his nose before you meet his eyes and open your mouth. 

His eyes widen when he spots the come still pooling on your tongue, and the pride in your eyes as you show him. The joint hangs limply from his lips, more burnt than smoked, and he doesn’t hesitate before he puts it out on the floor.  His hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek gently before his fingers trail the outer seam of your lips.

Ashton slips two inside without a warning, and you suck on them without hesitation. His eyes are wide, his mouth parted, his already spent cock giving a small twitch of life. 

When he pulls his fingers out, they’re covered in him and your spit, and he doesn’t hesitate to plunge them in his own. He moans around them, sucking them clean, before he cups your face and brings your lips towards his. 

You moan into the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste whatever remains of himself still lingers on your tongue. You straddle him properly now, bare chest brushing against his, feeling his thundering heartbeat against your own. 

He nips at your bottom lip, sucking at your tongue, his hands are big and greedy on your body. You feel him trace the curve of your waist, your hips, stopping to knead at your ass. He always has a glaring favorite, not that you mind. 

“You,” he says, breathless between kisses. “Are fucking ruinous, peach. I’d fuckin’ die for you.”

You smile. “You better.”

At that, he moves his mouth from yours, trailing a hot path down from your jaw to your neck, his hand paying close attention to your chest. His thumb swipes against your nipple, making you shiver before he takes it into his mouth. 

Your head falls back in pleasure, feeling his skilled tongue swirl around the hardened nub, teeth scraping ever so slightly, enough to send goosebumps cascading down your skin. He sucks, and it’s everything. 

“Stand up,” he mutters between kisses. 

You raise an eyebrow, pulling back from him. Your hands trail over the broad expanse of his shoulders, and it takes everything in you not to lean over and bite him. 

“Why?”

“Wanna eat you out.”

You roll your eyes. Leave it to him to get all needy about returning the favor. You don’t mind his desperation, his eagerness to please, but still, you like to do this just to do them sometimes. 

Yet the sticky mess between your legs begs for attention, any kind of release, so you comply. You rise to your full height, made even more apparent by your heels, but his face is still level with your core. 

His hand grips your calf, squeezing reverently before making his way up your leg, he glances up at you, those hazel eyes full of unmistakable want. Carefully, he throws one of your legs over his shoulder. 

You scramble for purchase, but the only thing you can lean against is the glass. Just like before, your hands are splayed on the crystal window, but this time there’s no camera trained on you. 

Ashton kisses his way down your thigh, teeth scraping at the sensitive skin. You shiver, biting your lip as he licks along your leg, the wet trail cooling immediately. 

“You’re sure takin’ your sweet damn time,” you huff, desperation creeping into your words. Your clit is pulsating with need, has been since he took off his shirt and pulled out his camera. He runs hot while on coke– in many different ways. 

He smiles, showing off his dimples as he sinks his teeth into your flesh. You cry out, the sweet spike of pain sending a thrill through you. He knows every reaction and what happens because of what. 

“Don’t wanna be greedy,” he replies easily. “Gotta say grace before a meal, don’t I?”

Your eyebrows rise, and you almost want to laugh, but that thought is quickly cut short by his mouth ghosting the seam of your thigh. He kisses along your clothed core, delicate, reverent, and your heart swells. 

You feel your own arousal beginning to drip out of your entrance, and judging by the way Ashton’s eyes seemingly darken, he tastes it. 

His hand caresses up and down your leg, and he pulls away to blow cool air over the dampened fabric. You whine, shifting forward until your hips grind closer to him. 

Ashton rolls his eyes, but his own need betrays him. You see he’s fully hard again, standing at full attention against his stomach. Then, he’s pushing your panties aside, admiring the glistening between your legs. 

“Gotta say,” he grins, devilish and devastating. “This is worthy of a Michelin star, anyway.”

He leans forward, licking along your entrance all the way up to your clit. You gasp at the feeling of his tongue, the skilled way in which he laps at you. His hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer against him. 

The lazy drag of his tongue is enough to make you see stars, the sharp flicks against your clit in quick succession. Your eyes roll back, and you relish the contact. 

He sucks at the nub, sharp pleasure spiking through you. His lips are soft and plush, tongue moving in tandem to create the most salacious combination. 

Ashton works tirelessly, retiring to the lazy licks. His tongue plunges inside you, and the sensations sluicing from his mouth are overwhelming. 

“Oh, Ashton.”

He smiles against you, dimple popping out, and just that has your knees threatening to give out. His tongue laps at you before plunging inside you, nose nudging against your clit. 

You grind your hips against his face shamelessly, basking in the nearing orgasm. His hand lets go of your ass, one finger replacing the muscle as he continues to suckle at you. 

“Mm, just like that, baby,” you urge, throwing your head back in bliss. Your hand tangles in his red curls, tugging at a particularly harsh suck, the other coming to knead at your chest. You take your nipple between two fingers, pinching until all sensations are heightened. 

Another finger joins the first, curling against that velvety place that already has spots dancing across your vision. You feel your body grow closer to release, climbing higher and higher with each lap of his hungry tongue. 

He seems to be just as blissed out as you, cock twitching helplessly against his stomach. 

He hums against you. “You’re so fucking sweet,” he mumbles between licks. “Dripping down my chin like a Georgia peach, ain’t that right, baby?”

He punctuates this with a sharp smack to your ass, and you yelp, hips hitching closer to his face. 

“Could stay here all day,” he sighs dreamily, slurping you down again. You push his curls back, noting that the sandy hue of his natural hair color is already beginning to peek through. 

He’s fucking heavenly. 

Then Ashton is curling his fingers just right, timing it perfectly with another avaricious suck, and you’re bursting like a dam. A cry rips from your throat as you finally tumble over the edge, shaking, leaning against the window for support as you succumb to the pleasure. 

Ashton’s fingers keep moving inside you, drawing out the pleasure, and the way your legs shake. 

You slump forward, catching yourself against the window with a shuddering breath as he withdraws his fingers from you. He places gentle kisses along the inside of your thigh, muttering mindless praise. 

“Could have you sit on my face all day,” he comments, helping you down to the floor with him. Your limbs feel like jello, but you sink into his touch. 

You kiss along his collarbone, making your way to his neck. You lick behind his ear, biting at his earlobe with need that no orgasm can tame. 

“Gonna fuck me now, camera boy?” you tease, letting your finger skim over his cock. He’s so hard, heat radiating off of him. 

He catches your wrist, bringing it up to his lips before planting kisses across the delicate skin. He gets on his knees, standing up with ease as he pulls you up with him. His hands find your hips as he walks you back to the bed, throwing you down with reckless abandon. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, eyes trailing his movements as he kicks off his jeans and underwear until he stands in his full naked glory. Your eyes drink every detail in. 

He climbs onto the bed, gripping your waist before roughly turning you over. You land on your chest with a gasp, feeling the way he nudges your legs apart with his knee. 

Ashton presses sweet, reverent kisses across your shoulder blades, pulling at your hips until your ass is in the air, your face pressed against the mattress. 

“My muse,” he growls, his fingers trailing between your thighs, teasing at where you’re already wet again. “My goddess. Fuck, I’m obsessed with you, baby.”

Your eyes flit up to the ceiling, right where the mirror you two placed strategically above your bed hangs. You can see him hovering behind you, hands gripping at your ass as he leans down to kiss along it. 

He sinks his teeth into it, and you squeal, a delighted laugh that is equal parts flustered and turned on. “You’re obsessed,” you say, breathless. 

He tugs the thong aside, exposing you completely. Letting out a shuddering breath, he spreads you open further, leaning down to lap at your entrance. 

You whine, already sensitive, as his tongue finds your clit again. Your fingers grip the sheets as you watch “You’re so fucking perfect,” he rambles. “‘S nice when I don’t have to share you with the world. When I can fuck you just for me.”

He reaches over to the nightstand where your candle burns, the delicious scent of lemon that fills the apartment coming closer as you realize his intent. Your anxiety spikes, but you manage to choke it down when you remember it’s Ashton. 

“Gonna mark you all pretty with this,” he says, a grin forming on his lips. “You gonna let me, peach? Please, let me make you beautiful.”

You gasp as you feel the tip of his cock nudge your entrance. He’s bare— he’s always bare, too obsessed with claiming you to have any barrier between the two of you. It drives you insane. 

“Please,” you whimper, surprising even yourself. 

The dynamic shifts in a moment, and then his wrist is tilting down. The sting is immediate, and you hiss, the heated wax touching your skin. You feel it drip down your spine to your shoulder blades. 

To remedy the pain, Ashton ruts against you, cock catching your clit. You moan, clenching around nothing, feeling your arousal beginning to drip down your legs. 

He kisses your tender flesh, the softness of his lips a stark contrast to the sting of the initial burn. 

“Gonna stretch you out,” he promises. “Fuck you like you deserve. Make you feel good, maybe take a few pictures of you all whored out. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, incapable of forming words, and the wax drips onto you again. He keeps teasing your entrance, not giving you nearly enough to satisfy that gnawing need inside you. 

“Ash,” you keen. “Stop teasin’ me, baby. Need your cock.”

He tuts, licking the line of your spine. “Of course you do,” he whispers. “My needy little thing. You looked so fucking good, did so well for me today. Gonna put those pictures up with all the other ones.”

Instinctively, you look over to the wall beside the bed, the one plastered in all kinds of filthy photos he took of you. There’s only a handful in which you’re covered, and they’re his most treasured possessions. 

Second only to you. 

He places the candle down on the table again, his hands keeping their iron grip on your waist as he positions himself over your dripping core. You hold your breath, waiting for the one thing you’ve been craving desperately all night. 

He thrusts into you smoothly, the thick length burying itself inside you with ease. You cry out, mostly muffled by the fact that your face is half-buried in blankets. 

Ashton whimpers, his hand roaming the expanse of your back, peeling back the wax that clings to your skin. He doesn’t move yet, undoubtedly savoring the way your walls clench around him. 

His arms wrap around you, and he places messy kisses wherever he can land them. “My perfect thing,” he chokes out, squeezing you slightly. “Mine, mine, all fucking mine.”

When you volunteered to be the nude model for a photography class all those years ago, you didn’t expect to end up here. Maybe the few crazed glances that the one photographer with sandy hair kept sending your way should have been enough of a warning. 

But you didn’t care, not then, and not now as your body welcomes him for what must be the millionth time. 

“Stop admiring and fuck me,” you snap.

Ashton growls, but he obeys. 

You choke on a moan, hands scrambling for purchase on the duvet. His thrusts are powerful, as needy as they are claiming, but delicious nonetheless. 

“Yeah, peach?” he grins, satisfied with himself. “Does that feel good? You like the way my cock splits you open? You take me so well. A masterpiece.”

You nod, unable to string together a coherent thought, let alone a string of words. 

His hips move against yours in a well-practiced dance, each thrust of his cock feeling like he’s hitting deeper and deeper. You catch sight of the way your ass bounces every time your bodies meet, and it’s so sinful you can’t help but clench around him. 

“So tight, peach,” he groans, his hand roaming over your back. He spits on you, thumb smearing it across your skin as you shudder. “My perfect thing. You should be in a museum.”

You whimper, his words sending you higher and higher. “Thought—“ you cut yourself off with a gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside you. “Thought you didn’t like to share.”

“I don’t,” he growls, punctuating it with another harsh thrust. “But we gotta eat somehow. And I like showing off how good you take my cock. Ain’t that right, peach? You’re my pretty little cock slut.”

You nod, brainless. “Yes. I’m yours.”

He smacks your ass, picking up speed. “That’s a good fucking girl.”

Ashton’s hand snakes around you, finding your clit with ease as he rubs careful circles over it. You’re so sensitive, already teetering on the edge of an orgasm— you’ve been there since he first pulled out the camera. 

His other hand reaches out to your face, fingers slipping inside your mouth without preamble. You suck, eyes threatening to cross.

“I love you,” he pants. “My perfect girl. You’re a dream, you feel like a fucking dream. So wet, so tight. My muse. Mine, mine, mine.” 

He loves calling you that— his muse. He claims it all the time, whether it be while inside you, or when photographing you, or just waking up beside you. 

You love it. 

“I’m—I’m gonna come,” you whine , desperately pushing back to meet his thrusts. The words are muffled through his fingers, so he pulls them out.

The friction builds, Ashton’s sweat dampening your own skin, his lips continuing to kiss your shoulder with softness that doesn’t match the way he fucks you. 

“Come for me,” he croons, reverent hands still roaming your every curve. “Please, baby, come on my cock. You earned it, you were so good. My perfect, perfect girl. My peach.”

You shatter with a cry, a scream wrung out from deep within your throat as you convulse around him, twitching waves of pleasure tear through you. 

Ashton growls in response, driving his cock deeper into you, ruthless in the pursuit of his own release. The sheer intensity of his movements has the bed rocking violently, the ratty, dilapidated bed frame creaking and groaning in a way that threatens to leave you both sleeping on the floor until your next video goes live. 

Still, you don’t care. 

“Tightest pussy I've ever felt,” Ashton grits out. “Fuck, I love you so much. You’re so fucking sexy when you take all of me, baby, so greedy the way you squeeze me.”w2

You screw your eyes shut, overstimulation beginning to take root. Still, you fuck yourself back on him, insatiable for the man behind you in every regard. 

He presses his chest against your back, the slap of skin on skin filling the place, almost louder than the bed. You can feel it in the way his hips stutter— he’s close. 

“Ashton,” you grit out through clenched teeth, a moan caught between your lips. That alone is enough to send him over the edge, you moaning his name. 

He spills inside you with a string of growls that melt into whimpers as he continues to grind against you, riding every wave of his orgasm. 

You can feel him inside you, the way his release threatens to burst out of you in its intensity. You can already imagine the picture it would paint, the way it would drip out of you for days. 

You collapse, body spent as you take in large gulps of air. Ashton pulls out of you, collapsing beside you on the bed. His arm encompasses your waist, tugging you until you’re pressed flush against him. 

“Most perfect thing in this goddamn world,” he sighs, satisfied. His fingers pluck at the string of your panties resting on your hips, snapping it loudly. “My muse.”

You laugh, a quiet sound that says more than your words ever will. You shift your head, looking at him through your lashes. He’s on his back, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. 

Carefully, you brush away a string of his hair. He smiles slightly, and you bite your lip at the butterflies that swarm inside you. 

“For what it’s worth,” you whisper, shifting closer until you’re lying half on top of him. His hand finds the small of your back, but it doesn’t stay there for long because he’s giving your ass a firm squeeze. “You’re my muse, too.”

He smiles, nipping at your nose. “Well, aren’t you glad you took your clothes off for me, peach?”

Rolling your eyes, you tuck your head under his chin. The silence stretches, and you can’t even find it in yourself to come up with a witty retort. 

Because, yeah, you were glad you took your clothes off for him— and you’ll do it again. 

Forever.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

did you read bite the apple? you should read bite the apple. OKE BYEEEE

[souperbloom]

this one was a lot of fun <3 enjoy !!!

[souperbloom]

hey mama soup! just wanted to tell you we miss you, hope you’re doing good !

hi bby! i miss you more <3

i know this ask was submitted months ago, but i just wanted to pop on here and use it to give a quick little life update.

a few months ago, i experienced a really hard loss in my family. and after already being burnt out from a really tough semester, grief took the wheel for me. i had lost any and all creative drive, and really needed to take time to heal.

but i can confidently say that enough time has passed now; i am certainly feeling a whole lot better than i did a month ago. i feel bits and pieces of my old self coming back, including my love for both reading & writing. i finally feel like all hope isn’t lost.

i’m sure i’ve said this so many times, but thank you all for your patience with me. i love writing for this blog and i love all of the friends i’ve made through it. i hope to return stronger than ever, be it sooner rather than later :)

love ya, xo

soupy <3

[undersugarnights]

Boys Don’t Cry

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ paining: luke hemmings x reader

✧ summary: running into the same man who rejected 
your demo with a lot of colorful words in rehab was the last thing you expected, especially not when you realize the beautiful mess that he is.

✧ warnings: rehab, substance abuse, mental health, love bombing, p in v, oral (f receiving), two unstable mfs, bta luke because im a whore, disgustingly needy and pathetic luke.

✧ word count: 5.7k

✧ title: no. 1 obsession — 5 seconds of summer

✧ author’s note: it’s actually so sickening how much i love this version of luke and hes so perfect and ruined and pathetic and UGH. i had this little encounter lingering in the back of my head ever since i crated luke and his tragic love life, and it’s about time i put pen to paper.

i hope you enjoy, even if you’ve never read my fic, and if by chance you do decide to check out my fic because this blurb enticed you to… i would sure appreciate it lol

anyways thank you to my sweet friend @souperbloom ur actually a life saver and the other half of my brain and i wouldn’t have finished this without ur help lol




Copyright © 2026 undersugarnights. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It’s been one week of rehab and already you’re itching to get out. Not for the first time, you’ve found yourself in this similar but dreaded cycle of pretending you’re going to get better when everyone knows you’re one rejection away from ending up here again.

The routine drags, it’s always the same. Wake up, breakfast, get your meds, individual therapy, group therapy, lunch, art therapy, outside time, dinner, rec room, and bedtime. Rinse and repeat.

You’re starting to grow a little insane.

Right now, there’s a lull between breakfast and individual therapy— which just means you’re waiting for your turn to get your head shrunken.

Raising your hand, you rub your eye hard enough that sparks of color burst behind your lids. Yes, the days drag, yes you can’t wait to get out, but sometimes the quiet moments were good enough to have your creative spark coming back to life.

Right now, you’re staring at a piece of paper with mindless lyrics scribbled in the lines with marker. Apparently, you’re not allowed pens in rehab— they could be used as a weapon, a tool to hurt yourself and others.

Truthfully it just feels like a sack of shit.

With a loud sigh, you pull back, letting your marker fall limply on the page. Your eyes dart around, watching the people you’re set to spend the next three weeks with— sort of, if they’re not about to be discharged.

Then your gaze lands on him. For a second, you don’t believe your eyes. He looks sadder than he does onstage and on the pictures shared around Twitter like sacred texts.

Plus he’s missing his signature lip ring.

Luke Hemmings isn’t what you would call a star. He’s part of a music duo with his best friend. The Neurotics. They’re the kind of band that most people don’t know, but the ones that know him make it loud.

They have a couple of sleeper hits, songs that just barely tease the mainstream but never quite land.

But that isn’t how you know of him.

A few months back, you sent a demo out to their manager of one of your songs. It’s not like it’s unusual for you to do that— after all, people buying your songs is how you make a damn living— but what really stuck is that Luke Hemmings himself turned the song down.

It didn’t exactly hurt, Emmy, their manager, had explained that he usually writes his songs with Ashton. Apparently he didn’t take very kindly to the label’s suggestion that they get handed a more palatable song to release as their own.

So yeah, seeing him in person is just as jarring as you could expect.

He doesn’t lift his gaze, eyes trained to the floor as he trails behind one of the workers. He looks a little lost, sporting a few days worth of stubble and pale as a ghost.

It’s no wonder he ended up in rehab of all places.

You doubt he even knows who you are, chances are he didn’t even see the name attached to the demo, he probably didn’t even listen to it.

Maybe you should be mad, maybe you should have some kind of apprehension towards sharing your healing space with him, but there’s something about the aura that clings to him that halts your train of thought.

He’s in rehab, that alone is enough of a scandal to make you reconsider making this poor guy’s life more complicated. You don’t care to keep up with the forums and the gossip pages that babble about him like they’re placed under a spell.

Luke is only nineteen but he looks older, maybe it’s the way this entire program strips you of any armor you use to hide the rot. You frown, feeling a mixture of pity and maybe even intrigue.

