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Live For The Pain

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ pairing: bta ashton irwin x reader

✧ summary: going to the party was a mistake. yet when a handsome stranger gives you everything you had been looking for— validation, attention, gratification— it’s kind of hard to keep believing it was. maybe it’s fate.

✧ warnings: love bombing, language, talks of religion, exhibitionism, fingering, dirty talk.

✧ word count: 6.4k

✧ title: shameless — the weeknd

✧ author’s note:hi. did you miss me?

so i missed all of you so BAD!!! i know i owe an explanation, i did drop off the face of the earth for… 3 months? i would say i have a good explanation— typical fanfic writer trauma dump, yk? — but i don’t. the truth is that im just a girl, and i met someone who gave me the most intense 3 months of my life and basically i lost my damn MIND. anyways that someone is gone, so i’m again, losing my damn mind. so i figured, what a batter way to express my feelings than to write about them? everyone loves a good situationship (reading about it, NOT experiencing it!!) so i decided to revisit the beginning of my most infamous one. MAGGIE AND ASHTON!!! YAY!!! unless no one cares.

i’m thinking about making situationship sos a series until i get over this person, cause i have a LOTTTT of material to use (i even used some of his texts in this lol… boots on the ground journalism, am i right?). send in some requests, or hell, maybe personal experiences you want to romanticize. we’re all in the trenches together guys!!!

all rambling aside i’m sorry for disappearing. i do plan on coming back regularly, and also picking up Pulse again. i hope you enjoy, even if it’s a little shit since i’m so rusty.

moral of the story guys, don’t let your world shrink down to ONE person. especially one who made it clear they would never stay. be safe out there yall!!!!

sorry for the trauma dump, love you!!

-bee

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

There is glitter on your fingers.

You try not to be too annoyed, watching as the specks flick in and out of reality with the ever-changing light. The bass is just loud enough, thrumming pleasantly beneath your skin. It’s the kind of night that you know is exactly what you needed.

The bodies that litter the venue are bright, covered in glitter on their own right, intoxicated beyond belief. It’s right where you want to be– and the excitement that runs through you hits you like a chill.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you make your way over to the bar.

Life has been monotonous in the most painful way. Shoots, juice cleanses, beauty routines, and being holed up in your apartment the second those things end. You have never been one to self-isolate; most of your life has been all about receiving attention you never had to fight for.

Which is exactly why the social scene in Los Angeles hit you like a punch to the gut.

There are a million of you for anyone with eyes to see, models just as perfectly crafted as you, spanning as far as the eye can see. It hurts, going from being a rare delicacy to being just another fucking girl.

Your throat tightens with the bitter realization, remembering the way it feels to be so insignificant to everyone else, making you regret the decision to come out in the first place.

Tonight is the night you’re going to prove that insecurity wrong. Tonight, the city of Los Angeles is going to realize the kind of gem that they have at their doorstep.

The click of your heels is deafening despite the loud music, and you feel the stares you’re already starting to pull. Biting back a smirk, you stop only a few inches away from the counter.

Carefully, you rest your hands atop the sticky wood, tapping your carefully manicured nails in tandem with the song blasting through the venue. You meticulously scan the menu in front of you, unimpressed by the juvenile names for the myriad of fruity cocktails.

This is some YouTuber’s party, someone you only know from a friend of a friend. There is enough people in here that nobody bothers to ask how you know the host.

A few faces you recognize, people you have only seen in passing, or mutuals on social media that have just somehow left enough of an impression for you to recognize. Regardless, you aren’t here for any of them in particular.

If you were being honest, there was no real reasoning behind this sudden public appearance. Life has just been so bleak lately, and paired with the crushing weight of feeling like a pain Jane, you knew you were in desperate need to be the center of attention.

You hear a laugh, bright, clear, genuine, and your head snaps in the direction of the commotion. The sweet sound emanates from a guy a few feet away from you, with messy blonde curls and a contagious sheepish grin.

He’s beautiful.

Your eyes quickly land on the brunette girl his arm is currently draped over. She’s beautiful, strong brows, short but standing tall enough to say otherwise, and she has every ounce of the blonde guy’s attention.