The worker drones on— probably about the schedule— and you watch steadily from your place in the corner. The marker and paper are long abandoned, as well as any creative incentive you had before.

This is much more interesting.

Luke nods along, chewing on the corner of his lip. He seems a little startled at first, and you think it’s because he’s probably not used to the lack of metal on his face. You can’t help but feel for him there, this fall facility owes you for all the repiercing you’re gonna have to do once you’re out.

You can’t help but lean forward on the table, curiously winning and taking root. He’s pretty, a tortured soul as far as the eye can see, and maybe he’s just like you.

Finally, Luke is left to his own devices. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, almost like a teenager on their first day of high school assessing where to sit, most definitely deciding they hate everyone.

Your eyes flit back to your paper, and you force yourself to not glance up again. He needs to come to you on his own, and if you’re right about him, he will.

Nerves light up beneath your skin, and it’s almost better than doing a line. It takes everything in your power to keep your eyes trained on your messy scrawl, the one standing bright and crimson against the dull paper.

Everything in this damn place is dull.

You feel him before you hear him, that static in the air that raises the hair on the back of your neck. Your heart slips a few beats, and usually you wouldn’t be so nervous about talking to another patient, but he’s the closest thing to your everyday life you have here and no one here has any idea.

Luke takes a seat a few feet away from you, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. He has his guard up, and that will only make it more difficult on everyone.

“You gotta relax,” the first thing you have said since last night's therapy, and your voice is raw enough to prove it. Talking here feels redundant, so you save it for therapy. “Nobody here is going to strap you down and subject you to electroshock therapy.”

He stiffens, blinking owlishly as if seemingly remembering he exists in other people’s perceptions, too. He turns his wide blue eyes to you, and it’s almost impossible not to melt.

“I thought that was outlawed,” Luke says dumbly.

“It was,” you agree, unimpressed. “So why do you act like it’s going to happen?”

He blushes— genuinely blushes. The crimson that spreads on the apple of his cheeks makes your chest tight, and he looks so sweet, so unlike that entitled rockstar you thought he would be.

“First day jitters,” he shrugs. “Not really used to being around addicts so sad… usually they’re on break from tour and hopping between models.”

You snort, caught off guard by his honesty and humor. He’s unusually endearing for a rockstar, but you don’t mind it at all.

“Y/N,” you offer, biting the back of your marker.

“Luke,” he says.

His name carries weight, at least for you. Still, the way he says it, so removed, almost ashamed, piques your curiosity. Leaning forward, you let some bitterness slip.

“I know,” you drawl. “You rejected my song.”

Luke freezes, recognition flickering over his features. It’s almost amusing how he pales so quickly. You want to feel bad, but watching him squirm is the most fun you’ve had since getting shoved into this place.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “I—I’m really sorry.”

You burst out laughing, hand coming up to cover your mouth. Luke still seems a little startled, but the way his pupils dilate at the sound of your amusement. Your breath catches.

“You diva out a lot?” you ask, moving closer to Luke. He seems to relax a little, maybe it’s because he knows you’re not mad— at least not anymore— or maybe it’s something else.

The proximity is intoxicating.

His eyes narrow playfully. “I don’t really try to, no,” he laughs, a hearty sound in this miserable place. “I dunno, I’m sorry. Music is important to me, I just didn’t want to slap my voice over someone else’s work.”

He sounds so sincere that you feel your heart melt a little in your chest. Suddenly you’re overcome with a need to know everything that goes on in his brain, how everything clicks into place.

“It’s how I make a living,” you explain. “How I pay for this wonderful five star hotel.”

Luke snorts, pulling his sleeves over his hands. Your eyes instinctively trail the movement, catching the delicate and graceful length of his fingers.

“They took my fucking lip ring,” he grumbles. “Like, what the hell am I gonna do with that? Boof it?”

You wrinkle your nose in distaste. “You’ll use to chip away at the walls to escape,” you muse, suddenly chasing every flicker of amusement.

Luke seems a little breathless, a pink blush lingering on his skin. He’s smiling, and it’s just as soft as everything else about him. There is a strange sort of familiarity that clings to the air between you, the kind that makes your brain go haywire with possibilities.

Maybe he’s just like you.

“What brings you in?” you ask, because you can’t help the curiosity that nags at your brain. You’re not supposed to ask this to anyone, you’re not supposed to be making friends, either.

Rehab is full of shit anyway.

“Overdose,” he explains plainly, shrugging like he’s recounting what he had for breakfast. “My manager put me in here. Think it’s time I get my shit together.”

You hum. “What else?”

Luke blows out a puff of hair. “At the hospital they diagnosed me,” he continues. “Borderline personality disorder. How about that?”

“Aw, baby’s first diagnosis,” you coo, and Luke playfully rolls his eyes at you. “Me too. Though I’ve lived with it a little longer.”

He tilts his head. “Does the name help?”

You snort. “Not in the slightest,” you mutter. “It makes me feel crazier. But hey, at least you know how to find your community.”

Before Luke can reply, someone’s already calling for group therapy, herding the patients down the corridor to the salon where they usually meet. He’s already looking at you, side eyes searching for instruction.

Groaning, you push yourself off the chair, looking back at Luke. “C’mon,” you say. “Time to sit and hear everyone trauma dumping for an hour.”

He gets up and the two of you make your way over to the group. You feel his hand brush against yours, an electric sort of contact that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You hug your notebook close to your chest, biting your lip to keep your smile at bay.

You and Luke take a seat, and he’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Eventually, everyone gets situated and the therapist comes in.

She’s a nice lady, her name is Artie, always smelling like roses and speaking like a self-help book that you’ve grown to loathe. She gets everyone started by greeting them, talking in a cadence entirely too bright for the place.

Luke is zoning out, his blue eyes glazing over as Artie drones on about twelve steps and accountability, and honestly, you’re more concerned with watching Luke.

His fingers twitch in his lap.

Carefully you uncap your marker, slowly enough that nobody hears the click. You do the same when ripping the paper.

You think you’ll be able to keep in your pants for 30 days?

You know well enough the things that are said about Luke, the whispers between breathless giggles from girls who think fucking rockstars is a personality trait. The Neurotics are not known for being angel boys, after all.

Carefully, you nudge your hand against Luke’s, hard enough to draw his attention. You push the paper onto his hand, and he catches with nimble fingers. His eyes stay trained ahead until he’s unfolding the note in his lap.

He laughs quietly under his breath, smirking slightly as he shakes his head in his belief. When he turns his head to you, you know exactly what he’s thinking.

You can’t hide your smug look as you lean a little closer. “It’s not allowed,” you whisper. “Bad for morale, encourages toxic behaviors or whatever.”

“Is that really the worst vice to have in this place?” he mutters back, eyes flickering down to your lips and sending heat down your spine. “Because—“

“Y/N,” Artie clears her throat, drawing your attention back to the meeting. Annoyance sparks beneath your skin, but you meet her eyes anyway. “This is—” she looks down at her chart, flipping a page before she looks up again, “—Luke’s first day. Remember we’re here to work on ourselves.”

You bite your tongue, a sudden wave of possessiveness surging through you. Choking it down, you stay stubbornly quiet.

“Well now that we’re on you, Luke,” Artie sighs. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”

He stiffens, almost like a deer caught in the headlights. His eyes meet yours, and there’s a glint in them you haven’t seen before, a sort of heat that matches your own.

That’s enough indication for you to know that you’re in trouble.

Luke drones on a half assed story that you know isn’t real, he seems like the type to never take his own wellbeing seriously, and you love that. Carefully, you scribble something down on another torn piece of paper.

Meet me in the laundry room after lights out.

—

You have only been at the facility for only a week, but you already managed to figure out the way the staff works in a matter of hours.

The laundry room is mainly empty at his hour, which is exactly why you told Luke to meet you here. This is the place where you stay writing for hours, graced by the sliver of moonlight that slips past the window and somehow manages to light most of the room.

It’s nice to have some privacy sometimes.

It’s not romantic, it’s not erotic, but the pins and needles still swim beneath your skin. You’re butting your nails, a habit you swore you dropped years ago but somehow the prospect of being alone with Luke brings it back out of retirement.

It’s been too long since you’ve been touched, and you can’t explain why your brain seems to have fixated on Luke the way it did. Maybe it’s his pretty pink lips, the dreamy eyes just haunted enough to make anyone swoon, or the messy dark blonde hair you just know would feel like heaven beneath your fingers.

But you know it’s none of that.

Finding someone so similar to you feels like a gift the universe handed you after a load of bullshit. If he shows— you don’t know how that will make you feel.

The dopamine rush at the thought is enough of a hint.

Maybe it’s the fact that if he shows, you’ll finally get his approval. The rejection of the song hurt, it sent you into a week long bender and a spiral of thoughts you’d kill to never have again.

It’s difficult not to take it so personally when someone who bleeds emotion through melodies seemingly sneered at your work.

Luke doesn’t seem like an asshole, not the way you imagined at least. His talent is plentiful, but the ego is lackluster.

Still, if he caves in, if he feels that strange connection that has been plaguing you since he first spoke, it would heal that little part of you that lost it after the song was scrapped.

Taking a steadying breath, you hop on top of one of the drying machines, humming a melody under your breath. It doesn’t have a body, just a feeling.

Just a vague impression of Luke.

You hear the soft patter of footsteps against the floor and freeze, holding your breath as a reflex. It’s not that this place is a prison, exactly, it’s just run like one. You understand that it’s safety, that on paper everything that is being done to prioritize healing.

But what happens when you don’t want to heal?

Luke steps into the laundry room, and the confusion on his face is as clear as day. He looks a little lost, a little nervous, like the adrenaline of slipping out of his room was finally starting to fade away.

“Hey,” you call, voice barely above a whisper.

His head snaps to you, and relief washes over his features. He walks up to you, toying with the sleeves of his hoodie. The lack of strings makes you want to roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he smiles. “How did you figure out about this place?”

You shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes a girl just needs some privacy,” you say, smirking slightly.

Luke’s pupils dilate a little at the implication, and he swallows thickly. “You’re crazy,” he huffs, but it’s affectionate. You’ve been insulted with the word enough times to tell the difference.

“You followed me here,” you poke his chest, reveling in the soft chuckle that escapes him.

“You asked me here,” he counters.

They both fall silent, but there’s no real awkwardness behind it. He’s looking at you like he’s memorizing your features, drinking you in hungrily.

It makes your heart stutter.

“Isn’t it crazy how we both ended up here?” you muse, partially to give you a second to breathe beneath his gaze.

Luke purses his lips, weighing your words. “Eh, in general, sure,” he says, stepping between her legs. You can see the dusting of hair across his jaw, enough to make you shiver with the phantom sensation of it against your thigh.

“But I like to think there’s a reason why you happened to be here on my first ever rehab stint.”

You furrow your brows. “I don’t think that’s giving what you want it to give.”

Luke leans closer, breath ghosting over your lips, his nose brushing against yours. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, and you hold your breath in anticipation.

His hand cups the back of your neck and brings your lips together, and immediately you let out a breathless sigh against his mouth. His lips are a little rough but they move seamlessly with yours.

Your hands come up to his shoulders, traveling across the broad expanse as he kisses you deeper, tongue teasing yours. It’s a little intoxicating, the way he kisses, following your every movement like a starved man.

Luke’s hands find a home on your waist, pulling you tighter against him as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

He groans into your mouth when you nip on his lower lip, fingers digging into his shoulders like you can crawl into him at a moment's notice.

You roll your hips, barely grazing the hardness that’s beginning to grow apparent between you, months worth of mindless want bubbling out.

Your hands graze his waistband— then there’s a deafening bang echoing across the room.

“Fuck!” You yelp

The two of you spring apart, heart racing in your chest— this time from fear instead of want. Luke’s arms tighten around you, and your eyes dart around the room, scanning for the intruder.

Luke lets out a breathless laugh, and you’re incredulous. His head falls forward onto your shoulder, breath warm against your collarbone as his hands gently squeeze your hips.

“Shit— I’m sorry,” he stammers through a laugh, cheeks burning a bright crimson. “Kinda forgot where I was for a bit, accidentally kicked the dryer.”

Your heart still won’t settle, and fear sits uncomfortably in your stomach. The moment is ruined, that much is clear. You’re still clutching at his shoulder, but for an entirely different reason, breathing heavily as you will your brain to calm down.

“Jesus, you’re jumpy,” Luke grins, amusement lighting up his eyes. “Just relax, baby.”

You glare at him, and because your brain is too muddled with residual fear, you don’t let yourself linger on the pet name that fell past his lips so easily.

“Are you serious?” you hiss. “This is supposed to be my escape, I don’t want to kill that and my chances of getting laid all in one go.”

Luke raises an eyebrow, smiling wickedly. “Oh, so that’s what this is?” he asks. “I thought we were here to catch up on some Sunday chores.”

Now it’s your turn to blush, and Luke is still smirking when he leans his head against your shoulder again. You're a little stiff, aching to touch him but not quite sure how.

Tentatively, you raise your hand, letting your fingers skim along his hair, holding your breath to gauge his response. When he doesn’t stop you, that’s when you let them tangle.

His hair really is as soft as you imagined, which is impressive considering the shampoo they give out here doesn’t work magic on anyone.

When your nails scratch at his scalp, Luke lets out a ragged moan. You freeze, the noise lighting every neuron in your body on fire as your mind replays the sound.

Oh.

“You’re so—“ your breath catches, and suddenly everything isn’t funny anymore. You’re so aware of the places your bodies touch, skin brushing against each other, and the sudden realization that you want to hear that sound again strikes you like a bolt of lightning.

Never in a million years did you imagine Luke would be whimpering from getting his hair played with.

“Y/N,” he whispers. “I know you’re still scared, but fuck. I can’t think with you like this.”

You swallow. “Like what?”

“Touching me,” he lets his lips brush against the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, causing you to shiver. “Sitting there like you don’t know what you do to me.”

With sudden determination, your fingers tighten in his hair enough to yank his face to yours. The blue is almost entirely swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Then you’re kissing again, a mess of teeth, spit, and tongues. He moans into your mouth when you tug at his hair, his hands slip beneath your shirt to touch your bare skin.

The callouses drag against you, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You can feel the heat rising in your body, the ache that starts to bloom between your thighs.

Luke’s lips travel from yours to your jaw, making their way down to the sensitive parts of your neck. He nips at your pulse point, dragging a moan out of you that’s loud enough to make him still.

“You gotta be quiet,” he groans, just as affected by your noises as you are by his.

He pulls back, hands running up and down your thighs. Despite the fabric of your sweatpants, you can feel the heat of him as he creeps up to your waistband.

You lift your hips, letting him drag your pants and underwear off with a torturous pace. Your stomach clenches in anticipation, but he doesn’t let it faster because he’s kissing you again.

Now the heat is really evident, your own hands slipping beneath his hoodie to feel at the soft planes of his stomach. He tenses when you run your nails down his navel, breath hitching.

“Wanna taste you, baby,” he gasps between kisses, desperation bleeding from his words. “Please, just let me taste you. I swear— I’ll make you feel so good. I need you on my tongue, Y/N, please.”

A sudden wave of self-consciousness hits you, and your lips still against his for a beat. He squeezes your hips reassuringly, and it’s like you just remembered you’re bare from the waist down.

Still, you nod, partly because you catch the way his lips swelled from kissing and suddenly the rush to your head kills any lingering self doubt. He looks fucked out, and you haven’t even touched him.

He drips to his knees without ceremony, pulling you closer until you’re on the edge of the dryer. His eyes are level with your core, thighs bracketing his head.

Luke licks his lips, bringing his fingers up to his mouth before placing them on your clit. He starts to rub slow circles, enough pressure to have your brain growing fuzzy around the edges.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and it’s low a bough that you know it wasn’t something he meant for you to hear. Still, the awe in his voice is evident before he’s diving towards you.

The second his tongue does its first lap around your clit, you gasp, arching your back at the sudden pleasure. He hums against you, eyes half lidded as he wraps his lips around you and sucks.

You’re breathing hard, thighs shaking at the slew of sensations that make it difficult to think. His hands grip your thighs, keeping them open to lap at you hungrily.

“Oh my god,” you mewl, in utter disbelief at the passion behind Luke’s movements. He moans against you, tongue working you over skillfully.

Your hands scramble for purchase on the dryer, little gasps leaving your lips with every flick of his tongue. You make the mistake of glancing down, and the sight is enough to make your breath hitch.

Luke’s hair is a mess, and you let your hands tangle in the strands. His eyes are closed, brows furrowed in concentration. The drag of his mouth, the way his plump lips wrap around your clit, the obscene sounds he pulls out of you, it’s almost too much.

Your hips rock against his face, chasing the feeling that’s beginning to unravel low in your stomach. His hand rubs over your thighs, reassuring and sweet all at once.

Then, you feel one of his fingers start to tease at your entrance, and somehow that whisper of a contact is almost everything it takes to send you over the edge.

You push his head away, legs clamping shut as you shake with the almost. Luke blinks at you, eyes hazy, but he doesn’t get a chance to protest before you’re dragging him up.

“Don’t wanna come yet,” you say, thumb brushing over his slick bottom lip. He’s breathing so hard, cheeks flushed and hair mussed, and he’s so fucking pretty it makes you want to cry.

You slip your finger past his lips, leaning forward until you’re a hair away. “Taste good, rockstar?”

His eyes flutter at your words, and he sucks at your thumb, nodding frantically. When you replace your digit with your own tongue, the lingering taste of you on his lips is dizzying.

Your hand slips past his waistband, wrapping around his thick length. He’s so warm, and the strangled moan that he lets out when you flick your wrist is delicious in every way.

Luke pushes his pants down enough to let his cock spring free, the salivating length standing proudly as you keep pumping your hand. Your thumb catches on the tip, spreading some of the beading precum across the head.

He hisses, hands shaking where they settle on your thighs. “Let me fuck you,” he gasps. “Let me feel how tight you are. Please, I’m so hard it hurts.”

You tighten your hand, his eyes fly open as he falls forward a bit. “F-fuck,” he whimpers, his grip tightening on you. “Please, I’ll do anything, please baby, just let me put it in.”

The way he says “please” has you growing dizzy, your own slick slipping down your entrance just at the thought of being stretched open by him.

Having had enough of teasing, you scoot closer, rubbing his tip over your folds slow enough to have the both of you gasping.

“Gonna fuck me good, rockstar?” you ask, breathless, a little cocky. “Gonna make me come so hard I’ll forget you rejected my song?”

He nods, eager, desperate, groaning when you start to circle your entrance with him. Just the feeling of the head of his cock nudging you open makes your legs shake, pleasure already stinking. You’re so sensitive.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moans. “I’m gonna come and I’m not even inside you, your pussy is so pretty baby, I need it, please just let me—“

He cuts himself off when you guide him in, and the two of you moan loud enough to make fear spark at the base of your spine. You cover your mouth with your hand, watching in awe as Luke bottoms out.

The stretch is divine, addictive, and it feels so fucking good. You shiver when he pulls away, only for him to slam back in hard enough to make the dryer shake.

Slowly he settles into a rhythm, and you wrap your legs around his waist, adding momentum to his every thrust. You’re biting your lip to muffle the sounds that escape you, and Luke isn’t faring any better.

His cock drags deliciously against your walls, hitting every perfect spot that has you biting down on his shoulder. Luke is a mess, groaning and whimpering.

Luke grips your chin, crashing his lips against yours in another filthy kiss. Neither of you have the coordination to keep it steady, lips brushing against each other’s with every thrust.

“Fuck—oh my god—fuck, you feel so good, I can’t— I can’t take it, baby, I can’t—” he’s starting to sound nonsensical against your mouth, at least he would be if you weren’t just as lost in it as he is.

“Just like that,” you whine. “Keep me nice and full rockstar, fuck, you’re so big. Feels so fucking good inside me.”

“Tell me it feels good,” he begs. “Tell me I’m making you feel so good.”

You shiver at the neediness in his tone, arms wrapping tighter around him as pleasure begins to blind you. “Making me feel so good,” you mumble. “Stretching me out so good, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

He lets out a noise, strangled almost, and his hands are slipping between the two of you. His thumb finds your clit, beginning to rub tight circles that have black spots spreading across your vision.

The heat starts to boil over, faster by the second with every thrust of Luke’s hips. You clench around him, desperate to savor every drag, every movement, just to draw out the inevitable.

“You’re doing so good baby,” you gasp, pressing down on your lower stomach to feel the way he pushes against you. “So fucking big. Does it feel good to be inside me baby?”

He nods, and you can barely keep your head on straight as the pleasure builds. You’re getting closer teetering the edge of release, and then Luke leans forward and bites your neck.

You come with a cry, body convulsing against Luke as you ride out your high, waves of pleasure shaking you to the core, relaxing and contracting your muscles until your ears ring.

“Fuck,” he drags the word out, licking over the spot he just sank his teeth into. “Just like that— given to me, let me make you feel good.”

Your body melts, and you cling to him as he chases his own high. His hips are erratic, pistoning into you with the kind of determination that makes your stomach flip.

“You’re so tight,” he gasps. “Wrapped around me like you’re gonna kill me, fuck. “Tight—shit, you’re so tight, so wet, fuck, I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

Your nails scratch at the nape of his neck, lips brushing against his skin. “Come for me,” you urge, voice hoarse from moaning. “Paint me all pretty baby.”

Luke gasps, pulling out quickly. His fist wraps around his cock, the flushed head already on the edge of crusting. He pumps fast, cursing under his breath.

Then he’s coming, white ribbons landing on your thigh, your exposed stomach. “Shit, holy shit Y/N,” he’s moaning your name, barely intelligible as pleasure consumes him.

When he finally comes down, he’s cradling your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your lips. It’s sweet, lingering, and you’re both still breathless from before.

Your legs feel weak, and when you finally part, your breath fans his lips. His own is minty, a residual from brushing his teeth before he was supposed to be in bed.

“That’s kind of crazy,” you muse, nudging his nose with your own.

Luke pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What is?”

You smirk, watching as Luke reaches for what seems to be a pillow cover. Carefully, he wipes at the mess left in your skin, the release that clung to you like a sin. He’s so gentle, sweet, and attentive.

“The fact that you fucked the first girl who was nice to you at rehab,” you joke, lifting his chin so that your eyes are level.

Luke smiles faintly, caressing your arm with a featherlight touch. He looks at you, a little breathless, eyes taking in every detail.

“Y/N,” he whispers. “I’m really sorry I turned down your song the way I did.”

You freeze, the sincerity in his words making your breath stutter. You can’t bring yourself to say anything worthwhile, so you just wait.

“I didn’t listen to it,” he confesses. “I didn’t want to. I just wanted the requests to stop, so I lashed out. It worked, yeah, but it wasn’t fair. Your talent doesn't need to be shadowed by my ego.”

You feel tears threaten to spill, the memory of the strongly worded rejection letter still fresh in your mind. It makes sense, the words that were written on the page didn’t match the sweet boy standing between your legs.

“It’s okay,” you answer shakily. “I promise.”

He brushes his lips against yours again, a sweet little kiss that means more than the entire night put together. Carefully, he helps you back into your clothes, straightening his own in the process.

You finally slip off the dryer, unsteady on your feet from the absolute depravity of the last hour. You’re chest to chest with Luke now, craning your neck to look at him.

He’s so fucking tall.

“When we get out of here,” he starts, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’ll make it up to you. We’ll write a song together."

You bite your lip. “Okay.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

come chat in my inbox i miss you !!!

[souperbloom]

love writing with my bby <3 undersugarsoup is SO BACK!!!!

[souperbloom]

i miss u mama soup 💖💖

hope you’re doing well and that life is treating you like the divine grace you are 🫂

thank u friend ily mwah <3

[souperbloom]

Got the notification from your ask response but I hope you have been doing well! Your fics were always one of my favs and just wanted to pop in:)

thank you!!! life goes on, i’m just riding the wave :)) i appreciate the love more than you know <3

[souperbloom]

Hi!! I just wanted to say I’ve been reading your stuff and you’re SOO talented!! I get that you’re in a hiatus, and no pressure whatsoever, but when you come back I just know it’s gonna be a good fucking day ☺️💞

ahhhh thank you friend!!! mama soup is still dealing with the creative block of a lifetime but i’ll be back and better than ever soon!

[souperbloom]

in through the out door is ur best work write a sequel

…i’ll think about it.

[undersugarnights]

Pins and Needles

MDNI

pairing: firefighter!ashton x reader

summary: you’re completely over ashton irwin. your life has moved on, and so have you. there is nothing that would ever change your mind about it, not even when he magically shows up to rescue you from a broken elevator. it’s all pins and needles, babe.

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f! receiving), choking, hair pulling, mirror sex, rough ashton, slightly intoxicated sex, mentions of cheating, slight descriptions of a building collapse and hurt + comfort.

word count: 24k (monster blurb ik)

title: pins and needles by nessa barrett

a/n: the story behind this is actually quite funny. i had the song pins and needles by nessa barrett stuck in my head all day, and as i rewatched 9-1-1 i had the idea for this one-shot. this is definitely a beast, but god i am so proud of it. this started off as an idea for a small luke blurb, but @souperbloom has been corrupting me with ashton, and i can’t even blame them. also, did i mention this is a collab with them? AHHH they’ve quickly become one of my favorite people to work with, and her writing is just BEAUTIFUL!!! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did, and you should all watch 9-1-1 and stream pins and needles if you haven’t already!!!

also, thank you ashton for those extra superbloom era pics. i got violently wet. ANYWAY ENJOY

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

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The sharp click of your heels echoed through the hallway, each step amplifying the urgency of your pace. You were running late—frustratingly, maddeningly late—as you powered forward, trying to make up for lost time.

Your breath came quick and shallow, each inhale a reminder of the meeting looming ahead. The sketches p tightly against your chest felt heavier with every step, the thought of presenting them making your skin break out in a cold sweat.

Whether it was the weight of the presentation or the caffeine from your third cup of coffee that sent jitters through your body, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was both. Either way, your nerves were on edge, a storm threatening to break inside you.

You let out an annoyed huff, wincing as your new heels pinched at your feet with every step. Damn these shoes. They made you look polished and professional, but they were far from comfortable—and definitely not broken in.

Finally, you reached the elevators, skidding to a stop and allowing yourself a moment to breathe. The faint sting in your feet and the hammering of your heart reminded you to steady yourself. They’re not going to laugh me out of a job… right?

Your hand trembled slightly as you pressed the elevator button, the quiet ding of the arrival chime feeling louder than it should. Watching the numbers tick down, you took a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. The anticipation tightened your chest. It’s going to be fine. It has to be.

When the elevator finally came to a halt at your floor, you didn’t hesitate to step through the eerily empty space. Nervous energy coursed through you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from going over your presentation for the millionth time in your head.

As the elevator door slid shut behind you, you pulled out your phone, scrolling mindlessly to distract yourself. You quickly answered a few messages from Diego, who wished you luck and confirmed you were still on for tonight’s date.

He was the first guy you’d worked up the courage to see—albeit casually. You weren’t exactly in the right headspace to open your heart again, and the thought of letting someone in still felt daunting. Sighing, you pocketed your phone and tilted your chin up, watching as the numbers on the elevator panel continued to rise.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of screeching metal broke through the silence. Before you could process what was happening, the elevator lurched violently, and you were falling. It wasn’t far—only a few floors—but your mind went into overdrive as you instinctively dropped to the ground, covering your head and bracing for impact.

But it didn’t come. The elevator jolted to a stop with a bone-rattling force, and the lights flickered off completely, plunging you into darkness. Your heart hammered in your chest as you lay there, disoriented and trembling. Slowly, you felt along the floor for your phone, your fingers shaking as you finally found it.

You didn’t hesitate to open it, though every nerve in your body screamed at you to stay perfectly still, afraid any movement might trigger another fall. Swallowing hard, you hovered your fingers over the keypad, finally typing the three digits you never thought you’d need.

The line picked up almost immediately.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a calm woman’s voice asked, the faint sound of typing accompanying her words. You could hear a faint accent in her words— maybe Australian?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak through the panic constricting your chest. “Hi, uh, I think the elevator I’m in just fell a few floors—and now I’m stuck.”

“I understand,” the dispatcher said smoothly, her tone steady. “What’s your name?”

Your grip on the phone tightened as you shut your eyes. “Y/N.”

“Got it. Are you hurt, Y/N?”

“No,” you said shakily, “I don’t think so. Just… shaken up.”

The faint sound of rapid typing filled the other end of the line as you fought to focus on her voice rather than the silence around you.

“Okay, you’re doing great. Can I get your location?”

Your mind scrambled to recall the address, your body trembling with a mix of fear and adrenaline. Stammering, you recited the address, silently praying you didn’t get it wrong in your panicked state.

“Alright, I’ve got it,” she said reassuringly. “Now, can you tell me approximately what floor you’re on? Are there any indicators?”

You glanced toward the panel where the floor numbers usually lit up, but it was useless. The screen was dark, just like the rest of the elevator.

“I have no idea,” you admitted, frustration and fear lacing your voice. “I got on at the seventh floor, and it was around the fifteenth when the elevator… dropped.”

More typing came through the line before the dispatcher spoke again. “Understood. Help is on the way. Please stay still, try not to move too much, and keep the line open until they get to you. Can you do that?”

“Yes—yes, thank you,” you gasped, a rush of relief making your head spin as you slumped against the floor. The cool metal pressed against your back as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“Ma’am, are you still with me?” the dispatcher prompted gently, her voice cutting through your haze.

You blinked, jolting out of your trance. “Yes, I’m here,” you murmured, barely recognizing your own voice.

“Is there anyone else in the elevator with you?”

“No,” you replied, glancing around the empty space. “It’s just me.”

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity as you sank further into despair. The dispatcher on the other end of the line did her best to keep you calm, her steady voice a fragile lifeline in the oppressive silence. Of course this would happen to you—especially today, when you had such an important meeting.

Your gaze drifted to your scattered sketches and plans, lying just a few inches away on the elevator floor. At least they were still intact. Maybe, just maybe, if luck was on your side, you’d still have a chance to present your idea.

The dispatcher checked in periodically, asking how you were holding up. You wished you could unload everything onto her—every fear, every frustration, every ounce of emotional baggage that threatened to drown you. But you held back, knowing how frantic and borderline desperate that would sound.

Before you could spiral any further into your thoughts, a muffled voice broke through the suffocating silence, followed by the faint clatter of tools.

“Ma’am, this is the Los Angeles Fire Department. Are you okay?” a man’s voice called from above, it sounded almost familiar.

Relief flooded through you, almost overwhelming in its intensity. You scrambled to respond, your voice trembling. “Yes! I’m okay,” you managed. “Please, just hurry!”

“Hang on tight,” the firefighter said reassuringly. “We’ll have you out in just a moment.”

For the first time since the elevator had stopped, hope blossomed in your chest, fragile but bright. Help was finally here.

The sounds above you grew louder, they were unnerving enough to set your nerves on edge yet again. You could hear voices coordinating, tools working against the metal. It was slightly overwhelming.

You remained frozen on the floor, clutching your sketches tightly to your chest and trying to regulate your breathing. Every muscle in your body felt tense, your grip on your phone firm as if it were the only tether keeping you grounded.

The dispatcher’s voice broke through your thoughts again, calm and steady. “They’re doing their best to get you out, Y/N. Just hang tight and stay as still as you can, okay?”

You huffed quietly, biting back a sarcastic retort. Liz had been nothing but kind and supportive; she didn’t deserve your misplaced frustration. “I’m trying,” you said through gritted teeth, your voice softer but strained.

The elevator shuddered violently, and your breath caught in your throat. “What the hell was that?” you exclaimed, panic spiking again.

“They’re securing the elevator,” Liz reassured, her voice soothing. “It’s normal, I promise. You’re in good hands.”

Your chest rose and fell in rapid breaths as you closed your eyes briefly. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “What’s your name?”

There was a pause on the other end before the dispatcher gave a surprised laugh. “Oh, I’m Liz, honey.”

“Thank you for staying on the line, Liz,” you murmured, trying to focus on her voice instead of the fear clawing at you. “I probably sound so dumb right now—”

“Not at all,” Liz interrupted, her tone firm but kind. “It’s perfectly normal to be scared. This is a terrifying situation, and you’re allowed to feel that way.”

Before you could respond, a faint beam of light broke through a crack above you, and you instinctively squinted as the sudden brightness filled the confined space. The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed as firefighters pried open the emergency hatch.

“Oh, thank God,” you breathed, a nervous laugh escaping as relief flooded through you.

The firefighter’s voice, now much clearer, called down to you. “Ma’am, we’re here. Are you okay?”

You froze as the familiar voice registered. Your head tilted up slowly, your heart skipping a beat. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you recognized the face peering down at you—the warm brown eyes, the tattooed forearms.

“Calum?” you whispered in disbelief, your voice barely audible.

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and his lips curled into a surprised smile. “Oh, hey, Y/N!” he said brightly, as if running into an old friend at a coffee shop instead of in the middle of a rescue. “Fancy seeing you here. You okay?”

Before you could respond, a sinking realization hit you. Calum was never alone—not back in college, not ever. Wherever Calum went, he followed.

But no, it couldn’t be. There was no way.

And just like that, your worst fear materialized as another figure popped up beside Calum, peering through the hatch. Hazel-green eyes met yours, familiar and devastatingly beautiful— the eyes you had dreamed about for half a decade.

“Good God,” Ashton said with a laugh, his grin infuriatingly charming. “If you really wanted to see me that badly, you didn’t have to call 9-1-1.”

Calum shot a look at his best friend, his brows furrowed in mild annoyance. “She doesn’t control who gets sent on calls, Ash. Maybe ease up?”

“She really doesn’t,” Liz interjected from the other end of the line, startling you. You hadn’t realized she could hear everything being said. “Sorry if I’ve put you in an awkward situation, Y/N, but these are good guys. You’re in safe hands. I’ll let you go now.”

You tore your gaze away from Ashton’s infuriatingly familiar green eyes, your frustration bubbling over. “Actually,” you muttered, “is it too late to send another team? Because, honestly, plunging to my death in this elevator sounds kind of appealing right about now.”

Liz laughed, clearly unfazed by your sarcasm. “Definitely too late for that. It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you too,” you grumbled, biting the inside of your cheek as the call disconnected, leaving you alone with your rescuers.

Ashton’s grin widened, his confidence as aggravating as ever. You couldn’t help but notice how much he had changed since the last time you’d seen him—over a year ago. His once sandy blond hair was now jet black, styled effortlessly to frame his face. He’d filled out considerably, his uniform clinging to his broad shoulders and toned arms.

Of course, the universe had to serve this moment to you on a silver platter. As if being trapped in an elevator wasn’t humiliating enough, now you had to contend with him.

Calum rolled his eyes, clapping Ashton on the shoulder as yet another head peeked into the hatch. This one belonged to someone unfamiliar—blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a face that looked significantly younger than the others. “What’s going on here?” the newcomer asked.

Ashton groaned, his tone dripping with irritation. “Mind your business, Probie.”

“Mate, get it together and help her out,” Calum interjected, shaking his head. Turning to you, he added, “I promise he’s not always like this on the job.”

You tightened your jaw, your patience already wearing thin. “No, I’m sure he is,” you snapped, pocketing your phone and grabbing your sketches.

“Alright, Y/N,” Ashton sighed, clearly trying to temper his frustration. “I’m here now. Let me get you out of there, and then you can yell at me all you want.”

Anger flickered in your chest as your gaze locked with Ashton’s. The man standing above you bore no trace of the love you once felt for him—no spark, no butterflies. Just pure, unfiltered irritation.

Calum leaned over, lowering a harness through the hatch. His voice was calm and professional, a sharp contrast to Ashton’s flippancy. “Slip this around your waist. Make sure it’s secure, and we’ll pull you up nice and easy.”

You nodded wordlessly, avoiding Ashton’s penetrating gaze as you secured the harness snugly around your waist.

“I’m good,” you called, looking up to meet Calum’s eyes.

He nodded, his tone steady and reassuring. “Great. We’ll get you out in just a second.”

Ashton leaned over the edge, his smirk softening into something resembling concern. “Are you okay down there, Bambi?”

You froze, your frown deepening. “Don’t call me that.”

Ashton let out a slow exhale, glancing briefly at Calum. “Sorry,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Old habits die hard? You could’ve laughed if the situation weren’t so precarious. It had been over a year since you stormed out of Ashton’s apartment, tears streaming down your face, your heart splintered in ways you didn’t think were possible. Whatever love you had for him was long gone.

Choosing to ignore his comment, you focused on Calum’s steady movements.

“Y/N, are you good?” Ashton pressed, his tone sharp and impatient.

Your patience snapped. “Oh, now you care how I’m doing? That’s some interesting character development, Irwin.”

Calum winced, visibly uncomfortable as he turned back to the two of you. “Here we go again…”

He had been there by Ashton’s side for every single one of your tries at a relationship with him. Calum had been there every time it inevitably crashed and burned.

“Don’t ‘here we go again’ me,” Ashton snapped, his nostrils flaring as he glared at Calum. “Can we just get her out of here now?”

Calum’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s exactly what we’re trying to do, but maybe focus on actually doing your job instead of running your mouth.”

“Making sure she’s alright is part of my job,” Ashton shot back, his tone biting.

“No, Michael and Luke are supposed to handle that,” Calum retorted, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You’re supposed to help me lift her.”

In any other situation, their bickering would’ve been amusing, but the creaks and groans of the unstable elevator made you far too anxious to appreciate the comedy of the moment.

“Can you two lovebirds please focus?” you snapped, crossing your arms as you glared up at them.

Calum had the decency to look sheepish, but Ashton simply stared at you, his gaze intense and unwavering. The weight of it made your skin prickle, as if his very presence was an inconvenience you couldn’t escape.

Ashton let out a long breath through his nose. “Probie, help me out,” he barked, motioning for the younger guy to assist him.

The kid—too pretty to be working such a dangerous job—looked just as confused as you felt but stepped forward nonetheless.

Finally, you felt the rope begin to lift you out of the elevator. The ascent was slow and steady, yet you clung to the harness with white-knuckled determination.

“Hey,” Ashton called, his tone suddenly commanding. “Look at me.”

Against your better judgment, you did. His hazel eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the chaos of the situation melted away. His voice softened, steady and reassuring. “You’re doing so good, Y/N.”

The words struck a nerve, too reminiscent of moments you’d rather forget. You bit your lip and broke his gaze, willing the heat rising to your face to subside.

Finally, with one last pull, you were hoisted out of the elevator and back onto solid ground. Relief washed over you as you took a shaky step forward, only to realize the entire floor had gathered to watch.

As applause broke out around you, mortification set in.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Calum gave you a soft, reassuring smile as he steadied you. His warmth was a stark contrast to Ashton’s fiery energy, and it always left you wondering how the two managed to remain so close.

“You doing okay, Y/N?” he asked gently, his voice calm but tinged with exhaustion. Whether it was from the rescue itself or the constant wrangling with Ashton, you couldn’t quite tell.

“I think so,” you replied, brushing off your skirt and taking a shaky breath.