Jealousy tastes bitter, and you clench your jaw before looking away.

Just how long has it been since someone has looked at you like that? Like you were the center of their universe, of their gravity, the very thing keeping them tethered to the ground.

The girl isn’t that beautiful. So what is she doing to keep a man as angelic as him wrapped around her finger?

“What can I get for you tonight?” The bartender finally asks, stepping right in front of you, barely managing to shoot you a tired glance.

Whatever confidence you had been building vanishes into the ether.

Blinking rapidly, you force yourself to swallow the unreasonable tears that threaten to brim in your eyes. The mindless task of trying to decide what to drink had been swiftly forgotten the second you spotted that couple.

Before you could open your mouth, you feel a presence materialize beside you. The smell of bergamot intertwined with some sort of peppery spice hits your nostrils, a scent you’ve grown familiar from having smelled it on plenty of different necks.

It’s the slight warmth of clove scented smoke beneath it that makes you stop in your tracks.

He shatters the ground beneath your feet before you can form a thought. Your eyes catch on sandy curls that fall over his forehead, two bright jade eyes burning straight into yours with a mischief that sends a chill down your spine.

Your eyes fall to the strong jaw, the divot on his chin, the slight dusting of stubble that adds enough intrigue to have your heart fluttering in your chest.

His shirt is buttoned open, and your eyes catch on the silver glint of a chain resting against the base of his throat. It’s a cross.

The guy smiles, flashing you two devastating dimples and a row of perfectly straight teeth.

He looks away, not before giving you a quick wink. Your stomach flutters, your mind blanking at the sudden intrusion.

“Two vodka Red Bulls,” he orders, pausing to sigh deeply—most definitely to aid the dramatics— before continuing. “You know what I mean, so for the love of god, please don’t make me ask you for two blowjob fuels.”

The tired bartender, much to your surprise, flashes a cheeky grin. He looks between the two of you, shrugging slightly. “Don’t think you’ll need that after this, my boy.”

The man beside you snickers, resting his arms against the bar before looking over to you again. He’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body, see the slight sheen of sweat atop his cheeks.

“I saw you walk in,” the guy notes, his voice a slow drawl that makes heat lick at the base of your spine. “Watched you the entire time. Been dying to talk to you since.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer honesty in his tone. His lips are parted slightly, almost as if he’s rendered breathless by your attention.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Dior Sauvage?” You question, holding on to your composure for dear life. “Kinda tacky, don’t you think?”

The stranger smirks, prompting the reappearance of that debilitating dimple. His eyes fall, following the barely concealed shape of your body with a ravenous hunger. It makes you feel more exposed than being naked ever would.

“You must have a sixth sense for bad decisions, sweetheart,” he hums, clearly pleased by the fire beneath your words.

It’s all a facade, but something tells you that you can’t afford to drop it anytime soon.

“More like a knack for ‘em,” you fire back.

The stranger laughs, a deep rumble that immediately has your body responding. It’s bad, every fiber of your being awakening at once.

“Ashton,” he offers helpfully, smiling sweetly. “You are?”

You purse your lips, hesitation keeping you silent for a few beats. Something about the way he looks at you, like he’s seen you in every lifetime, like you dim the light of everyone around you.

Like you are the only thing in the room.

It makes you sick.

“Y/N,” you say.

Ashton grins, satisfied. “Y/N,” he repeats, as if tasting each syllable as it rolls off his tongue and savoring it for as long as he can. “I like that.”

You roll your eyes, tearing your gaze away from his. Your hand shakes, just barely noticeable, so you clench it into a fist and pray it’s enough to contain the unbearable energy that has started to flow between the two of you.

“Well Y/N,” he begins, and you can’t help but notice he hasn’t stopped smiling for a second since the conversation started. “Has anyone ever told you how you’ve got a smile that could light up the Hollywood sign?”

You blink, the ludicrousness of his words hitting you like a bucket of cold water. He doesn’t seem deterred by your confusion, in fact, he only seems to be relishing in it.