Calum nodded, his tone taking on a more professional edge. “I’d like to have you checked out by the paramedics, if that’s alright. Just to be sure there’s nothing hidden under the adrenaline.”

You gave a small nod, letting him guide you away from the crowd of onlookers that had formed. Ashton was nowhere in sight—likely cleaning up the gear or bossing around the “probie” you’d seen earlier.

The paramedics were waiting for you just outside the commotion. One of them stepped forward, his kind smile instantly putting you at ease.

“Hi, I’m Luke,” he said, his grin wide and warm, his voice tinged with a similar accent as the dispatcher who took your call. His tall frame loomed a little, but his bleach blond curls and sparkling blue eyes softened the effect. He turned slightly, gesturing to his partner. “And that’s Michael. Mind if we check you out real quick?”

You glanced at Michael, who was quieter but no less striking. His blond hair fell messily over his forehead, and his green eyes studied you with careful precision.

“Sure,” you said, nodding, though your gaze flicked back to Calum. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping away, his reassuring presence lingering as you turned to face the paramedics.

You sat quietly as they worked around you, their movements seamless and efficient. Luke took your blood pressure while Michael prepared a light to check your pupils. Despite the strange tension in the air, their coordinated rhythm was oddly comforting—like watching a well-practiced dance.

Luke had just finished shining the light in your eyes when someone cleared their throat behind you. Michael turned first, heading toward the source of the noise, but you didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Of course, Ashton stood a few feet away, shifting his weight awkwardly. He glanced at Luke and Michael with a sheepish smile. “Do you guys mind if I talk to—”

“I’m feeling quite faint, actually,” you interrupted loudly, catching Luke and Michael’s worried gazes before turning back to Ashton. “I think I should go to the hospital.”

Ashton sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Bambi, please,” he muttered, the nickname grating on your nerves. “You don’t have to try and run away from me, you know?”

Michael raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “What did we miss?”

Luke looked equally perplexed, exchanging a silent question with his partner before shrugging.

You crossed your arms, leveling Ashton with a glare. “Is there a form I can sign that gets me the hell away from this guy?”

Luke hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. “Uh… well, leaving against medical advice is an option. You sign, and we’re off the hook for anything. You’re free to, uh… run.”

Michael snorted, leaning casually against the wall. “Or, you know, restraining order. That works too.”

Ashton shot Michael a sharp glare, his jaw tightening. “That’s not funny.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, the sound cutting through the tense air. Watching Ashton squirm for once was a welcome change; in your relationship, he’d always held the upper hand.

“Alright,” Luke said, his serious tone cracking into a grin. “Make that against Ashton advice.”

Michael chuckled, his mischievous grin widening. “Yeah mate, now is not the time to pick up girls. You’re on the clock, not the cock.”

For a second, the room was silent. Then Luke and Michael burst into laughter, both doubling over as their shoulders shook. You couldn’t suppress your own snicker at Michael’s remark. Despite everything, their lightheartedness made you feel oddly at ease.

“Exactly,” you nodded in agreement. “So hop off mine.”

Your words only prompted another round of laughter from Michael and Luke. Ashton, however, was not amused. He crossed his arms, his expression equal parts annoyed and desperate. “Could you two please stop siding with her?”

Luke rolled his eyes dramatically. “Mate, you’re working, and it’s obvious she’s not interested in you.”

Michael nodded, smirking slightly. “Exactly. She’s not that into you, Ashton.”

You caught Ashton’s gaze then, his hazel eyes softening as they met yours. For a moment, his usual cocky demeanor fell away, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that caught you off guard.

But you weren’t ready to give him the satisfaction of winning this round. Turning back to Luke, who was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, you raised an eyebrow. “Am I cleared or what?”

Luke sobered quickly, exchanging a glance with Michael. “I mean… yeah, mostly. But there’s a couple more things I’d like to check.”

Ashton stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

Michael and Luke both froze, exchanging a look of disbelief.

“It’s fine,” you said quietly, surprising even yourself. “He can do it.”

Ashton puffed out his chest slightly, clearly relieved. “See? She doesn’t mind. Besides, we’re all EMT-trained. She’ll be fine.”

Luke shot you a sympathetic glance before stepping aside, muttering under his breath, “Better him than me.”

Michael shook his head with a teasing grin. “Don’t back down so easily, Hemmings,” he said, turning to Ashton. “You can take over on one condition: you tell us what the story is.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Ashton with a playful, expectant look. “Yeah, Ashton. What’s the story here?” you echoed, blinking at him with faux innocence.

Ashton clenched his jaw, visibly irritated but resigned. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, “That’s my ex. Y/N. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

The humor you’d been feeling vanished instantly. You had half-expected Ashton to brush the situation off or leave everyone guessing. But the casual, almost smug way he admitted it hit you like a sucker punch.

You clenched your jaw. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered angrily. “I’ve never met you.”

Ashton sighed, looking at you with a defeated look in his eyes. “Seriously Y/N? You’re gonna act like this?”

Michael let out a low whistle, clearly taken aback. “Yeah, nope. Not touching that one,” he said, shaking his head. He nudged Luke, motioning for him to leave.

Luke hesitated, shooting you a quick, apologetic glance before following Michael out of the room. And just like that, for the first time in over a year, you were alone with Ashton.

He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on the door his teammates had just walked through. “Appreciate that,” he muttered, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Now this will be the hot topic for the rest of the shift.”

You met his gaze, crossing your arms. “Serves you right, don’t you think?” you replied, your tone laced with sarcasm. A smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head. “You know, after everything.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly grin as he grabbed a flashlight to replicate Luke’s earlier tests. “After everything, hmm?” he repeated, his voice smooth. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

You let out an exhausted sigh, leaning away slightly as he moved closer. “What do you want, Ashton?” you asked softly, your adrenaline draining and leaving behind nothing but weariness.

He paused for a moment, his expression softening. “I don’t want anything,” he said evenly. “Just saying… it’s been a while. You look good. Happy.”

There was a sadness in his eyes that only seemed to fuel your simmering anger. You scoffed, shoving him away with more force than necessary. “I am happy,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “That’s what happens when I get over a leech.”

Ashton barked out a laugh, the sound disbelieving. “A leech?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Damn, alright. Wow.”

You spun on your heel to face him fully, your glare sharp enough to cut. “I could say so many things to you right now, Ashton Irwin, but I’m choosing peace.”

Ashton cocked his head to the side, his hand resting casually on his hip as he stared at you with an unimpressed expression. “Peace?” he echoed, his tone both mocking and curious.

“Yes,” you nodded firmly. “I’m over you, and wasting my breath on insults isn’t really my thing anymore.”

“You’re really over me, aren’t you?” he asked, a small, amused smile creeping onto his face.

You struggled to keep your composure, but you met his gaze without faltering. “Yes, completely,” you said, your voice steady. “It’s all pins and needles here, babe. You’re dead to me.”

Ashton raised his eyebrows, clearly entertained. “Dead is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“My feelings for you are dead.”

“Great,” Ashton said with an infuriatingly charming smile. “So let me take you out—catch up a bit. It’s been a long time; we’re overdue, don’t you think?”

You laughed, disbelief shaking through your tone. “Are you serious right now?” You turned to him fully, eyes narrowed. “You want to catch up?”

He blinked, completely unaffected by your reaction. “Well, you’re over me, right? We can have a simple outing as two mature adults. You’re doing great, and I’d love to hear all about it.”

You opened your mouth to shut him down, but a sly thought bloomed in the back of your mind. What if you did go out with him? Just a casual outing, nothing more. It would be the perfect opportunity to show him firsthand how much better your life was without him. Let him see for himself how unimportant he had become.

You pressed your tongue against your cheek, letting the idea take root as you weighed your options. After a moment, you let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” you said coolly.

Ashton’s grin widened, but you didn’t miss the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “Let’s catch up.”

He smirked, clearly pleased, but you were already imagining the look on his face when he realized just how much you’d thrived.

“Perfect,” he nodded, backing away. “I’m halfway through a shift, but I’ll text you as soon as I’m off?”

You shrugged. “Might have to unblock your number first.”

Ashton smiled, a true, wide smile. His dimples flashed, and you could catch a glimpse of his infuriatingly adorable bunny teeth. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

—

The first week of college was already off to a rough start.

Not only had you been late to every single one of your classes due to your inability to navigate the campus, but the past few days had been drowned in a perpetual cloud of pouring rain.

You were on your way to an Intro to Philosophy class, after having sourced the massive textbook and spent twenty five dollars on express shipping to get it to your dorm on time, your pockets were empty and your soul was crushed when you realized just how goddamn heavy it felt when sitting in your backpack.

Your roommate wasn’t a peach, either. She was kind of standoffish, mean in a way that seemed so effortless as she berated you with passive aggression every time you’d forgotten to turn off a light or drop a dish into the sink.

All of these things combined left you frazzled, and once again, late, trudging through the rain in lightweight Converse that allowed the water from puddles to seep through and wet your socks.

You grumble to yourself as you adjust your bookbag on your shoulder, attempting to dodge the raindrops that splashed down like hail and occasionally got in your eyes. It was even harder to focus on the sidewalk as the sky got darker— you’d wished they’d turn the street lamps on a little earlier when it came to shitty weather.

Or, you wished you’d remembered to put your contacts in.

The walk from your dorm to the Social Sciences building seemed like an eternity. Puddles grew larger, the wind was getting stronger. You could only see the silhouettes of the other students walking past you, which felt as eerie as all hell. There was absolutely no way you were getting to this class on time. Especially not before stopping to collect yourself.

You eventually did stop, landing beside a lamppost before you let too much water fill up your shoes. Leaning against cold, wet metal, you tug at the straps of your bookbag. The entire bag tightens against you, reminiscent of strapping a cinder block to your shoulders, and making your newfound stress headache worsen tenfold.

In the midst of your adjustments, you glance across the way to the opposing side of the street. All of the squinting and toppling back and forth due to the sheer weight of your belongings must’ve had you looking like a madwoman.

Beneath the other streetlamp stood two figures; you could hardly make them out due to the bucketing rainfall— but they seemed to be lingering around with an umbrella. Something you desperately wished you had right now.

You were always told that approaching strangers was the best way to go about making friends in college. The theory of being in a new place with people who share the common goal of earning their degree was like a magnet for new interpersonal relationships.

It seemed morbid to think about friendships in this way, but with an already shitty roommate, the beating heart of rainclouds and the horrid feeling of soaking wet socks, you were starting to think that asking to walk alongside the only people for miles with an umbrella may be your best bet.

After steadying yourself and working up the courage to do the strangest thing you’ve done all week, you set off to cross the street. Puddles were becoming more and more plentiful with each step you took. It took everything to avoid them all, and you regretted wearing such slippery shoes to trudge to class in the rain.

“Hey!”

You call out into the dark air, the two figures whipping their heads in sync to face your now embodied voice.

As you walk, you wave your arm, trying to shield yourself from the bullets that nature called raindrops. But having the two figures’ attention made any and all semblances of words disappear from your mind. They just watched you, halting their own interaction.

“Hey! Hi, I’m sorry to—”

Right as you take one more step to join them onto their side of the street, your ankle is suddenly immersed in water. A pothole, disguised as a shallow puddle, engulfs your entire foot.

Your arms wave to catch yourself, but to no avail. It isn’t long before you’re falling face first towards the concrete, and the hand you attempted to steady yourself with is completely drenched in rain water.

“Oh, shit.”

“Holy fuck, are you okay?!”

Concerned exclamations and courtesies were expected— you’d just fallen flat on your forehead. But what you didn’t expect, nor wanted, to hear after your blundering trip was laughter.

“That was fuckin’ gnarly,” you hear a deep voice get higher, as laughter fills the air and clouds over the embarrassed shade of red dawning your face.

Shaking yourself off, you attempt to stand up, still being pelted by rainfall as the two strangers before you squatted down to your level and attempted to help you up.

You see a hand reach out to you, and you take it in a daze, getting back to your feet with minimal injury from your fall. Your knees were definitely a little banged up, with a new hole ripped into the front of your jeans that stung when you straightened your legs.

“I’m— oh, dear God,” you chuckle wryly, still attempting to hide the humiliation, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Your knees. Are they scraped? Are you bleeding? Do you need a bandaid?”

When you eventually look up to face the concerned voice of a stranger, you’re met with dark brown eyes and a mop of soggy brown curls.

Behind his shoulder stood another guy, his energy a bit less frantic as he continued to just— laugh.

“No, no. Not bleeding, I don’t think. I just wanted to uh, ask if I could walk under your umbrella. Guess the campus potholes had other plans.”

Before you could muster up another sentence, the kid who helped you up extended his free hand once more, “I’m Calum. And I am— so sorry we had to meet this way.” Calum’s face pinches in second-hand embarrassment as you nod to him wearily. His handshake was firm, his fingers trembling a bit as he held you tightly.

“Y/N,” you reply sheepishly, “And your friend?”

The friend in question was still doubled over, getting an absolute kick out of the fact that you’d just busted your ass in the rain. But that high pitched laughter and sturdy white smile made up for the annoyance you suddenly felt.

“Holy shit— oh my God,” he wheezes between faltering chuckles, “I’m Ashton. And unfortunately, that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.”

In an attempt to ease the awkwardness, you laugh along, now uncomfortable in your wet, tattered jeans and palms covered in gravel.

“Ashton, fuckin’— seriously? Stop laughing! It’s not funny!” Calum tries his hand at defending you, but it seemed as though Ashton had his mind made up. As if he were replaying the incident in his own little world, his laughter strikes up like a match once again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just— you should’ve seen the way you fell. It was like the ground disappeared from under your feet! Just one step and woosh, you were gone.”

“Well, to be fair— it did disappear. I uh, stepped into a pothole.”

“Oh my God, I think that makes it better.”

You grumble at the thought of being Ashton’s laughing stock of the day, self consciously wiping your palms off on your sweatshirt and now looking visibly uncomfortable. You could see Calum out of the corner of your eye, wearily glancing between you, Ashton, and his watch.

“I hate to leave so quickly, but I’ve got class in about three minutes.”

“No no, it’s fine—”

“It was lovely to meet you, and I’m sorry to leave you with this demon,” Calum smiles warmly, adjusting the two textbooks in his arms, “Ashton, be nice.”

Before you could even spare him a parting word, Calum is rushing off towards campus. It starts as a slow jog, morphing into a full fledged run.

Calum also took the umbrella.

“How can I make it up to you?”

Ashton’s voice from behind you snaps you out of your spaceout; he’s still standing where he was before, his hands dug into the pockets of his jeans as his long, shaggy brown hair starts to get wet from the still falling rain.

“Fall. Face first,” you murmur, pointing out, “into that puddle right there.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as thunder crackles in the distance. “Don’t think so. How about instead of that, we get out of this rain and I grab you some ‘sorry that you busting your ass was the highlight of my year’ apology ice cream? My treat.”

“Oh boy, ice cream in the cold. Sounds like a riot.”

“I appreciate your sarcasm,” his lip twitches up into a smile, as he extends his arm for you to hold onto, “But ice cream is good during any weather. And you know it, too.”

The sheer switch in Ashton’s demeanor, from absolutely dogging on you to being a gentleman, gave you what seemed to be whiplash. His eyes switched from mockery to sincerity in a matter of seconds, as he waited for you to latch onto his elbow.

“My clothes are wet,” you comment awkwardly, shaking out your sleeve.

“Doesn’t matter. Wouldn’t want you to fall. Plus, I don’t think I have enough air in my lungs to spare laughing like that again.”

After battling with yourself for a moment, stalling the amount of time spent in the now rolling storm, you take Ashton’s arm. He chuckles when you hold onto him, still seeming like he was coming down from laughing.

“So, where were you headed before the accident?” Ashton motions to you with a tilt of his head while you walk with him down the sidewalk.

“Well, I was headed to class. But honestly I’ve been so stressed this week that I think I deserve to miss this one.”

“You’re saying that was a stress-induced blunder back there? Jeez, wouldn’t want to be you right now.”

As much as you wanted to be annoyed with your new friend’s constant jabs, the bigger part of you knew how funny the entire situation was. A puff of air leaves your lips, Ashton’s giggle fit starts up once more.

“No, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.” Ashton says, a lot more sincerely than you expected.

“I agree with you. I don’t think I deserved to be ankle deep in a pothole either.”

He shakes his head, using his arm to guide you to the start of the crosswalk and press the button, “No, I meant— you don’t deserve me being such an asshole about it. If I were you, I’d probably be so pissed and embarrassed that I’d drop out.”

You scoff at Ashton’s words, taking a lead once the red light turns to green, “Dramatic much? I’m sure within my four years of college I’ll embarrass myself like that at least ten more times.”

“A bold statement for the first week,” Ashton chuckles, as he now has now passed you and you’re attempting to keep up with his slender, jean-clad legs, “We should make a bet.”

“A bet?”

Your eyes narrow with challenge, your deeply-rooted competitive nature coming to a front. You glance at Ashton as you reach the opposing side of the sidewalk, stopping right in front of the ice cream shop.

“Mhm. I bet you’ll embarrass yourself less than ten times before our four years are up.”

“That’s awfully generous, Ashton,” you scrunch your nose, finally able to study his features shielded from the rain, “But unfortunately, you’ve only just gotten a taste of how badly I can embarrass myself.”

“Isn’t that the fun part of a bet, though? To prove someone wrong?”

The smile that dawned Ashton’s cheeks was playful, the corners of his mouth curved up into a point and highlighting the slightly outgrown stubble gracing his jaw. You’ll admit it now, he was attractive. The long shaggy hair added a bit of that indie rockstar vibe to him that you always favored in a guy. His eyes were a bit too green for your liking, burning holes into your face as you let the silence hang in midair after his question.

“You’re right. I do love proving people wrong. Especially if it’s the guy who laughed so hard at me that he almost passed out.”

Ashton shakes his head, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before he’s holding open the door of the ice cream shop, “I’d let you prove me wrong any day.”

Soaking wet and now a little less uncomfortable, you walk into the ice cream shop. The bell rings as you enter, and the inside is quiet, as expected. Who but you, and a stranger you met twenty minutes ago, would be getting ice cream on a cold, rainy day?

The attendee greets you warmly, as if she’d been waiting to speak to someone all day, “Hey guys! What can I get for you?”

Ashton steps back, gesturing with his head for you to order first. You smile inward, having known what you wanted since he asked you here.

“Can I get two scoops of cotton candy in a waffle cone with rainbow sprinkles?”

The cashier nods, tapping your order onto the screen and immediately rushing to put it together for you, all while you can hear Ashton snickering quietly behind you.

You whip your head around, squinting at him, “What? What’s so funny?”

“You’ve got quite a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

“First you make fun of me for busting my shit, now you ridicule my ice cream order? What’s your fuckin’ deal?”

As Ashton opens his mouth to reply, the cashier hands you your ice cream. You take it from her with a grateful smile, mumbling ‘thank you’ before spinning back around to lock eyes with him. But now, he’s taking out his wallet, and leaving your question unanswered as he tells the cashier ‘that’ll be all’.

Ashton brushes past you, glancing down at you over his shoulder as he hands the girl his debit card.

“You’re not getting anything?”

Your question comes off more as a whine, which left you feeling more embarrassed than you were earlier.

“Nah.”

Ashton pays, and you continue to eat your ice cream with a sour face, eyeing him scornfully as the two of you sit down at a small metal table in the corner.

“Why didn’t you get any ice cream?” you ask, the thought of only you enjoying ice cream twisting your heart strings in a very strange way. Ashton just shrugs, pulling himself closer to the table so that he could fold his arms and get a better look at your soggy features.

“I’m lactose intolerant. But you should’ve seen how your face lit up at the mention of ‘apology ice cream’. How could I turn down those big doe eyes, all soaked from the rain?”

You scoff, a mix between taking offense and a sliver of laughter, “You’re lactose intolerant and your first thought was ice cream? Do you have a death wish?”

“Why do you think I didn’t get anything? Just because dairy is hell for my insides doesn’t mean I have to rob you of the joy from eating an ice cream cone.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t shit yourself from laughing earlier, jeez.” You’re back to your playful tongue, taking your time in licking off all the sprinkles.

“That’s not how it works like, at all,” Ashton puffs, leaning back into his chair and crossing his eyes, “The ice cream was a lucky guess. For all I knew, you could’ve been severely allergic to dairy and smacked me for even offering.”

“Now why would I smack you for offering? That’d be silly.”

You could tell now where Ashton’s eyes fell; directly onto your tongue. Each time you jutted it out to eat your ice cream, his gaze wandered. Almost like he was hypnotized.

“Dunno. People these days. They’re weird.”

Stewing in his seat, Ashton clears his throat. But you continue on eating, playing your little unspoken game of catching his viridian eyes each time they linger off to where they don’t belong. Suddenly, you sit up, and he flinches as if he’d been caught.

“So, that bet. Are we still on? Because I think I’ll embarrass myself those aforementioned ‘ten times’ within my first semester.”

After collecting himself slightly, and bringing his mind back down to earth, his lip twitches up into a smile, “Well, that would mean we’d have to keep in touch. Y’know, so you can update me every time you walk into the wrong classroom or take a nosedive into concrete.”

“Is this you asking for my number?” you smile, halfway through a bite of your slowly dwindling cotton candy ice cream.

“I suppose so,” he shrugs, the wet t-shirt beneath his jacket moving fluidly against his chest and making it harder for you to concentrate, “Would you mind?”

“Not at all. As long as you don’t mind me considering you as the first friend I’ve made in college.”

Ashton’s smile doubles in size, as he sits up to reach for his phone in his back pocket.

“So it’s settled then. We’ll concede the results of this bet a week before graduation.” Along with his phone, Ashton smacks his black leather wallet onto the table, “Whatever’s in that cash pocket at this very moment is how much money’s on the line. I expect you to hold me to it, and you can expect me to do the same.”

A small smile plays on your face as you reach for his wallet, the obvious choice, and hold it open with one hand. Inside of the cash slot lies a singular twenty dollar bill, a twenty dollar bill that seems to carry a lot more weight to it than only the amount of cash that Ashton has on him at the moment.

“Twenty bucks. Not bad. That’ll come in handy for our next ice cream date.”

“Already planning our next date? She’s efficient, I like it.”

You chuckle heartily, sliding him back his wallet, and grabbing his phone to give him your number, “Consider that a date for after graduation. Cap, gowns, tassels and all. In this very chair, at this very table.”

“Deal.” Ashton agrees.

The two of you shake hands, but when your palms touch, a spark ignites through your forearm. Like a wave of static shock, you remain frozen in time, with a stirring feeling in your gut.

You couldn’t place your finger on what it meant, nor did you really want to. But you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be your last time sitting at this table with Ashton.

“What’re you doing later?” Ashton asks, after you’d exchanged a few giddy glances to one another since giving him your number.

“Standing in front of a hair dryer to get a handle on these stupid wet clothes. How about you?”

“Hm, sounds like a drag. I, however, am going to that karaoke bar on the campus strip with Calum at nine. Cowgirl. You should come along.”

The mention of karaoke freezes your senses. You never had a complete aversion to karaoke, however, the thought of singing at a dive bar in front of Ashton and Calum made you nauseous. You’d just met them— they don’t know you, and you don’t know them. Surely you’d have a good time, but stage fright was always one of the many thorns in your side. You weren’t sure you had the confidence.

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

Damn it.

“You twenty one yet?” Ashton raises his eyebrow, fighting a cheeky smirk that gives you the impression that he already knew your answer.

“In Tennessee, yeah.”

“I see,” he scratches his chin, eyeing you teasingly, “I’ve got a friend who’s twenty three in Arizona, so— I’m pickin’ up what you’re putting down.”

The two of you laugh once more. And the more you share smiles and shied away glances, the more you really get to know about Ashton.

He’s twenty one, having lived in Australia for most of his formative years until moving to the US to get his bachelor’s in communications. Ashton almost didn’t make it to college, you learned, after taking two travel-packed gap years that left him with a lot of knowledge on European culture and even more numbers in his phone. You wanted to keep asking him questions, but by the time you’d really gotten to the meaty bits of his life, your ice cream cone was down to the wrapper it came in.

“I still can’t believe you took, not one, but two gap years. And you still made it here. That’s honestly super impressive.”

Ashton tosses his hand at you, his seat somehow shifted much closer to you than before, “Meh, not that impressive. Parents were on my ass about actually doing something with my life. They shipped me off here with practically nothing. I felt like I got dropped in the middle of the woods with two twigs and a rock.”

“Well, regardless of your wilderness exploration, you seem to have it figured out at least a little now, right?”

You and Ashton were now only an inch apart, your knees occasionally brushing against one another each time Ashton got particularly animated when telling his story. He went on to tell you about his random roommate pairing, and how meeting a friend, Calum, from across the hall basically saved his ass one night during random room checks. He and Calum both moved into school three weeks early, sharing the common ground of being gap-year freshmen, and were currently inseparable. They sought refuge in each other’s dorms due to unfortunate roommate pairings, and became attached at the hip.

“Funny that you met probably the only other Aussie on campus,” you comment, twiddling with the empty cone wrapper on your thumb.

“Mhm. It’s us blokes against the world. But, y’know— I have a feeling that may change after tonight.”

“Really, how do you figure?”

“Even though he was off like a shotgun earlier, I think you’re really gonna dig Cal’s vibe. You guys are really fuckin’ similar. Down to those big ass eyes whenever you're scared or embarrassed.”

You giggle, tilting your head down and subconsciously hiding your eyes beneath your hair. But Ashton isn’t having it. In an unforeseeable turn of events, Ashton’s thumb is there to catch your chin and pull your gaze back up into his.

“Don’t go shy on me now, Bambi,” Ashton hums, his voice the softest it’s been since you met him, “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell ya’ how pretty I think your eyes are.”

“Thank you,” you mumble meekly, your knees suddenly feeling like jello and your cheeks as hot as the surface of the sun.

“I’m serious. I swear, I saw some stars twinkling in there.”

In the heat of the moment, you press your palm against his knee, the one that’s been touching you since he scooted himself closer. You freeze, not knowing what else to do with this moment other than to let it be.

“Are you doing anything else today besides karaoke?” you ask, your heart rate speeding up by the second.

“Not particularly. Why?”

“We should hang out.” You blurt out the words faster than you can actually process them.

Ashton chuckles at your eagerness, “Aren’t we hanging out right now?”

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean.”

The air around your bodies had you feeling like you were floating on a cloud. Ashton’s hand folds on top of yours, supporting the growing weight of anticipation you felt boiling in your chest.

“I can’t read minds, but— you could hang out at my place until Calum gets out of class. I’m supposed to be off doing something studious right now too, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

“Sure. If I’m gonna miss class, why not do something fun?”

“That’s the spirit. It’s week one of classes and I’ve already got you playin’ hookey.”

You giggle at him, feeling more and more comfortable with his hand in yours as the moments pass, “You’re a bad influence.”

“Trust me, Bambi. I’ll make your life hell.”

After a few more minutes of playful banter that was quickly shaping up to be unabashed flirtation, the two of you set off to Ashton’s dorm. He told you that his roommate wasn’t home; and talked extensively about how his roommate tends to leave the room for days at a time and never tell him where he’s going.

The rain had since subsided, leaving the sidewalks muddied and damp; but Ashton kept you on his arm to prevent you from slipping and falling once again.

“Do you maybe have a shirt I can borrow?” you ask Ashton shyly, as he leads you towards a large steel door and taps his university key card against the lock.

The door creaks open, Ashton holds it for you with an arm above your head, “I’ve got plenty of shirts. I’m sure you’d want pants, too. Those jeans have seen better days.

“Knock it off. My jeans are fine,” you chuckle, sliding past him into the dorm stairway.

“Yeah, okay,” Ashton glances down judgmentally at the wet spots on the knees of your jeans, “I’ll lend you a pair of sweats. No big deal.”

You roll your eyes, a sucker for his sarcasm, as he leads you up a few flights of stairs to his floor. The journey to his door was quiet, and awkward. He’d occasionally poke your shoulder, making jabs at your soaking wet hair. But you just brushed him off— boys are stupid and dumb.

“Well, this is the place,” Ashton sighs, pushing his door open and leading you into the room with a pat at your back.

You take a second to glance around. One side of the room was almost completely barren— not a single poster, picture, or sign of life. Only dark blue bedspread with a single pillow, and an empty desk.

However, the opposite side of the room was decked out to all hell. Music and movie posters on every conceivable area of the wall above the bed. A plaid, black and grey bedspread with a few comfortable looking throw pillows that were clearly picked out by someone with taste. A mason jar filled with drum sticks, broken and intact. You smile to yourself, lucky that you landed the roommate with a personality.

“This is nice. Who taught you how to decorate?”

Ashton scoffs, setting his backpack down on his desk chair, “Myself. Didn’t need to be taught. It’s called having a vision.”

“You get more and more annoying the more I get to know you,” you smile, finding yourself a seat on the floor to rid yourself of your muddied Converse. Ashton paces around the room for a moment, before landing on a drawer and pulling it open. He puts his hands on his hips, and taps his foot.

“Let’s see— are you a Ramones fan? Or more of a ‘Stones girl? What about Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Trying to figure out which shirt I can spare you. It’s likely that I’ll never get it back, so. I wanna see which I’d be most fine parting with.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that question, then?”

Ashton scratches his head, tucking a lock of his sandy brown hair behind his ear, “Damn. You’re right. You’re pretty good, Bambi.”

“At making obvious decisions?” you raise an eyebrow.

“No, at keeping my head on straight,” Ashton reaches into the drawer, tossing a black T-shirt over his back and letting it whack you in the face, “Rolling Stones it is.”

After removing it from your face, you hold the shirt tightly to your chest. Ashton slams the drawer shut and smiles, spinning around to face you with a pair of grey sweatpants in hand.

“Last chance. Do you want these or no?”

You chew on your bottom lip, glancing around the room for any sign of a bathroom door, or even a closet.

“Do you uh— have a bathroom here that I can change in?”

“It’s communal. All of them are.”

You let out a puff of air, shaking your head and smacking your palm to your forehead, “Right. Dumb question.”

“Nah nah, it’s not dumb. This is an all dudes floor, too. If you wanted to change in here I could just— turn around.”

Blush pink falls across your face, while Ashton does a dumb hand movement and spins around to face the wall.

“I don’t want to get changed in here!” you protest, indignant. “I just met you today. I don’t need you seeing my delicates.”

“I told you I’d turn around,” Ashton shrugs, already spinning back, arms crossed. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not as far as I can throw you,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you fold his clothes neatly in your lap. You’re fully aware of how dramatic this is getting—but part of you enjoys it. Ashton matches your banter beat for beat, always taking it just a little further.

It’s amusing. It’s entertaining. It’s… hot, if you’re being honest.

You shoot him one last skeptical glance—just to make sure he’s not about to peek—then reluctantly reach for the hem of your soaked shirt and peel it off.

“Y’know,” Ashton pipes up cheerfully, “usually when girls wear my clothes, they at least let me get a peek.”

Your cheeks flush instantly. You yank the shirt up over your chest again like a makeshift shield.

“Well, usually when guys take me out for ice cream, it’s not as an apology for being a dickhead,” you snap.

He laughs, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Hey, I more than made up for that. I’m lactose intolerant and I still did that for you, Bambi. I’m basically a saint if you think about it.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. You just stand there, holding the shirt against yourself like armor.

None of this is going how you expected.

“Can I turn around now?” Ashton asks, softer this time. The teasing edge has faded. Now he just sounds unsure—cautious, even. Like under all that swagger, he might actually be nervous.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hesitating. Would it really be so bad? What would he do if you just… let him look?

Ashton—annoyingly comforting Ashton—was not what you thought he’d be. Hot and cocky, yeah. But also weirdly sweet. Weirdly attentive.

“Fine,” you say, the word escaping before you can stop it. Your arms fall to your sides, shirt clutched in one hand as you brace yourself.

“Okay, sick—” Ashton spins, grinning wide—until his eyes land on you. His whole expression shifts. You, shirtless. Standing tall despite the nerves.

And just like that, he stops smiling.

Ashton’s grin falls mid-spin, his eyes going comically wide as they take in your state of undress. He stumbles back half a step, like the sight knocked the air out of him. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again—completely speechless for the first time all day.

Your heart beats loudly in your chest as you bite your lip, holding the moment for just a second longer before slowly beginning to lift the shirt up.

The air between you turns molasses-thick—warm with tension, humming with something sharp and sweet and unspoken. You know Ashton’s probably seen a hundred girls naked. A guy like him? A revolving door, easy. But the way he looks at you—eyes blown wide, throat bobbing with a hard swallow—feels… like it means something.

“Nice,” he breathes. Then his brain catches up. “Shit. Fuck. I mean—”

He presses a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly like that might somehow reset him. “Jesus, Bambi. You—you’re just—” He exhales hard. “That was… a lot. In a good way. The best way.”

His hand drops and he gestures vaguely in your direction, as if trying to find the words to explain what he’s seeing. “Like, I thought you were hot before, obviously, but now I think I might have to call a priest. Or a therapist. Or both.”

Your cheeks heat, but you smile. The shirt slips over your head, hiding your chest again, but Ashton’s still staring at you like he’s trying to memorize every second of what just happened.

“Yeah?” you grin, feigning nonchalance. “Thank you.”

Ashton blinks. “No, thank you,” he repeats dumbly, almost reverently. “I feel like I should buy you ice cream again after that. Or, like, dinner. And a house. I don’t know. What’s the going rate for a spiritual awakening?”

You roll your eyes with a soft laugh and shoulder past him, flopping down on the bed like this is all completely normal. “You can start by telling me your favorite karaoke songs, so I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Ashton turns, still blinking like he hasn’t quite recovered. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he sits carefully beside you, like getting too close might make you vanish. His cocky confidence has melted away, replaced by something quieter. Awed. A little wrecked.

“Okay,” he says, voice low and breathy. The smile that creeps onto his lips is slower now, almost shy. His dimples deepen, and he glances at you from under thick lashes. “After that, I think I’d do just about anything for you.”

You giggle, chest warm from the switch-up—the complete shift in his energy. He was adorable like this. Dangerous when flirty, but downright endearing when undone.

Then, as if remembering himself, Ashton shoots you a crooked grin. “I hope you like Radiohead, Bambi.”

You groan and flop dramatically onto the pillows. “Please don’t say Creep.”

He laughs, leaning back on his hands. “Too late. I’ve already got my falsetto warmed up.”

—

You took your time unblocking Ashton, convincing yourself it was purely to drive the point home—he meant nothing to you. Still, when his indignant text finally came through about being unblocked, you couldn’t help but smile.

You shut that down immediately. There was absolutely no reason to smile at his texts, not when he’d done nothing to earn it. You knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to let yourself soften around Ashton. If you weren’t careful, you’d slip right back into his arms.

Just like you had so many times before.

Part of you expected Ashton to never actually follow through on the plans to catch up. In truth, you sort of hoped he wouldn’t. Being in his proximity wasn’t ideal, not when your track record with him involved losing all sense the moment his hands lingered on yours for even a second too long.

But this time would be different—you swore it. You were over Ashton. The fiery feelings he used to stir up had been reduced to nothing but numbness.

You had Diego now. He was stable, reliable, and had a normal job. He wasn’t going to destroy every part of you the way Ashton had.

Ashton was always one to surprise you. When he texted asking if you wanted to meet him at the bar you two used to frequent during your college days, you could only gape at your phone.

Meet me at Cowgirl tonight?

You considered blocking him again, pretending you hadn’t run into him at all. Of course, he’d choose that place—the one you’d been too afraid to return to after your last encounter with him.

But you knew you had to go. If you ghosted him after he suggested such a significant place, it would confirm that he still had a hold on you. You sighed, begrudgingly typing out your confirmation, silently praying the night would pass without incident.

A flicker of guilt surfaced as your mind wandered to Diego. You had canceled your date after the elevator ordeal, still too shaken to do anything but stew over Ashton’s sudden reappearance in your life.

You reminded yourself that you and Diego weren’t exclusive. There was no need to feel guilty about this outing—Ashton meant nothing to you anymore. He’d dug his own grave, and you hadn’t even shed a tear over it.

Still, as the evening approached, an uneasy knot formed in your stomach. Getting ready felt like a battle in itself. You didn’t want to overdo it, but the confidence boost makeup gave you was undeniable. If you looked good, you’d feel in control—and you needed every ounce of control tonight.

Besides, would it really hurt to rub in just how much you were glowing without him?

The drive to the bar was surprisingly smooth. LA traffic, unreliable as always, decided to work in your favor for once. But when you pulled into the parking lot, the fear hit you like a brick.

You stayed frozen in the driver’s seat, anxiously chewing on your lip as you debated whether to go inside or turn back. Before you could make a decision, a sharp knock on your window startled you.

Ashton grinned at you through the glass, his smile wide and obnoxious as he waved like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you.

Suppressing an annoyed sigh, you rolled down the window.

Ashton leaned casually against the car door, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “Hope I didn’t interrupt your pep talk,” he teased. “Or maybe I’m glad I did—you looked like you were contemplating jumping off a bridge.”

“Now I am,” you grumbled, glaring at him.

He chuckled, completely unfazed. Dressed in simple black jeans, he looked deceptively casual—until your eyes caught on the bright red mesh sweater he wore. The sheer fabric exposed his tattoos and pale skin beneath, and you felt your cheeks heat despite yourself.

“Well, aren’t you dressed like a slut,” you retorted, brushing him away so you could open the car door.

As you climbed out, Ashton’s grin widened. “Not very woke of you, Bambi,” he quipped, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

A stray black curl fell across his forehead, and you had to stop yourself from brushing it away. Instead, you shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, determined not to let him get under your skin.

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” You snapped, not waiting for him to catch up as you began to walk towards the bar.

Ashton, with his infuriatingly long legs, didn’t take long to reach you. “Sorry, I forget you’re in your heartless era,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “My apologies, Y/N.”

You spared him a sideways glance, your eyes catching on the bright sliver of the chains that decorated his neck. Apparently you hadn’t been the only one to want to dress your best for such an occasion, because Ashton looked good.

But that didn’t matter to you, not anymore. No amount of beauty would ever rekindle the feelings that you had laid to rest so long ago. That part of your heart had gone ice cold, breaking off and dying in a corner of your brain that you never choose to revisit.

The bar looked just the same it always had, familiar in every way. The music blared and for a bit you almost felt as if you had traveled back in time— a doe eyed freshman who had feelings too intense for an unpredictable frat boy.

You could feel Ashton’s gaze glued to you, and it made your skin prickle with sweat. “What?” you snapped coming to a stop before an empty table.

“Nothin’, just didn’t realize we decided to match,” he slid into one of the stools effortlessly, eyeing your red leather jacket as he tapped his fingers absentmindedly.

You begrudgingly took the seat before him.

It was loud and crowded, and you briefly questioned what it was that had you so enamored with this place in the first place. The answer was simple, and he was sitting right in front of you.

“Oh don’t even,” you huffed, looking over at the bar and reading through your drink options. “You were never the type to dress like this before.”

Ashton put down his own menu, staring at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you saying that I look good?”

You raised your gaze, leveling him with an unimpressed glance. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Irwin,” you warned.