“Don’t ever say that again,” you frown, but you find that it doesn’t sound as genuine as you expected it. Your lips twitch, betraying your mask as you feel your heart picking up in your chest.

Holy shit. What is it with this guy?

Ashton only shrugs. “I think life is too short not to be corny, ya know?” He starts, shaking his head. “Like, who fucking cares, it makes people smile. It's like dad jokes, who really finds them funny? Nobody. But it’ll always make someone smile.”

The candor is evident, unexpected in its intensity. The rant rips from him like it has a mind of its own, and you can’t help but feel intrigued. Most of the time, when someone hits on you they only have one real goal, one real interest.

Their attention and words don’t often… deviate. Not like Ashton.

“It’s cute,” you offer, still keeping your interest at bay. He can’t know the effect he has on you just yet. “Is that how you pick up girls?”

Ashton looks over at you, green eyes boring into yours. They burn bright beneath the lights, the playfulness vanishing almost entirely. Cocking his head to the side, he studies you for a moment.

“It’s how I strike conversations up with people that seem generally interesting,” he retaliates. “You look like you have a mind on you. Your eyes, they’re everywhere, and I want to know what they’re looking for.”

Your eyebrows rise, the bold assumption is so much more accurate than he would ever begin to guess. You are looking for something, for someone who might just make you feel like you’re the single most fascinating thing in the room.

And fuck, it seems like you actually found him

“So, Y/N/N, you gonna tell me what such a pretty girl is doing alone tonight?” he probes, leaning close enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Are you actually looking for something? Someone?”

You smack your teeth, but before you can answer, the sleepy bartender places your overflowing drinks before the two of you. You don’t bother acknowledging him, wrapping your fingers around the cup, feeling the dampness of the sweating glass.

Maybe that’ll finally get rid of the glitter on your fingers.

“I’m at a party,” you answer simply. “That’s enough of an answer.”

“We’re all at parties for reasons larger than we think,” Ashton sighs. “For example, my buddy Luke is here because he wants to show his girlfriend that he can be around alcohol and function like a normal human. Me? I just need a breather from getting thrown up on.”

You freeze, registering the words Ashton just said. Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you. “Getting thrown up on? What the hell.”

He flashes another smile, this one lingers. “Babies have sensitive stomachs. I’m too young and beautiful to smell like regurgitated milk.”

“You’re a dad?!” You exclaim, the wonder fading ever so slightly. To wash away the slight horror that was brought on by the unpleasant image of getting barfed on, you down half of your drink.

“Jesus Christ, never,” he laughs, obviously delighted by your reaction. “My best friend had a kid, and it kinda takes a village, ya know?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relaxing at the clarification. “That’s cute. How come you’re so involved?”

Ashton shrugs. “Her partner died.”

Your blood runs cold at the pronoun. Her. It’s a girl.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, gnarly car accident,” he laments. The silence stretches for an uncomfortable minute, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on anything other than the fact that he’s so close to another woman.

“Hey now,” he snaps his fingers in front of your face, ringing your attention back to the moment. His nails are trimmed and clean, not a single hangnail in sight.

Polished.

“Don’t go quiet on me, baby,” he smiles. “I was just starting to fall in love with that scowl of yours.”

You can’t help but scoff, though your skin heats at his words. You pray that the flurry of lights is enough to hide the crimson that’s no doubt painting your cheeks right now.

“Do you keep anything to yourself?” you ask, but the breathless in your tone is anything but annoyed.

Ashton arrows his eyes, pursing his lips as he seemingly contemplates this. Then, he turns back to you. “Not exactly,” he says. “I would say sorry to drop that bomb on you, but it was going to happen eventually.”

Finally, you let your guard slip ever so slightly. A slight chuckle flies past your lips, the sheer confidence that he exudes is ridiculous, but it’s so endearing you can’t even be upset.

“Eventually?” you repeat, meeting his eyes again. They’re so intense, layers upon layers of emotions that you’ll never understand, enough life behind his eyes to set him apart from everyone else. “You sure?”

“Incredibly sure,” he leans closer, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I have a feeling we’re going to be in each other's lives for a long, long time.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re awfully confident.”