Ashton’s grin was wide and he leaned closer. “I used to put a lot of things in your mouth, Bambi.”

Your eyes widened comically as the words Ashton had said registered fully. “Nope,” you shook your head, standing up from the table. “I am too sober for your stupid jokes.”

Ashton followed you, sliding off of his seat. “Let’s fix that then.”

He was standing too close, close enough that you could catch the faint scent of mint from the gum he’d been chewing since he found you in the parking lot. You considered telling him to back off, but the effort felt pointless.

Instead, you let him follow as you wove your way through the crowded bar, bodies pressing in from every direction. The air was thick with sweat, spilled drinks, and memories you wished you’d left behind.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Tyler, the bartender, grinned as the two of you approached the counter. “Ash and Y/N, been a while since we’ve seen you two here.”

Ashton returned the smile, casual as ever. “Good to see you, mate.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music. “Good to see you.” You avoided Tyler’s knowing gaze, already regretting your decision to come here. Because you and Ashton had frequented this bar so often throughout the course of your relationship, you were known by some of the staff. Still, you couldn’t deny the slight hope you had when walking in that no one who knew your history had been working.

“What can I get y’all?” Tyler asked, his grin widening as he winked in your direction before turning to Ashton.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Ashton beat you to it. “We’ll have the regular,” he said without missing a beat.

Your head snapped toward him, stunned. The regular? Your so-called regular was a ridiculous, oversized Sex on the Beach, meant for two and always consumed as part of some dumb competition to see who could drink it faster. It was a relic of your shared history, and the audacity of Ashton assuming you’d want to relive it left you speechless.

He didn’t even look at you, his focus still on Tyler as if nothing about this was unusual. You stared at him, your irritation bubbling up, but you swallowed it back. If Ashton didn’t matter to you anymore, then why should this?

“You’re not gonna kill me for that?” he asked suddenly, leaning against the bar with a smirk. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, daring you to react.

You met his gaze head-on, your chin tilting up defiantly. “I told you, I don’t care anymore.”

Ashton nodded slowly, his expression unreadable as he glanced around the room. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice low enough that you had to lean in slightly to catch it. “It’s all pins and needles, ain’t it?”

“Yup,” you said brightly, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I feel absolutely nothing for you.”

Ashton nodded, completely unfazed. “So, if you’re so over me,” he drawled, his eyes trailing Tyler as he prepared your drink, “you seeing someone?”

Bingo. The long bragging train was coming, and Ashton was about to be flattened under it.

“Yeah, guess so,” you replied casually, leaning an elbow on the bar. “Been here and there, you know? Dipping my toes in the dating pool—making sure none of them have girlfriends.”

Ashton let out a low whistle, leaning closer with that infuriating smirk. “If you’re so over me,” he whispered, his voice teasingly low, “why do you still sound so bitter about that?”

You leaned back, putting space between you. “Because I don’t particularly enjoy the idea of one of your girls storming in here to beat me up,” you said evenly, your tone cool and detached. “Tell me, how’s Eve?”

Ashton’s tongue pressed against his cheek, and for the first time, the cracks in his confidence began to show. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, slipping his mask of indifference back into place. “Haven’t known for about a year and a half.”

“Bummer,” you sighed dramatically, clicking your tongue. “She was as good as you’ll ever do.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Enough about that. What have you been up to in the past year? Or year and a half, to be exact.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, deliberating what to share. “Well, I finally finished my architecture degree,” you said matter-of-factly. “Started freelancing, I was about to pitch designs for a new gym some company wants to build when the elevator decided to shit itself.”

Ashton let out another low whistle, his expression softening slightly. “Sounds real fancy,” he said, nodding. “But then again, you’ve never been anything close to ordinary. You’re doing great for yourself, Bambi.”

That damn nickname. Despite telling him countless times to drop it, it clung to you like a stubborn burr. You reminded yourself—again—that it didn’t matter. You were over him.

“Here ya go,” Tyler interrupted cheerfully, sliding the comically oversized cocktail across the counter. “Hope to see you two on stage later.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ashton replied with a wink. “Gimme a few to let the alcohol kick in.”

Tyler chuckled before turning to the next customer, leaving you alone with Ashton once more.

“Karaoke, huh?” you asked, taking a tentative sip of the drink. It was stronger than you remembered, and you silently prayed you wouldn’t end up completely wasted.

Ashton shrugged. “Just to get him off my back,” he admitted. “We don’t actually have to do it.”

“Yeah, empty promises,” you said dryly, a humorless chuckle escaping. “You always were good at those.”

“You sure love your jabs, Y/N,” he sighed, taking a sip of the oversized cocktail. “Doesn’t exactly scream pins and needles to me, if I do say so myself.”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “Oh, please. Just because I don’t have any positive feelings for you doesn’t mean I don’t have negative ones.”

“Right…” Ashton said with a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “Enough about me,” you said, turning the conversation toward him. “You’re a firefighter now? All that college for what?”

Ashton pursed his lips, swirling the straw in the drink. “College was never for me,” he confessed. “I stuck it out mostly for you and Calum. After you left, there wasn’t much reason to stay.”

“Calum dropped out too, huh?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Sure did,” Ashton sighed. “But honestly, it was the right call for both of us. We’ve been with the 304 for about a year now.”

You narrowed your eyes, piecing together the timeline. “Wait, so when did you drop out?”

Ashton took another long sip before answering. “After we broke up. Before Eve.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and your mouth parted slightly in surprise. The last time you’d seen Ashton, he hadn’t mentioned anything about firefighting school—but then again, his education status had been the least important truth he had neglected to tell you.

“Damn,” was all you could manage, before wrapping your lips around the straw and sucking down as much alcohol as you could handle.

Silence settled between you as you continued sipping your drink. Ashton’s eyes stayed fixed on the stage, where a much drunker duo was butchering You Shook Me All Night Long. Despite their terrible performance, Ashton looked oddly enthralled, resting his chin on his palm as he watched them sway and slur their way through the song.

He must have felt your gaze because he turned his head toward you. You quickly looked away, pretending you’d been staring at anything—anything—other than him. Thankfully, he didn’t call you out on it.

“We used to be pretty good at karaoke,” Ashton mused, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t you think?”

You focused on the stage, watching the performers lose themselves in the music. They might not have been good, but they were clearly having fun.

“Guess we made a decent duo,” you admitted with a quiet chuckle. “But there’s no way I’m doing that again.”

Ashton pouted, gently nudging your shoulder. “C’mon, you should go up there,” he urged. “Wow us all with that voice of yours. It’ll be fun.”

You bit your lip, trying to will his compliment away like it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, you knew the truth—you’d never have the courage to go up there alone. The only reason you’d ever done it before was because Ashton had been right there beside you.

And he’d sung to you.

Taking a deep breath, you turned back to the raven-haired man. “That’s not happening,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Not in a million years.”

Ashton threw his head back dramatically. “Aw, come on,” he groaned, slapping the table for effect. His grin stretched wide, mischievous like the Cheshire Cat. “I’ll bet you ten bucks and the rest of tonight’s drinks that you won’t go up there and sing karaoke.”

You laughed nervously, shaking your head again. “Ten bucks is nothing. But then again, imagine the things I could get you to do for five.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, his smile so wide and contagious that you couldn’t even be mad at the butterflies it gave you. “You callin’ me easy, Bambi?”

You scrunched your nose, resting your head against your fist. “If the shoe fits,” you hummed, taking a long sip of the drink. You glanced down and realized it was almost gone.

Ashton nodded, his grin never fading. “Touché. But come on—get up there, sing a breakup song. Prove to me how over me you are.”

You froze, locking eyes with him for what felt like the millionth time that night. His eyes sparkled with excitement and challenge—he knew he’d struck a nerve.

“Or,” you said, leaning closer, “you could keep your ten bucks and your dick in your pants, and go up there with me.”

Ashton shook his head, feigning disappointment. “Nope. This is all part of your healing process. Go on, Y/N. Sing your little heart out.”

You knew he was testing your resolve. Ashton always loved making you squirm, and the idea of singing in front of all those people was nauseating. Your hands gripped the bar table tightly.

“I hate this,” you grumbled. “Singing alone feels like standing naked on display for everyone to see.”

Ashton waved you off. “First of all,” he said with mock seriousness, “the saying is about imagining other people in their underwear, not you being naked. And second, you naked is quite a sight to behold.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him. “Enough of that, Irwin. You’ve never seen me naked. In fact, we’ve never even had sex.”

Ashton tilted his head, studying you with an amused expression. “Again with the ‘never happened,’” he said, laughing softly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bambi. But seriously, just get up there. Wow the crowd. Maybe you’ll catch someone else’s attention.”

You bit the corner of your lip, torn between anxiety and stubbornness. Against your better judgment, you nodded. “Fine,” you muttered, pushing yourself off the bar and heading toward the stage where the previous performers were just stepping off.

The alcohol in your system didn’t help nearly as much as you’d hoped. Ashton trailed behind you, weaving through the crowd until he reached the DJ booth. You were hunched over the song catalogue, flipping through the pages and willing your stomach to stop churning.

“Made your decision?” Ashton asked, leaning in to peer over your shoulder. His breath was warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, your eyes landing on Before He Cheats. If Ashton wanted to play this game, fine. You’d play too. Turning to face him, you were startled to find his face just inches from yours. “Seems I have,” you replied coolly.

Without breaking eye contact, you leaned over and whispered your choice to the DJ. When he nodded in confirmation and handed you the microphone, you risked one last nervous glance at Ashton before heading for the stage.

At first, no one seemed to notice you as you stepped onto the platform. But as the music queued up and the DJ gave you a small thumbs-up, a ripple of curiosity spread through the crowd.

Your heart sank when you felt their gazes fall on you. Tyler, standing at the bar, looked stunned to see you up there alone. But as soon as he caught on, he let out an enthusiastic cheer, clapping loudly enough to make others follow suit.

The screen lit up with the first line of lyrics, but your throat closed up. Your mouth refused to move.

A wave of confusion washed over the room as people began to murmur, and you could feel your chest tightening. Your stomach churned with regret—why the hell had you agreed to this?

Your vision blurred with the sting of tears, and the microphone trembled in your hand. Everything in you screamed to run, but your feet felt cemented to the stage. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours, your body rigid with embarrassment.

And then the music shifted.

The original melody was replaced by a familiar rhythm of drums and bass. Your breath hitched as you turned to see Ashton climbing onto the stage, microphone in hand, a wide grin on his face.

He draped an arm over your shoulders, leaning in close enough for only you to hear. “One last duet for old times’ sake?” he asked softly, his voice warm and steady.

You nodded, still too stunned to speak.

Ashton brought the mic to his lips, his eyes locking with yours. Then he began to sing, his voice low and deliberate, the opening line of Creep spilling into the room.

“When you were here before…

Couldn’t look you in the eye…”

The crowd remained silent, entranced, as the two of you commanded the room.

“You’re just like an angel, your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather in a beautiful world

I wish I was special, you’re so fucking special.”

Ashton’s grin widened as his arm slid from your shoulders, taking your clammy hand in his. His eyes held a flicker of worry, but the reassuring smile he offered steadied your nerves.

He sang effortlessly, not once glancing at the lyrics on the screen. Of course, he didn’t need to. You stood there, transfixed, as his voice filled the space, the memory of your first date in this very bar crashing over you like a tidal wave. Creep had been your song that night, and somehow, Ashton had chosen it again to save you.

As he finished the chorus, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Without hesitation, you joined him for the second verse.

“I don’t care if it hurts, I wanna have control

I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul.”

Ashton grinned, his hand giving yours a reassuring squeeze before he joined in.

“I want you to notice when I’m not around,

You’re so fucking special, I wish I was special.”

Your anxiety dissolved, replaced by a surge of confidence. The giddy realization that every eye in the bar was on the two of you filled your chest, but it didn’t feel daunting anymore. Your voices blended seamlessly, filling the room with a hauntingly beautiful harmony.

You never let go of Ashton’s hand, even as the song swelled into the bridge. Both of you grinned, moving in time with the music. Ashton’s hair clung slightly to his damp forehead under the bar lights, and for a fleeting moment, he looked otherworldly, as if he belonged to the stage and nowhere else.

Your heart thudded in your chest, each beat growing heavier as Ashton nailed every note with ease. While you knew you were a decent singer, his voice—rich and achingly sincere—was in a league of its own.

And then he stepped closer.

His hand released yours to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as his gaze bore into yours. The intensity in his eyes was staggering, igniting a fire in your chest you hadn’t felt in years.

“Whatever makes you happy, whatever you want

You’re so fucking special, I wish I was special.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to brush away the weight of the moment, but Ashton’s voice wrapped around those words like a confession. Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to push through, shakily joining him for the final lines.

“But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo

What the hell am I doin’ here?

I don’t belong here.

I don’t belong here.”

The song faded, leaving an electric hum in the air. Ashton’s hand lingered on your cheek for a beat too long, his expression unreadable. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely registered it. All you could feel was the way Ashton’s touch burned against your skin and the unspoken words lingering in the space between you.

The loudest cheer in the bar came from Tyler, but you barely noticed. Ashton’s hand left your cheek as he stepped back, as if suddenly remembering this wasn’t the past, and you weren’t the girl who would have followed him anywhere anymore.

You climbed off the stage, laughing with Ashton despite the sudden intensity you’d shared moments earlier.

“I’ll take another round of drinks on you tonight,” Ashton teased as the two of you slid into seats at the bar.

“I sang!” you protested, laughter bubbling up. “We both sang, so no one has to pay.”

Ashton shook his head, grinning smugly. “Nope, that’s not how the deal worked. I bet you wouldn’t go up there alone, and you didn’t. So, I win.”

You rolled your eyes, groaning. “I hate you so much right now.”

“All I’m hearin’ is that I got your ass,” he chuckled, nudging you with his elbow.

“You wish you could get my ass.”

His eyes darkened slightly as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Wanna bet?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You pushed him away with a laugh, forcing yourself to ignore the shiver that ran through you. “You’re impossible.”

“C’mon, I saved you up there,” he said, his own laugh slipping through. “I don’t even get a thank you?”

Before you could respond, a thought struck you. “Oh my God, I drove here,” you blurted, panic rising. “How the hell am I supposed to get home now? We’re both drunk.”

Ashton hopped off his stool, catching your arm to steady you. “Relax, Bambi,” he said smoothly. “I’ll get us an Uber, then tomorrow I’ll take you back here so you can grab your car.”

You bit your lip, glancing up at him. His easy smile was infuriatingly contagious, the kind of smile that could disarm anyone. “Do you mind if we leave now?”

Ashton shook his head, a rogue curl falling across his face. Without thinking, you reached up and brushed it aside. For a second, you swore he froze under your touch, but you were too lightheaded—too elated—to care.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said softly, taking your hand as the two of you stepped out into the cool night air.

You stood on the curb, giggling at nothing, your fingers still intertwined as you waited for the Uber. Once inside the car, you turned to him. “So… who’s getting dropped off first? I don’t even know where you live.”

Ashton shrugged casually. “Figured we’d both head back to my place. You can take the bed, I’ll crash on the couch, and I’ll bring you back here in the morning.”

The idea of staying with Ashton sent a wave of heat down your spine, but you nodded anyway. The ride to his apartment was quiet, though his hand never let go of yours.

When the car pulled up, Ashton helped you out, thanking the driver before closing the door behind you. As you walked toward his building, the air between you felt heavier, thick with unspoken tension.

Your gaze dropped to his hand, still wrapped around yours, warm and steady. Something about the weight of it felt familiar—inviting.

Ashton’s eyes were on you, his gaze tracking the length of your legs and lingering on the curve of your neck throughout the elevator ride. The hunger in his expression was painfully familiar, sending an electric tension coursing through the air between you.

“Thanks for tonight,” you whispered, breaking the silence as Ashton fumbled with his keys outside his door.

He froze for a moment, then turned his head to give you a small, soft smile. “Anytime,” he said quietly, pushing the door open.

He stepped inside first, but you lingered in the hallway, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he’d hear it. Curling your fingers into fists, you shoved them deep into the pockets of your jacket, trying to steady yourself.

Noticing your absence, Ashton turned back, his brows furrowing. “You alright?” His voice was low, almost tentative.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as emotions threatened to spill over. “This… this can’t happen again,” you said, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. Your voice shook, but you forced the words out anyway. “The hanging out, all of it. I’m glad you’re doing great, and I am too, but I’m over you, Ashton. I want to stay over you.”

His face remained blank, no emotion slipping through his cool exterior. Instead of replying, he turned sharply and walked inside.

You hesitated before stepping over the threshold, the weight of the moment sinking into you. Pressing yourself against the wall near the door, you tried to steady your breathing. Ashton was only a few feet away, leaning against one of the dining chairs.

The space was small, a simple studio with minimal decoration. It looked like a place he barely cared about—except for the electric drum kit in the corner, positioned by the window. That felt unmistakably him.

“I know,” Ashton finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, sharp and deliberate. “You love to remind me. All these goddamn pins and needles.” He took a slow step closer, his hands still in his pockets.

“But are you sure?” His tone turned colder as his eyes locked onto yours, searching for cracks in your resolve. He stopped just inches from you, one hand coming up to press against the wall beside your head, his body leaning closer.

His proximity made it hard to breathe. “I’m sure,” you managed to whisper, though even you weren’t convinced by your trembling voice.

Ashton’s free hand dropped to your waist, his fingers brushing lightly against the waistband of your skirt. He didn’t break eye contact as his hand trailed deliberately, moving down your side. When he reached the hem, his touch lingered, setting your skin alight.

Your resolve crumbled with every touch, the tension between you growing unbearable.

His fingers trailed higher, slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt, and you felt the warmth of his hand against your bare skin. Your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch even as your mind screamed for restraint.

“Ashton, this isn't a good idea,” you whispered, but the tremble in your voice betrayed your hesitation. You made no move to push him away, your breathing uneven as his hand lingered, the anticipation sending shivers down your spine.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and full of restraint, though his actions spoke otherwise. His fingers grazed the edge of your underwear, his touch feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch.

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out even though they felt hollow. “I don't have feelings for you,” you said, but your voice wavered, lacking conviction. You couldn't even convince yourself.

A small, humorless chuckle escaped Ashton's lips as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Then why are you shaking?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your jawline.

Your heart pounded as his fingers teased along your folds through the thin fabric of your underwear. A soft gasp escaped you, and you felt him smirk against your neck. “You're already so wet for me,” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

“Ashton—” You started, but the words were cut off by a moan as he slipped his hand beneath your underwear, his fingers sliding through your slick heat. The sensation sent a jolt through you, your back arching involuntarily as he found your clit, circling it with maddening precision.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as your legs threatened to give out. “I shouldn't be doing this,” you whispered, but your body betrayed you, pressing into his touch as he slipped a finger inside you

“You're not doing anything, Bambi,” Ashton murmured into your ear, his voice a low, teasing growl. He slid another finger inside you, the stretch pulling a breathy moan from your lips. “I am.”

You shook your head weakly, your voice trembling. “But—”

Before you could finish, Ashton withdrew his hand, leaving you empty and aching. Your eyes flew open to meet his piercing jade-green gaze, and your breath caught as you watched him raise his slick fingers to his lips, cleaning any trace of you from them deliberately.

The sight alone made you whimper, your knees threatening to buckle. Ashton smirked, the gleam in his eyes dangerous. “Still convinced you feel nothing?” he challenged, his voice dripping with smugness. “Still telling yourself I never made you scream my name before?”

You clenched your fists at your sides, shaking your head as though that would drown out the memories threatening to overwhelm you. “Ashton, stop—” you pleaded, but your trembling legs and flushed skin betrayed your words.

His red sweater clung to him in just the right way, highlighting the curve of his shoulders and the tattoos that inked his forearms. Even with your eyes closed, you could picture him perfectly—the smooth expanse of his skin, the strength in his frame, and the way his gaze alone could make you fall apart.

Ashton leaned in closer, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Tell me again how over me you are,” he demanded. “Tell me you don't miss how my cock made you feel. Tell me, Y/N.”

Your eyes fluttered open, locking with his, the truth written all over your face. The intensity in his gaze burned through every excuse you'd clung to, every lie you'd told yourself. Even now, the ghost of his touch lingered, your body betraying every word you wanted to say.

There was no getting over Ashton Irwin.

“I miss you,” you gasped, the confession slipping out before you could stop it.

In one swift motion, your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him down to you.

His lips collided with yours, the hunger and urgency behind them unmistakable. They moved against yours with practiced ease, igniting a fire in your chest. His hands found your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you closer, erasing any space between you.

A whimper escaped your lips when Ashton's teeth grazed your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. The two of you stumbled across the apartment, the kiss never faltering. Your tongue traced the outline of his lips before delving deeper, tasting him fully, as his hands guided you blindly.

The back of your knees hit the armrest of the sofa, halting your movements. Ashton didn't hesitate; his hands gently but firmly pushed you down onto the cushions. You fell onto your back, your breathing uneven as you propped yourself up on your elbows, your gaze locked with his.

His smirk was devilish, his eyes dark with desire. Ashton leaned over you, his frame towering yet familiar, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along the bare skin of your thighs. Every touch sent sparks skittering across your skin, and all you could do was watch him, entirely at his mercy.

“God, I missed having you like this,” Ashton groaned, his fingertips trailing up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher until it bunched at your waist. The distant hum of the city filtered in through the window, a sharp contrast to the heavy, uneven breathing that filled the small apartment.

His calloused palms roamed every inch of your exposed skin, lingering just enough to make your body tremble beneath his touch.

His fingers brushed over the waistband of your underwear, teasing. “Let me see that pretty pussy,” he rasped, his voice low and rough, before pulling the fabric down your legs and discarding it without a second thought. “You don't even know how many nights I thought about stretching you out, fucking my hand and wishing it was as tight as you.”

“Ashton,” you panted, your hands gripping his biceps as he hovered over you. A stray curl fell over his forehead, dangling above you along with the glint of the silver chains around his neck. He wasn't in any rush—his deliberate movements drawing shaky gasps from your lips as he let his hands linger just above your heat, his touch tantalizingly close but never enough.

He dipped his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that sent a wave of heat coursing through you. His fingers finally found your clit, rubbing delicious circles, his touch so familiar and precise it sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

“I was so fucking mad when you started talking about dating,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and strained as he replaced two fingers with his thumb, sliding them inside you. The stretch made you whimper, your head falling back. “But then I remembered—no one knows you like I do. Ain't that right, Bambi? I've mapped every inch of your body, made you come so many times in one night you couldn't even lift your head afterward.”

His fingers picked up speed, curling into a perfect rhythm that had your thighs trembling. Sweat pooled at your collarbone, and your hips moved instinctively, matching the pace he set as the pleasure built steadily.

“You're so fucking needy for me, Y/N,” he growled, his eyes dark as they locked on yours. “Tell me—do you ever lie to yourself? Pretend it's not my mouth you think about when you get off?”

Your head fell back against the wall as a breathless cry escaped your lips. “N-no,” you moaned, your voice trembling. “I can't forget it. Can't forget you.”

Ashton smirked, his free hand roaming your body as his lips trailed lower, biting at the sensitive skin of your thighs hard enough to make you yelp. The sharp sting only heightened the ache building deep in your core.

“You're such a bad liar, Bambi,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “You think I didn't notice you tonight? The way you froze when I said you were doing a good job in the elevator? You've never forgotten, and neither have I.”

Finally, he settled between your legs, tossing one over his shoulder as his eyes drank in the sight of you. His thumb left your clit, and the sudden loss made you whine in frustration.

“Look at you,” Ashton rasped, his voice dripping with lust. “Taking my fingers so well. But fuck, I need more—I need my mouth on you, your clit between my lips, your legs shaking around my head.”

Your hand shot down instinctively, tangling in his curls. The dark glint in his eyes and the cocky smirk that followed sent a fresh wave of heat through you just before he finally lowered himself.

The moment his plush lips wrapped around your sensitive bud, a moan ripped from your throat, your body arching as pure pleasure coursed through you. His mouth moved in perfect tandem with his fingers, the combination pushing you dangerously close to the edge.

The teasing, the tension, and the fact that no one had touched you like this since Ashton— all of it built to an unbearable crescendo. You felt yourself slipping, your resolve unraveling as his name fell from your lips until it didn’t even sound like a name anymore, just a chorus of pleasured moans.

His tongue moved over you with languid precision, every flick and swirl reminding you that Ashton hadn't forgotten a single thing about your body. He was attuned to you in a way that felt almost unfair—like getting you off was second nature to him.

Your back arched off the sofa, your stomach tightening with every second his mouth worked its magic. The heat of his tongue and the rhythmic motion of his fingers were almost too much, the sensations blending into an overwhelming wave of pleasure. His eyes fluttered shut, his expression one of pure bliss as he savored you, utterly lost in the moment.

“I'm so close,” you whined, your heel digging into his back, urging him on. Your grip on his hair tightened, shadows dancing in your vision as the tension in your body coiled impossibly tight. Each flick of his tongue pulled another breathless whimper from your lips, leaving you teetering on the edge.

And then he wrapped his lips around your clit one final time, sucking gently but with just enough pressure to send you spiraling. The coil in your stomach snapped, and a tidal wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your body shook violently, your thighs instinctively clamping around Ashton's head as the ecstasy consumed you.

He didn't stop. Even as your moans turned into overstimulated whines and your legs trembled uncontrollably, Ashton stayed buried between your thighs, his tongue and fingers working you through every aftershock. You looked down at him, your chest heaving, and saw the way he was utterly lost in you, his grip on your hips tightening as if he couldn't bear to let go.

“Baby—” The word slipped from your lips before you could stop it, soft and breathless, laced with a vulnerability you hadn't meant to reveal.

Ashton froze, his body going rigid at the sound of the endearment. His fingers stilled, and for a fleeting moment, you were certain you'd said too much. But when his eyes met yours, there was no anger, no hesitation—just a new kind of fire burning behind them.

He didn't say a word. Instead, he rose from between your legs, his movements deliberate, and scooped you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. You didn't protest; you couldn't. Your body was boneless in his hold, your mind too hazy to form a coherent thought.

All you could do was cling to him as he carried you, your head resting against his chest, his heartbeat steady and grounding in the haze of the moment.

“I'm not done with you yet,” Ashton muttered, his voice low and gravelly, thick with need. His words sent a shiver through you as he carried you to his bedroom, the mirror doors of his closet catching your eye just before he laid you on the bed.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip before coaxing it open and slipping inside. Instinctively, you began to suck gently, your lashes fluttering shut as his other hand swept the hair from your face.

When he pulled his finger away, his gaze was dark and hungry, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Slowly, almost torturously, Ashton slipped your jacket from your shoulders, his eyes devouring every inch of newly exposed skin. You let him, your body pliant beneath his touch.

“You think you can forget how I make you feel?” he growled, his voice rough in your ear as he climbed onto the bed behind you. His hands gripped your jaw firmly, tilting your head until your eyes met your reflection in the mirror. “You're gonna fucking watch while I ruin you. Gonna make you look at yourself while I make you come so hard you cry.”

To emphasize his point, Ashton tugged your top over your head, trailing his lips along the curve of your neck as he unclasped your bra.

His grip on your jaw remained firm, holding you in place, while his free hand moved languidly down your torso, tracing over the soft swell of your breasts.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his voice tinged with reverence as he pressed his hips against your back, letting you feel the full weight of his arousal. “You're fucking beautiful. You think I could ever forget this? Forget you?”

You whimpered, frustrated by the fact that he was still fully clothed. It was almost as if Ashton could read your mind. He released you briefly, stripping off his mesh sweater and letting it fall to the floor. With one hand, he unbuttoned your skirt, sliding it down your legs, leaving you completely bare.

Ashton's hands found your body again immediately, one moving to your chest to knead your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple before pinching it between his fingers. “My pretty, perfect girl,” he whispered, his voice softer now, laced with awe. “You're built like a fucking wet dream. You've always been the most exquisite thing l've ever tasted, ever felt.”

Your head lolled back against his chest, your body melting into his touch, but Ashton wasn't about to let you drift away. His hand slid up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes flutter open and meet his in the mirror.

“I said you have to watch,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. His grip tightened just slightly, grounding you, ensuring your gaze stayed locked on your reflection—on the way your body responded to him like it was made for his touch.

Slowly, Ashton bent you over, and your palms pressed into the mattress for support. His hands roamed across your back and down to your ass, squeezing and caressing before one slipped between your legs, sliding into your wet heat. You gasped, a moan tumbling from your lips as you fought the urge to close your eyes in bliss.

“That's right,” he purred, his voice thick and smooth as honey, withdrawing his hand before reaching for the button of his jeans. “Stay just like that for me, babygirl.”

Your breath hitched as you watched him undress in the mirror, his movements deliberate, teasing. When Ashton slid his jeans and boxers down, his erection sprang free, hard and heavy against his stomach.

The sight of him sent a wave of heat through your body, and when his eyes met yours in the reflection, they gleamed with mischief and hunger.

You watched as he wrapped a hand around his length, pumping slowly, his thumb brushing over the head. His voice was a low growl as he stepped closer. “Jesus Christ, you're still dripping,” he groaned, stroking himself faster. “God, Bambi, if I could keep you on your hands and knees like this for the rest of my life, I would.”

“Ashton, I need you,” you managed, your voice hoarse and trembling. Every nerve in your body seemed to pulse with anticipation, your walls clenching around nothing as you ached for him to finally claim you.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he teased the tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it slowly across your slick heat. Your fingers fisted the bedsheets, your body trembling as you felt him poised at your entrance.

“God, you're so pretty,” he muttered, his voice laced with reverence and lust. “Prettiest fucking pussy l've ever seen. So eager for me, aren't you? Not so sure about forgetting me now, huh?”

The head of his cock slipped in slowly, and you yelped at the intensity of the sensation. Ashton's grip on your waist tightened, his eyes squeezing shut as he began to push in deeper, sinking into you inch by inch.

The sting was minimal, your body already primed and ready from his earlier teasing. Still, Ashton let out a guttural hiss as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his fingers digging into your hips as he held himself there for a moment, savoring the way you clenched around him.

You moaned, your head falling forward, but Ashton wasn't having it. His hand traveled up your back before tangling in your hair, tugging your head up so your gaze was locked on the mirror. “You gonna come for me again, aren't you, Bambi?“

His hips began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, but even the measured pace had your body trembling. Your walls fluttered around him, drawing out a low groan from his throat.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his tone almost reverent. “So tight, so perfect—just for me.”

You licked your dry lips, nodding as his grip in your hair tightened, grounding you. His pace picked up, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed in the room, each thrust making your body quake. You couldn't tear your eyes away from your reflection, watching your breasts bounce with each movement, your brows furrowed in ecstasy.

Every thrust sent stars dancing in your vision, your body so sensitive from earlier that every motion brought you closer to the edge. Ashton's chest glistened with sweat, and his grip on your hips tightened, using the leverage to pull you against him. His thrusts were harder now, deeper, each one forcing loud, desperate whimpers from your lips.

It didn't take long before he found that spot deep inside you, the one he never failed to hit. “Does that feel good, Bambi?” he groaned, his pace relentless. “Still think you could ever forget this?”

“No,” you gasped, your nails digging into the sheets. “No, baby, I can't—I'll never forget how your cock feels inside me.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rough and breathless. One of his hands snaked between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and circling it with perfect pressure. The sensation overwhelmed you, and your arms gave out, your body collapsing onto the bed. Your cheek pressed against the mattress as you continued to watch, your reflection a picture of pure, unrestrained pleasure.

The edge was so close now, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust, every flick of his fingers. Your moans grew louder, the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

Your body convulsed as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your cries filling the room. In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of yourself—your mouth falling open, your eyes narrowing, and your brows furrowing as pure ecstasy consumed you.

As your orgasm subsided, Ashton pulled out, his movements gentle as he guided your trembling body to lie flat on your back. He positioned himself above you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other lined himself up with your entrance. His gaze was intense, his voice low and rasping as he said, “I need to see you when I come.”

He slipped back into you effortlessly, the stretch familiar but no less intoxicating. His nose grazed your cheek as he began to move again, his thrusts slow at first but quickly turning messy and desperate. You wrapped your arms around him, your nails biting into his back as you held him close, the sound of his labored breathing fanning against your ear.

“Fill me up, baby,” you urged, your voice trembling. “Don't let me forget what it feels like to be dripping wirh you.”

Ashton groaned deeply at your words, his teeth grazing your neck before he bit down lightly, his thrusts growing erratic. “You're so perfect,” he murmured into your skin, his voice raw with emotion. “You're everything.”

It didn't take long for him to reach his peak, his hips stuttering as he pushed deep into you, spilling inside with a strangled moan.

Your nails dug deeper into his back, grounding him as he gave a few final, shallow thrusts before his movements stilled. His forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathless, your bodies entwined.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Ashton remained buried inside you, your ragged breaths the only sound in the room. When he finally lifted his head, his gaze had softened, all traces of lust replaced by a quiet admiration that made your heart stutter.

“Hi,” you whispered, biting your lip, your cheeks flushing under his gaze.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, his voice tender as he pulled out of you and rolled onto his side. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing motion. Neither of you spoke; it felt as though words couldn't quite capture the weight of the moment.

The night hadn't unfolded the way you had imagined, but somehow, it felt right.

As if sensing the thoughts brewing in your mind, Ashton leaned in and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, a crooked grin tugged at his lips. “We better clean up,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

You nodded silently, unable to resist smiling back at him. Whatever questions or doubts lingered could wait—everything else could wait. Not when Ashton was looking at you like that.

For now, it was just the two of you.

—

You were overcome with panic before you even opened your eyes. The steady pressure of Ashton’s arm draped lazily across your body was the first thing you registered, pulling you from restless sleep into an even harsher reality. A slight jolt ran through you as the weight of your actions crashed over you.

Ashton’s room looked starkly different in the soft morning light, the cluttered chaos of last night now clear and inescapable. His soft breathing brushed against the nape of your neck, and it made you shiver—not from the cold but from the flood of memories that followed. You had been drunk, sure, but not drunk enough to excuse what had happened.

The truth was unavoidable: you weren’t over Ashton. Not even close. For the better part of a year, you’d lied to yourself, pretended you were fine, moved on—or at least convinced yourself you had. But as his familiar scent surrounded you, the ache in your chest reminded you how far from the truth that was.

You didn’t dare move, paralyzed by the thought of waking him and having to meet his piercing green eyes. You could still picture them from last night, looking at you in that way they always used to. It was too much. You couldn’t stay.

Carefully, holding your breath, you began sliding out from under his arm. The bed creaked slightly as you shifted your weight, but Ashton didn’t stir. He had always been a heavy sleeper—especially when alcohol and sex were involved.

The chill of the air hit your bare skin as you slipped free of the bed. Goosebumps rippled along your arms as you crouched down, hurriedly gathering your scattered clothes. Your jeans, your shirt,—everything but your underwear.

You froze as Ashton mumbled something in his sleep, his body shifting slightly under the covers. Your heart pounded as you watched him, every second stretching out painfully. After a moment, he stilled again, his breathing slow and steady.

Biting your lip, you tiptoed into the living room, pulling on your clothes as quickly and quietly as you could. Your jacket was slung over the back of the couch, and you grabbed it with trembling hands, reaching instinctively into the pocket for your phone.

Dead.

Of course, your phone would be dead. Charging it hadn’t even crossed your mind last night, and now the blank screen mocked you, showing a dim reflection of your disheveled hair and pale face.

You exhaled sharply, trying to steel yourself. This wasn’t the time to fall apart. You slid your boots on, your fingers fumbling with the laces as you avoided looking back toward Ashton’s room. The shame burned in your chest, and every second you stayed felt like a punishment.

Without another glance, you opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, shutting it quietly behind you.

You hadn’t expected this—walking the walk of shame from the apartment of the one person you’d sworn to everyone, including yourself, that you didn’t care about anymore. And yet here you were.

Although your head spun and your throat ached with unshed tears of frustration, you refused to let them fall as you stepped out of the building. Your jaw tightened, and you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand: finding the nearest coffee shop and begging someone to let you use a charger long enough to call for a ride home.

As you trudged down the street, the original plan came flooding back. Ashton was supposed to take you back to the bar to pick up the car you’d left behind. It was a plan that had made sense last night, when things between you were simpler—or at least less devastating.

Everything felt like it was crumbling around you now. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each beat amplified by the dull throb in your head. It was only a few blocks to the nearest Starbucks, but by the time you arrived, your anger had simmered into exhaustion, and your clothes clung to your skin from the heat.

Thankfully, borrowing a charger wasn’t much of an issue. The barista barely glanced at you as they handed one over, and you ordered a small breakfast to settle the uneasy churning in your stomach while you waited for your phone to charge.

Still, you couldn’t relax. Your eyes stayed glued to the door, half-expecting Ashton to walk in at any moment. A part of you wished he would, even if you wouldn’t admit it. But he didn’t. And you didn’t let yourself dwell on the disappointment creeping into your chest.

By the time your phone had enough charge, you’d numbly arranged for a ride back to the bar. The drive passed in near silence, your body heavy with exhaustion. When you finally arrived, you thanked the driver halfheartedly and stepped out.

Your gaze swept the parking lot as you walked toward your car, instinctively searching for any sign of Ashton. But he wasn’t there. Of course, he wasn’t. You ignored the pang of disappointment that hit you and quickly climbed into your car.

The second you shut the door, the tears came. At first, it was just a few that escaped despite your best efforts to hold them back. But by the time you crossed the threshold of your apartment, the dam broke completely.

You collapsed onto the floor, burying your face in your hands as sobs tore through you. The ache in your chest was unbearable, and your cries echoed through the quiet space, raw and unrelenting.

A small, curious head peeked out from behind the sofa. Your cat, the one you’d adopted with Ashton by your side, cautiously approached. She studied you with those wide, knowing eyes before padding over and hopping into your lap as if to offer comfort.

“Hey there, Dani,” you croaked, your voice hoarse as you extended a hand toward her. She purred softly, curling up against you without hesitation, her warmth soothing your trembling frame.

As you stroked her fur, a bittersweet memory flashed in your mind—Ashton, grinning ear to ear as he insisted on her name.

“Dani Cattyfornia is hilarious,” he’d argued, his eyes sparkling in that way they always did when he was up to something. “Plus, it’s a fire song for a very spicy kitty.”

“We are not naming my cat after a Red Hot Chili Peppers song!” you’d exclaimed, appalled at his suggestion. But both of you had known, even then, that the decision was already made. Dani Cattyfornia it was.

The memory stung now, bittersweet in its clarity. You clutched Dani closer, the tears you’d fought so hard to suppress spilling over once again. Part of you wondered if she could smell Ashton on you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the way Ashton’s eyes sparkled when he teased you, or how his laughter could make the world feel lighter.

Your phone buzzed beside you, Ashton’s name lighting up the screen. The sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut, triggering another wave of tears. Without even thinking, you grabbed the phone and silenced the call, dragging yourself toward the bathroom.

The hiss of the shower filled the space as you stripped off your clothes and stepped under the stream. Hot water cascaded over you, soaking your hair and washing away the tears, though it did little to ease the ache in your chest.