“Again,” you say, ever so slightly exasperated. “What makes you so sure?”

Ashton lets out a long breath, finally taking a sip of his drink. He downs more than you did, and you can’t help but wonder if his heart will also start skipping beats just like yours.

It’s just the caffeine and alcohol on an empty stomach. Right?

“I have a feeling this isn’t my first time meeting you,” Ashton places the cup down, bringing his attention fully back to you. “Even though I’d drop fuckin’ bank to lay eyes on you for the first time again.”

The words land directly on your heart, seizing it mid-beat. Words seem to come so easily for him, each letter dripping with irresistible charm, pulling you deep beneath the surface.

“Do you have bank to drop, Ashton?” you muse. “I have rather expensive tastes.”

He doesn’t seem deterred. “I’ll make it work,” he answers simply. “Go on stage, name drop you in front of thousands. You’ll be trending in a matter of minutes, and everyone will know who it was that stole my attention at a mediocre LA party.”

“That’s not the greatest way to woo someone,” you huff. “Promise of clout? I’ve been side stage before, nothing that’s new to me.”

He leans closer, his nose almost brushing yours. “Take a shot with me, Barbie.”

You blink. “I haven’t even finished my drink.”

“May your cup always be overflowing.”

You snicker, watching as Ashton pulls away before flagging down the same bartender and ordering two green tea shots.

You turn your attention back to Ashton, intrigued by the conundrum that he is. “Are you a man of faith, Ashton? You sound like a preacher.”

He exhales dramatically, his head lolling to the side slightly. “This is probably the part where I say some cheesy shit about not believing in god till I saw her in front of me at a party,” he muses, shaking his head. “But, no, not in the slightest.”

Your eyes flicker back down to the chain, the cross gleaming in the light. “Is that so?”

“Honestly sweetheart, god is a concept made to keep us all from reaching our full potential,” he shrugs, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Aren’t we all made in his image? I find that to be bullshit. Don’t compare me to some average Joe.”

The two shots are placed in front of you, and Ashton’s face lights up with glee. Intertwining your arms together, he takes one of the shot glasses and motions you to do the same.

The two of you throw the shots back at the same time, and you fight back the scowl that threatens to appear at the bitter taste.

When Ashton unlinks your arms, you half expect him to fully turn away from you. Instead, he grips your waist with a steady hand, pulling you close enough that your chests are pressed together, and your noses brush.

“Here’s the thing, baby,” he leans closer, his voice drowning in arrogance. “If God exists— it’s fucking me.”

His hands tighten on your waist, keeping you grounded and stuck right between him and the bar. His eyes fall, traveling down your neck and drinking in where your dress has shifted.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Then, he leans closer. His breath smells like alcohol, his lips are almost brushing yours, and you feel your knees grow weak.

“Yo, Ash!” you hear someone call, another accented voice that matches Ashton’s. He freezes, pulling away from you so fast it’s almost as if he’s vanished.

But he hasn’t, he’s standing a few feet from you, looking at the guy you noticed when you walked in. “Yeah?”

They exchange a look, and Ashton heaves a sigh before turning to face you again. “Meet me outside in about fifteen?” he asks, his expression suddenly serious.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. He doesn’t let you speak, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Don’t break my heart, Barbie,” he whispers. “I’ll be waitin’.”

He’s quickly swallowed by the crowd, leaving you behind, breathless and confused. You usually have much more control of these situations, half-heartedly entertaining the advances of an over-confident micro celebrity.

But Ashton is different.

“You gonna meet him?” the bartender perks up, catching you by surprise. You had completely forgotten he was there to witness the exhilarating meeting with Ashton.

Still, you don’t exactly appreciate having spectators. You turn on your heel, catching the man’s curious eyes. He barely looked at you twice earlier, but now that Ashton decided to claim you as his for the time being, he seems to be interested.

What a competitive asshole.

“Sorry, I don’t remember flagging you down for one of your mediocre drinks and unwanted opinions,” you say, tone clipped as you push yourself away from the bar. “Do what you’re paid to do.”

Spinning on your heel, you walk away before he can attempt to retaliate.