Sitting on the tiled floor, you let yourself be consumed by the memories you’d tried so hard to bury. Every hug, every kiss, every whispered “I love you.” They flooded your mind, vivid and inescapable. But for every moment of joy, there was a counterweight: broken promises, forgotten commitments, and feelings left unspoken.

The most vivid memory of all was the last time you’d seen Ashton before everything fell apart. It was during one of your attempts to patch things up, to see if there was anything left between you worth salvaging.

You’d been cautious then, agreeing to take things slow, but Ashton had seemed distant, dodging your questions and skirting around his emotions. At the time, you’d chalked it up to nerves. Neither of you knew what to expect from trying again.

That night, he’d invited you to his apartment with the promise of making dinner—an offer that had surprised you, given Ashton’s well-documented lack of culinary skills. You’d laughed it off, but when you arrived, any doubts about his intentions melted away in a flurry of kisses and wandering hands.

It was intoxicating, the way he touched you that night. His hands were tentative yet desperate, as if relearning every inch of you. Your laughter had quickly turned to soft gasps, and before you knew it, the sun had set, and dinner plans had long been forgotten.

The “fancy dinner” had been replaced by him ordering takeout pizza, which you had to convince Ashton to get because he was still dead set on cooking. He eventually relented, he always did when it came to you. You could still picture him, standing between your legs as you sat on the counter in nothing but his t-shirt, holding up two empty glasses of wine and a lopsided grin on his face.

“I’ll make the presentation worth it,” he’d joked, pouring you another glass of wine. “I’ll doll it up real fancy so you’ll forgive the fact that it looks like absolute dog shit.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you without hesitation. Taking a sip of your wine, you leveled Ashton with a playful glare. “This has to be the least fancy dinner I’ve ever had.”

Ashton rolled his eyes, his grin wide as he ran his calloused hands along your bare thighs. “Okay, but you’ve gotta admit,” he said, leaning closer, “sometimes it’s not even about the food.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, his smile soft against yours. “It’s about the company.”

“Well,” you snickered, swirling the wine in your glass, “it’s definitely about the wine… and maybe other things.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Other things, huh? Feeling up for a smoke?”

You smirked, leaning forward to kiss him slowly. “Oh yes. And I know how you get when you’re high,” you teased, your voice dipping. “Can’t seem to pry you from between my legs…”

Ashton laughed softly, pulling back and shaking his head. “Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll go get the stuff.”

As he turned, you didn’t hesitate to swat at his backside. He shot you a mock glare over his shoulder, but the playful smirk tugging at his lips didn’t waver.

You were still perched on the counter, swinging your legs and sipping your wine, when a knock came at the door. Assuming it was the pizza Ashton had ordered earlier, you didn’t think twice about your appearance—bare legs, his oversized shirt—as you padded toward the door.

With a carefree smile, you swung it open.

Your smile faltered instantly.

Standing on the other side was a woman, striking in her beauty, with dark hair that curled around her shoulders and wide, glassy eyes that immediately welled with tears.

The two of you froze, locked in a moment that felt like it stretched into eternity. Her gaze swept over you, lingering on your bare legs and the shirt that hung loosely around your frame. Slowly, her expression twisted, heartbreak and fury colliding in her tear-streaked face.

“Are you serious?” she choked out, her voice trembling as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“I—what?” you stammered, completely caught off guard, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation.

Her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line, her shoulders shaking as she let out a bitter laugh. “I’m Eve,” she said sharply, her voice cracking. “I’m Ashton’s girlfriend.”

It was like the ground fell out from under you. Your stomach churned as the pieces clicked into place.

He had been so dodgy, so hesitant. And now, it all made sense.

You were his side piece.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, stumbling back a step. “I’m so sorry—I swear I didn’t know—”

Eve’s tear-filled gaze cut into you, but she didn’t look angry with you—just devastated. Her voice softened, trembling under the weight of her emotions. “You didn’t know, did you?”

Before you could respond, Ashton’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Bambi, found the stuff—”

He froze in place the second he saw her, the color draining from his face. His eyes darted between you and Eve, his panic written all over his features.

“Eve?” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She let out a hollow laugh, swiping at her tears. “Yeah, Ashton. Eve. Remember me? Your girlfriend?” Her voice cracked, her pain unmistakable.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Ashton opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

The rest of the night was a blur of screaming, crying, and running away. Ashton had tried to explain, but you couldn’t listen. You promised yourself you would never listen to him again.

Now, a week after waking up in Ashton’s bed, the same feelings from that night lingered—anger, confusion, and an ache you couldn’t shake. You had avoided his texts and calls like the plague, and eventually, he stopped trying.

You sat alone in your apartment, replaying every moment in an endless loop, the pain still raw. No matter how much you wanted to hate him, a part of you still missed him—and that was the most painful part of all.

Every day, your mind wavered between the night you discovered Eve and the night you had spent tangled in Ashton’s arms. The memories were a cruel contrast, leaving you hollow, drained, and exhausted from carrying the weight of your emotions.

You barely noticed the news broadcast about a small residential building collapse, half-asleep on the couch with Dani curled beside you. The world outside felt distant, like you were moving through it in slow motion.

The entire week had been a blur of sleepless nights, haunted by memories of a time when you and Ashton had been happy. You went through your daily routine like a ghost, trying to convince yourself you were fine when you felt anything but.

It wasn’t until the phone call that everything shifted.

Still half-asleep, you idly scratched Dani behind her ears, a random show playing in the background. For the first time, the ache in your chest felt manageable, like you might finally be able to breathe again. You knew forgetting Ashton would take effort, but you were determined to start over—no matter how much it hurt.

Then your phone lit up with an unknown number.

At first, you ignored it, dismissing it as another scam call. But when a voicemail notification appeared, curiosity got the better of you.

You played the message, your blood running cold as a calm voice began speaking.

“Hi, this is Dr. Theresa Bray calling from St. Matthew’s Hospital. I hope this is the number for Y/N Y/L/N. You’ve been listed as Ashton Irwin’s emergency contact, and I’m calling to let you know he’s currently in surgery—”

Your breath hitched, the phone slipping from your grasp as your mind struggled to process the words. Ashton. Surgery. Emergency contact.

The room spun as you tried to process the voicemail. Your heart raced, and your thoughts blurred, but one thing was clear—you needed to get to Ashton.

You shot up from the couch, fumbling to find your shoes and keys while the voicemail continued to echo in your mind. “…he’s currently in surgery due to injuries sustained in a building collapse earlier today. We’re asking you to come in and discuss his condition.”

The words repeated like a broken record, colliding with the image of the news broadcast you’d seen earlier. Ashton must have been responding to a call at that building, and somehow, he’d gotten hurt.

The weight of the situation settled on your shoulders like a storm cloud. Anger and worry fought for dominance inside you. You weren’t supposed to care anymore—not after everything—but the fire coursing through your veins told a different story.

Grabbing the first jacket you could find, you moved toward the door in a daze. Dani meowed softly from her spot on the couch, her curious eyes tracking your every movement.

“Daddy’s hurt,” you mumbled without thinking, your voice shaky. “I just… I have to make sure he’s okay. Don’t wait up for me.”

Dani’s blank stare felt oddly comforting, as if she understood. You allowed yourself to imagine that she remembered Ashton, how she used to follow him around as loyally as you had.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Your mind cycled through worst-case scenarios, each one more unbearable than the last. You told yourself it was just an obligation, that you were his emergency contact and nothing more. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple.

When you finally arrived, the sterile smell of the hospital hit you like a wave. You made a beeline for the front desk, ignoring the noise and bustle around you.

“I’m here for Ashton Irwin. I’m his emergency contact,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

The nurse behind the desk gave you a sympathetic look. “He’s still in surgery, but we’ll notify you as soon as he’s out.”

You nodded, biting your lip as you stepped away. Before you could settle into one of the cold, plastic chairs in the waiting area, a familiar voice called your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned quickly to see Calum walking toward you. He was still in his firefighter gear—his T-shirt and gear pants smudged with dirt and soot, his face battered and weary.

Relief flooded through you, and you closed the distance between you, throwing your arms around his torso. Calum immediately hugged you back, his strong arms wrapping around you protectively, one hand cupping the back of your head.

“What happened? Is he okay?” you asked, your voice breaking as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

Calum sighed, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and worry. “We were at the scene, doing everything we could to get people out,” he began. “Ashton… he went back in to save a kid. The floor gave out beneath him.”

Your heart sank, and tears stung your eyes. “Oh my God,” you whispered, clutching Calum’s arm. “Why would he—”

“He’s a stubborn idiot,” Calum said softly, though there was no anger in his voice. Just a deep, aching concern. “But that’s who he is. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you scanned the waiting room, taking in the familiar faces of Michael and Luke seated in the corner. Both of them looked just as anxious as you felt, their worry etched into every line of their faces.

Calum’s hands tightened gently on your shoulders, grounding you. “He’ll be alright, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tension. “Ashton’s a fighter. Once he knows you’re here, he’ll claw his way back to you. I know he will.”

Your lip trembled as you dropped your head against Calum’s chest. “He doesn’t even know I’m here,” you mumbled, your voice cracking. “Why would he? I haven’t spoken to him in a week.”

Calum pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. “Why do you think you’re his emergency contact?”

Your brow furrowed as you shook your head. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “Maybe he forgot to change it?”

Calum gave you a knowing look, his voice firm but kind. “He put you down because he knows you, Y/N,” he said slowly, his words deliberate. “He knows you’d drop everything if you heard he was hurt, no matter how mad you are at him. He put you down because you’re the one incentive he needs to fight like hell to stay alive.”

The weight of his words settled over you, leaving you breathless. Your mind swirled with memories of Ashton—the way he smiled at you, the warmth of his laughter, the quiet nights when it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.

The waiting room buzzed with quiet murmurs as the minutes dragged on. You sat with Calum, Luke, Michael, and the rest of Ashton’s team, all of them waiting for news. Their captain moved between the group, offering reassurances that did little to ease the heavy tension.

When the doctor finally emerged, everyone in the room stood at once, but her gaze immediately sought you and Calum. She approached, her expression calm but professional.

“Y/N?” she asked, her tone measured.

Your grip on Calum’s arm tightened instinctively. “Is he alright?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor—Dr. Bray, you assumed—gave a small, reassuring smile. “He’s out of surgery. Ashton sustained multiple injuries, including several broken bones, but he’s stable. He’s going to be okay.”

The relief that swept over you was overwhelming. You gasped, tears spilling freely as you turned to Calum, wrapping your arms around him in an unsteady hug.

When you finally pulled away, you wiped at your face, your voice trembling as you asked, “Can I see him?”

Dr. Bray nodded. “He’s still asleep from the anesthesia, but yes, you can see him. Just keep in mind he’s going to need plenty of rest.”

You nodded quickly, barely processing her words as she motioned for you to follow her. Calum gave your hand one last squeeze before letting you go, his silent support a comforting presence as you prepared to face Ashton.

You followed the nurse numbly to Ashton’s room, your heart pounding as you stepped inside. The sight of him hit you like a wave—pale and fragile against the stark white of the hospital bed, his black hair in disarray with sandy roots peeking through. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with the steady beeping of the heart monitor, but the bruises and cuts that lined his face made your stomach twist.

Without a second thought, you sank into the chair by his bedside, your hand reaching for his. His fingers were cold and limp, but you held on tightly. “You know,” you whispered, your voice shaky but laced with an attempt at humor, “you didn’t have to get the floor to fall out from under you just to get me to see you.”

The silence was heavy, Ashton unmoving, but you didn’t let it stop you. You stayed by his side for hours, your voice filling the quiet as you talked about anything and everything that came to mind.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in, and your eyes fluttered shut as you rested your head on the edge of the bed. Just as sleep was about to claim you, you felt it—a faint squeeze of your hand.

Your head shot up, your heart leaping in your chest. Ashton’s hazel-green eyes, tired but unmistakably vibrant, blinked up at you. A weak, familiar smile tugged at his lips.

“Hey, Bambi,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but warm. “Was scared I’d never see you again.”

A choked sob escaped you as you reached out, gently brushing his messy hair away from his face. “Hey, you,” you murmured, your voice trembling as tears spilled over. “Look at us—always doing the absolute most to get each other’s attention.”

His smile widened slightly, though it was laced with exhaustion. “At least this isn’t as embarrassing as you falling on your ass that one time,” he teased weakly.

You let out a watery laugh, wiping your tears quickly. “Yeah,” you said, your voice lighter for a moment. “At least there’s that.”

The room fell into a quiet lull as Ashton’s gaze wandered to the cast on his leg and the bandages covering his arms. His expression grew somber. “Guess I won’t be going back to work anytime soon,” he muttered, his voice tinged with regret.

“It’ll go by fast,” you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve always been one resilient motherf—fighter.”

But your attempt at humor didn’t lift his spirits. His brow furrowed, and he looked down at your joined hands. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past year and a half,” he said quietly, his tone more serious than you expected. “About my mistakes. And how most of them were with you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart tightening in your chest. “Ashton, we don’t have to do this now—”

He shook his head, cutting you off. “But we do,” he insisted, his voice soft but firm. He shifted slightly, wincing at the movement, and you shot up to help, but he waved you off. “I need to say this, Y/N. I owe you an apology.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with unfiltered emotion, leaving you speechless.

“You really don’t have to do this now,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but Ashton wasn’t deterred.

“I don’t know if you’ll still be here tomorrow,” he said softly, his tone laced with vulnerability. “Or the day after that. So, yes, I need to do this now.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “I love you. From the moment you looked at me with those big doe eyes of yours, I’ve loved you. I’ve always been a stupid kid, and my love for you wasn’t safe from my stupidity.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words striking something deep within you.

“I hurt you,” Ashton continued, his voice cracking. “Time and time again, and you still took me back. But then you left—and you seemed so sure of your decision that I tried to convince myself there was nothing left in my heart for you. Pins and needles, as you used to say.”

A sad smile ghosted his lips, and for a moment, you were both transported back to a time when those words meant something lighter.

“Anyway,” he said with a bitter laugh, “I threw myself at the first girl I could. That just happened to be Eve. For a while, everything seemed fine. But then you came over for my Cal’s birthday party, and everything I’d built crumbled. All my resolve—gone, just like that. I wanted you, Bambi. I only wanted you. And I knew, deep down, that no matter who it was, if you showed up at my wedding, I would’ve run away with you in a heartbeat.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his confession unraveled.

“So I was selfish,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared of losing you again, so I didn’t break things off with Eve when I should have, I kept her as a backup plan. I fucked up. I knew it then, and I know it now. I’m so fucking sorry, Bambi. For everything.”

He finally fell silent, his breathing labored but steady, his gaze fixed on you, searching for some kind of absolution.

“You made me an accomplice to adultery,” you whispered, the weight of your words finally matching the emotions you’d held inside since that night. “You made me hurt another girl—a sweet, completely innocent girl who didn’t deserve it.”

Ashton’s gaze dropped to his hands, shame clouding his expression. “I know,” he admitted softly. “I’ve tried to reach out to her, to apologize, but she never gave me the chance. Not like you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, a flicker of guilt surfacing. “About that,” you sighed. “I didn’t agree to see you because I wanted to forgive you. I wanted to rub it in your face that I was fine without you.”

His small smile faltered, replaced by a look of quiet resignation. “Oh,” he murmured, his brows lifting slightly. “I guess that’s fair.”

You exhaled slowly, your voice softer now. “How do I know you’ve really changed?” you asked, tracing idle patterns on the hospital sheets.

Ashton took a deep breath, sitting up just slightly. “I could tell you about how being a firefighter has taught me to be less selfish,” he began. “How it’s forced me to confront my issues and given me a healthy outlet for all my restless energy. But honestly, that won’t mean much to you, will it?”

You frowned, glancing up at him. “No, because I don’t really know that Ashton, and I probably won’t for a while,” you pointed out gently, careful not to hit a nerve. “You’re going to need time to heal. How do I know you won’t just go back to who you used to be?”

Ashton pressed his lips into a thin line, his hazel-green eyes locking onto yours. Without a word, he nodded toward the small space next to him on the bed. “C’mere,” he muttered, shifting as much as his injuries allowed to make room for you.

Your brows lifted in surprise, but when Ashton pouted slightly, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Carefully, you climbed onto the bed, lowering yourself beside him and resting your head against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat filled your ears, strong and steady beneath you.

“You don’t know,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your hair. “You won’t. And I guess that’s the hardest part.”

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze for a beat. “I don’t want to be in a relationship with you right now,” you muttered, your voice steady but kind.

You felt him tense beneath you, but you pushed forward before he could say anything. “You don’t need the mess of our love on top of everything else you’re dealing with,” you explained. “But you do need someone to help you. Recovery is going to be long and hard.”

His eyes searched yours, a flicker of hope lighting them. “What are you saying?” he asked hesitantly.

You licked your lips, trying to gather your thoughts. “For now, I’m going to help you heal,” you said firmly. “Make sure you get back to being that firefighter who has his life together. And maybe, just maybe, when you’ve really proven to yourself that you’ve changed, I’ll think about giving us another shot.”

Ashton stared at you, disbelief etched across his face. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” you nodded, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Plus, I think Dani misses her dad.”

Ashton’s eyes softened at the mention of your cat. “My sweet Dani Cattyfornia,” he murmured with a blissful sigh. “That really is the most ridiculous name, isn’t it?”

You smiled, shrugging slightly. “It’s a fire song,” you said softly. “A fitting name for a spicy kitty—even though she’s way more mellow now.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, but it was quickly replaced by a serious tone as his forehead gently pressed against yours. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“Maybe not,” you replied honestly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But we won’t know that unless you try. Everyone deserves a second chance. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth—”

Ashton cut you off with a quiet laugh, his smile breaking through his sadness. “Alright, alright, I get it,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “But thank you, Bambi. I swear, I won’t waste this chance.”

You hummed softly, your fingers tracing the heart tattoo on the side of his wrist. The thought of giving him another shot terrified you, but not as much as the idea of losing him completely.

As the room settled into a comforting silence, the truth became clear.

The only pins and needles you felt now were from your arm falling asleep, uncomfortably squished between the two of you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

if you’re still here, i love you. thank you for reading this monster of one shot, and thank you again to soup for being such an awesome writing partner. as always, thank you for reading pookies <3

watch 9-1-1.

[souperbloom]

heyyyy… how y’alll doin… been cookin this one up for a while with my pookie bear. (who is extremely talented and also super hot and sexy). i will forever be grateful for her unlimited patience with me and my slow ass LMAOO hope you guys love pins and needles, she’s a special one!!! <33

[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.”

[souperbloom]

Hey! I just wanted to say that I love your work so so much and I hope that you’re doing well:) I was wondering when the third part of the “being in love” Ashton fanfic will be out bc that series is my absolute fave 🫶🏼

hi soup nation! long time no see :’)

i noticed i’ve been getting a few messages like this and i wanted to address the elephant in the room (LOL)

as of rn, consider mama soup on a bit of a ~hiatus~. i’m finishing up my degree at the moment and it’s been really hard to find time to sit down and write without it feeling like an obligation. i don’t wanna lose my sparkle, which is why i’ve taken a (very obvious!) step back.

it’s only for a moment, never fear! i’m just being a diva and want to be able to enjoy the work i put out to share with all of you lovely people who have shown me nothing but kindness in this community.

this post is already so corny, so i might as well end it with a thank you, and i love you! i will be back soon! the third and final part of being in love is in the queue, as well as a lot of other requests and projects that i am so so excited to share!!!

thanks for your patience with me, i appreciate it more than you know <3

xoxo, soupy