You have barely been here an hour, yet the idea of meeting Ashton is a thrill you hate how much you’re looking forward to feeling. It’s not like anything much more interesting is going on, seeing as half of the people you know from here probably just remember your social media handle better than your name.

So, despite your better judgement, you walk out of the venue.

—

The biting chill of the wind makes goosebumps cascade down your skin, and you fight back the urge to frown. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to do as Ashton asked, after all, who’s to say he was even truthful?

Maybe you just look like a fucking idiot, standing outside of the venue in a skimpy dress, freezing your ass off.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean back against the brick wall, watching as the cars drive past you without a second thought. No paparazzi, probably nobody worth photographing inside.

“My Barbie, looking all pretty, waiting just for me,” you hear that voice, same arrogance that taints every word. Snapping your gaze up, your eyes find two jade ones. “I’m just about the luckiest bastard in this world.”

You narrow your eyes, straightening your spine as you face him again. “You could’ve let me wait for you inside,” you hiss. “I’m freezing my ass off here. Making me stand in the cold? Really?”

Ashton waves a hand, dismissing your frustration. “I didn’t make you do anything, Y/N,” he shrugs, stepping closer, once again crowding you against the wall. There’s a lone cigarette tucked behind his ear, you notice.

It’s fully black.

The leather of his jacket is cool against your already chilled skin, but when his arms wrap around your waist, the temperature is the least of your worries.

“I can get you warm again,” he promises. “I’ll make it up to you, you know I will. By the time this is over, you’ll forget you were even cold in the first place.”

“I’m not sure what you think ‘this’ is,” you huff, poking at his chest with your finger. “I hardly know you.”

Ashton lets out a sound of mock indignation, pulling back in horror. “Where are my manners?” he shakes his head, continuing with the ruse. “I’m Ashton Irwin, baby. Drummer for the sickest band in the world. Ya ever heard of The Neurotics?”

You blink, unimpressed. The name does sound familiar, much to your dismay. You probably heard something about them in passing, maybe even a song, but your brain doesn’t immediately conjure up an answer.

“You’re just some guy in a leather jacket.”

Ashton smirks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m God.”

You don’t bother dignifying such a statement with a reply. Instead, you scoff, but the effect Ashton’s words I’m have on you is undeniable.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but the lack of conviction in your tone only makes Ashton’s smirk deepen.

His calloused fingers find your chin, forcing your gaze to lock with yours. The chill that had been clinging to you before disappears, replaced by the unbearable heat of having him so close to you.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, Barbie,” he muses, delighted by the effect he has on you.

The space between you is basically nonexistent, sharing the same air, same breath, same excitement for the inevitable. Ashton pulls away slightly, just as your body starts leaning closer to his subconsciously.

You try not to acknowledge the slight disappointment you feel at that, watching curiously as he reaches for the cigarette behind his ear.

“You smoke?” You ask, desperate to hear another one of his quips. He’s addictive.

Ashton places the cigarette between his lips, glancing up at you through his lashes. “Nah,” he mutters, voice muffled as he pats his pockets for a light. “Just when I’m drunk enough, I suppose. These are Luke’s.”

There is that name again— Luke. You file it away, noticing the importance he tends to give it.

“Your friend, the one you abandoned me for?” You tease, standing straighter.

Ashton huffs out a laugh, bringing the lighter and sparking his cigarette. The strong, smoky scent of cloves engulfs your senses, surprisingly pleasant. You try not to smoke, being all too aware of the yellowing teeth and dry skin, but this feels like something you can’t pass up on.

“Never that,” he answers, placing a hand over his heart. Smoke curls around his every word. “But that’s my brother. Duty calls sometimes.”

You nod slowly, taking the black cigarette from between Ashton’s finger and taking a cautious pull. You’re not exactly new to smoking, having had a few questionable habits back in high school.

Your eyes catch on the mauve stain on the butt of the cigarette, remnants of your lipstick.

Ashton finds it too, pupils dilating hungrily.

“Same duty as raising a child that isn’t yours?” you ask. Everything he gives is enough to entice you, but never enough to fully figure out.

“Asking so many questions for someone who just wants to kiss me,” he cocks his head, taking another long drag of his cigarette.

Narrowing your eyes, you shake your head. He isn’t wrong, your sight has been trained on his lips all night, too plump and pink to be fair. His have been on yours just as much.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” you say. “You can’t just go around assuming that, Ashton.”

“Fuck, I love it when you say my name,” his voice drops, breathless to emphasize the effect you have on him. “What do I need to do to hear it again?”

His face is close again, hand coming to cup your cheek. The touch is surprisingly tender, but it makes your entire body come alive.

“Kiss you, maybe?” He continues, the smile never melting off his face. “You might get mad at me, but I bet it’ll probably be hot.”

Rolling your eyes, you place your hand over his chest. His skin is warm and alive beneath your palm. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

There’s a brief flicker of surprise on his face, but it quickly vanishes when the words seem to settle in.

“Guess so.”

He doesn’t waste a second, ducking his head until his lips are pressed against yours. You inhale sharply, surprised by the softness of his lips, the pressure that seems so sure and steady.

Your hands come up, wrapping around his neck. The kiss deepens as Ashton’s tongue darts out to tease at your bottom lip. He moves with the same confidence and arrogance you have come to expect from him, but it still makes your knees feel weak.

The cold brick wall hits your back, and you gasp into Ashton’s mouth. He takes this opportunity to finally slip his tongue past your lips, licking into your mouth with quiet fervor.

It feels like ecstasy, the large calloused hands holding on to your waist, roaming your exposed back greedily as he pulls you closer, undoing you perfectly with every movement of his lips.

Your hands come up to tangle in the sandy curls, soft beneath your finger tips. When you tug slightly, Ashton lets out a pleased hum, hands dropping to your waist.

His lips travel a sure path from your mouth down to your jaw, leaving a trail of fire burning in its wake. You throw your head back, feeling as Ashton nips at your pulse point.

The lights or the city blur when you open your eyes, for a moment you had almost forgotten you were in public. Still, the intensity of Ashton’s kisses makes you forget to worry about it.

His hands are traveling down your body slowly, no doubt watching your reactions carefully, searching for a greenlight he knows you’ll give him. When you don’t protest the path they’ve taken, he smirks against your skin, returning back to your lips as his hands find what they were looking for.

He squeezes your ass firmly, enough that you gasp, but just as he probably expected, you don’t complain. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, the sharp pain making you moan into his mouth.

“You sound so pretty,” Ashton mutters in between kisses, breathless. “Fuck, I can’t wait to see how loud you’ll get for me. Isn’t that right, Barbie?”

You freeze. The idea of going home with him did cross your mind, but it was more of a fleeting thought than an actual conviction. Ashton pulls away slightly, letting you catch your breath as your foreheads rest against each other’s.

“I just met you,” you answer breathlessly, lips still swollen from the make-out. “You can’t possibly be that confident.”

“I am,” he answers, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, then your cheek, your nose, and finally— your forehead. “I told you, I think we’re going to be in each other’s lives for a while. I think today is just the start of it all, and I’m about to be the luckiest motherfucker I’ve ever met.”

You’re breathing heavily, the implication of the words making your head swim. “What, we’re gonna be best friends?”

He grins, that devilish flash of teeth that you’ve been catching glimpses of all night. “Exactly that,” he agrees. “Best friends forever. Besties. We might even get matching locket necklaces from Claire’s.”

“And you want to see me naked?”

He nods. “I think anyone who gets to see you naked is lucky,” he starts. “And I just so happen to be the luckiest one tonight.”

Your cheeks heat, and you roll your eyes in an effort to lighten the tone of the conversation. “That’s an interesting definition of ‘best friends’ you got there.”

Ashton looks at you for a beat, nodding slightly before reaching for his phone. You watch as he pulls up the phone app, the keypad staring at you like a taunt.

“Give me your number,” he instructs, placing the device between your hands. “I’ll show you just how much of a best friend I can be.”

Despite your better judgement, you do as he says, handing his phone back without a word. He screenshots the number, closing the phone.

He never gives you his.

“Now what do you say about getting an uber and ditching this lame ass party?” he asks, the same playful attitude from before coming back full force.

You purse your lips. “You gonna make it worth my time, Irwin?”

“Always, I’ll be your shoulder to cry on,” he smirks. “Or to put your legs on. I’ll be the bestest friend you’ll ever have.”

—

Getting into the car was a blur.

Between the kisses and the wandering hands, you had no idea when Ashton managed to even order the Uber. Not that it matters much anymore, sitting in the back seat of some car, with his lips attached to your neck.

Your eyes are half-lidded, and you bite your lip to contain any sounds that might escape before you let them. His palms are rough but warm on your skin, his teeth scraping against your neck enough to make you shiver.

The blood beneath your skin is boiling hot, the pressure building at the base of your spine makes it impossible to think of anything but the steady touch of the man beside you.

The driver hasn’t looked back once, which you’re thankful for. Your hand cups the back of Ashton’s neck, nails scratching slightly at his scalp. He isn’t close enough, no matter how much of you he’s touching, it never feels close enough.

His hand rests on your inner thigh, your dress riding up eagerly high. Ashton breathes heavily against your neck, a clear sign of his own desperation.

“You’re so attractive it hurts,” he mutters between pants. Your heart skips a few beats, feeling as his hand rises higher and higher. “You gonna let me make you feel good, Barbie? Make a mess of that pretty face of yours?”

You screw your eyes shut, feeling as Ashton’s clever fingers brush against the damp spot in your panties. “Ashton,” you warn, shooting a panicked look towards the driver.

His eyes are trained on the road, entirely oblivious to the depravity going on in his back seat.

“Shh,” he whispers, licking along the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna be good for me, right? Let me make a mess out of you right here while you sit all pretty and quiet.”

You let out a small whimper, and your heart seizes. Still, no reaction from the driver.

You feel Ashton push the fabric aside, and the heat of his fingers as they brush against your entrance. You’re wet, you swear you can hear it over the steady hum of the music.

“You’re so wet for me, Y/N,” he whispers, mischief clinging to every word. The pad of his finger traces over your clit, just enough pressure to have your body freezing on the spot. “This pussy is already all mine, isn’t it?”

Slowly, he starts to rub circles, each making electricity shoot down your spine. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and your body leans into the sensation.

“Fuck,” the word slips past your lips without permission, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s quiet enough that you can tell yourself nobody heard it.

Ashton’s free hand comes up to your face, sealing over your lips as he places a gentle kiss to your cheekbone. “Be quiet, Barbie,” he whispers tauntingly. “Wouldn’t want to get caught.”

As if to punctuate his words, his fingers slip inside you. The stretch is delicious, and you feel it everywhere. Inhaling sharply, your hand shoots out to grab his forearm, nails digging into the leather of his jacket.

He curls his fingers expertly, and stars dance across your vision. His lips pepper kisses along all the exposed skin he can manage to get access to, tongue tracing a dizzying path.

“So fucking pretty,” he hums, thumb finding your clit, beginning to work in tandem with his other fingers. “That feel good?”

Your legs shake, and you do everything in your power to keep them open. Your eyes dart back to the driver, the oblivious man still focused on the road.

Your eyes flutter shut as Ashton picks up the pace, rubbing your clit with just enough pressure that you melt into the bliss.

Shifting your head to the side, you look at Ashton. His green eyes are wide, but they’re cocky. He doesn’t tear his eyes away, staring deep into your soul— almost as if he can read every thought that races in your mind.

Another curl of his fingers, and the sound is so filthy that you can’t help but gasp. It’s muffled by Ashton’s hand, which is still splayed over your lips, but the bliss is so strong that you can’t bring yourself to care if someone sees.

If he keeps going like this, you might just let him fuck you in front of the whole world for the sake of being claimed by him.

“Atta girl,” he mutters, pleased. “Taking me so well. Letting me play with this pretty little pussy. It’s all mine, isn’t it?”

You nod, entirely too eager. Your self-respect has vanished, but truthfully you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Heat begins to build in the pit of your belly, a fire so strong you’re sure you will set the entire car ablaze. Your hand finally lets go of Ashton’s bicep, tangling instead on those soft sandy curls. He moans, a quiet little sound that has you clenching around his fingers.

“You gonna come for me, Y/N?” his breathing is ragged in your ear, but you nod.

You glance down, catching sight of his fingers as they slip in and out of you. They glimmer with you, covered in every ounce of your desire. The sight is filthy, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

Ashton keeps fucking you with his fingers, pace never faltering. The heat only grows, spreading further across your body as you coil tight with the looming release.

You let out a small whimper, his thumb still tracing circles around your clit. You’re so close your vision swims— every pull of his skilled digits has your legs shaking.

“You take my fingers so fucking good,” he praises, nipping your earlobe. “You’re gonna take my cock even better.”

He’s knuckle-deep, coaxing what you’re sure is going to be an Earth-shattering orgasm out of you. You feel something press against you, the tell-tale sign of Ashton’s own need for you.

Carefully, you untangle your hand from his curls, letting it cover his clothed cock. He’s so fucking hard, large from what you can feel, and the idea that he’ll be buried inside you is enough to have you teetering the edge.

The pressure is building, and you can’t keep fighting it anymore. Your legs shake, and your breathing grows heavier. Ashton lets out soft little moans, each one directly in your ear.

“Come for me.”

You break at his words, a gasp tearing from your throat as your body tenses with the force of your release. Your legs shake, and stars dance across your vision.

Ashton doesn’t stop his ministrations until he’s sure you’ve ridden out every wave, and you collapse against his chest. Finally, he withdraws his fingers, shooting a curious look at the driver.

His hands are tense on the wheel.

Ashton smirks, looking down at you with those jade eyes. The mess you left behind on his fingers would be embarrassing, but his face lights up at the realization.

Holding your gaze, he brings his sticky fingers up to his mouth, tongue darting out to clean them. He lets out a pleased hum, and your words die in your throat.

“Tastes just as good as I’d imagined,” he comments.

“Fuck,” you whisper, leaning back against the seat to try and regain your composure.

The car starts to slow down, and you don’t really recognize the area. It must be Ashton’s house, you figure, and when the car finally comes to a stop, your suspicion is confirmed when Ashton mumbles a something to the driver you can’t quite catch.

Turning to you, he runs a hand through his hair. “See you around, Barbie,” he winks. “Get home safe.”

Your eyes widen. What?

“Ashton, wait—“

You barley get to finish your sentence before the door flies open and Ashton steps out of the Uber. The door closes with a slam, and in your shock you can’t even bring yourself to say anything.

Ashton stands on the curb, looking all too pleased with himself as he leaves you with a final salute.

“Excuse me?” the driver asks, cutting right through your shock. “Uh, what is your address? The gentleman paid in advance for you.”

You frown, anger boiling beneath your skin. He never even gave you his fucking number. For all you know, he doesn’t even live where he was dropped off.

Maybe he’s going to see that best friend of his, after all.

Your throat tightens, but you will not cry. You barely know the guy. Sure, he fingered you in an Uber and made you come harder than anyone ever has before.

So what?

You mutter your address, anger clinging to every word, and you speed off into the night.

You’re suddenly too aware of the stickiness left between your thighs, the night that you thought was promised fully slipping from between your fingers. So much for feeling fucking special.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean against the window. You took Ashton’s seat when he left, which is still warm from him.

At least you know you didn’t conjure him up out of pure loneliness.

Your phone buzzes, making you jump as it startles you out of your haze. Glancing down at it like it will explode in any second, you pick it up.

It’s a message from an unknown number.

i can still smell you on my fingers.

You blush, more out of anger than anything else. You don’t bother dignifying that with a response, throwing your phone down angrily beside you.

Ashton Irwin can go fuck himself for all you care.

Then the phone vibrates again, but you try to ignore it. The pull of curiosity is strong, so strong that it only takes a couple of seconds before you’re darting to grab your phone, the screen lighting the darkness around you.

i have a feeling i’m gonna be in your life a long, long time barbie. get home safe.

Yeah. Fuck that guy.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

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