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benedictscanvas · 5 months

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pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3

warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)

---

“Hi love.”

Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes.

He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.

Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.

You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.

If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.

“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.

“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”

“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”

You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.

“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”

You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.

“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”

He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.

“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”

You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.

“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”

Jamie winces.

“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”

You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.

“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“

“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”

You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.

“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”

“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”

He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.

“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”

Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.

---

He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.

After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.

You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.

“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”

Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.

“Kit room.”

It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.

Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.

“Y/N? Love?”

“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”

Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.

“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”

He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.

“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”

Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.

Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.

“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.

“You’re alright, though?”

You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.

“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”

No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.

Tell her, you prick.

He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.

This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.

“What’s it say?”

You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.

“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”

You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.

“On the ceiling?”

He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.

It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.

“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”

“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.

“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.

“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”

You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.

“I spy with my little eye…”

---

It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.

No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.

He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.

“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.

He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.

Tell him, you silly shit.

It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.

“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”

“What?”

He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.

“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”

He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.

You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.

"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."

He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.

Maybe again.

"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."

He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.

"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."

You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.

"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.

(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso x reader

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meandtheyeehaws · 4 months

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Hi there I love your art! What are your opinions on any fan redesigns of the characters in helluva boss and hazbin hotel? Are there any you like and are there any characters you would redesign?

i have in fact seen some cool designs around!!! i have one fav tho but i cant find it rn, ill link it when i do 😭

i myself am not rlly a big redesigner i more like. change small stuff sometimes but alot of the time thats also just cuz of my style jddjdkkd

i would and did get rid of al's fuckass bob tho whoops

#asks

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curioushabitforarivergod · 1 month

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Pre wwii what would conditions in the orphanage Tom grew up in hsve been like? (Ie in the 1926-37 period)

Honestly, conditions would've been pretty shit. Firstly disease was rife, especially as the East End (where Wool's presumably is) was a slum throughout the Industrial Revolution and into the 20th century (with it only really changing post WWII). Tom would be familiar with stuff like mumps and whooping cough, even if he never got sick himself due to magic protecting him (as we see with Harry). But they'd also be other diseases like tuberculosis, diphtheria, scarlet fever, rickets, polio and even the flu. It's likely multiple children at the orphanage would have physical disabilities due to polio maybe even with callipers (a permanent kind of splint to help people who'd suffered from polio walk). While children would often be isolated with most illnesses, it would be incredibly difficult for an orphanage to do so, and it's probable that children died as bouts of sickness and disease spread through the orphanage. Kids who were one day at dinner are gone the next.

The first legal precedent for adopting children occurs with the Adoption of Children Act in 1926, so legal adoption how we understand it today, was fairly new. Children were lined up on Sundays, washed and in their best clothes (after attending church!) for rich people to adopt, but it tended to be a way for getting free labour rather than out of an actual desire to have children to love and care for.

I'm not sure what JKR was basing her orphanage off (likely something modern), but Tom probably wouldn't have gotten his own room, even if he was considered 'insane'. There simply wasn't enough room. Children shared a dormitory, one that could be overstuffed and cramped, sometimes even with several children to a bed. Food was similar — it was a cramped long hall (almost like a smaller, horrible version of the great hall) with rows of tables and children waiting their turn for a meal. They were probably only given one or two a day; likely gruel in the morning and bread with a stew in the evening. Tom's diet would've been vegetarian because meat was insanely expensive, although he may have had meat on Christmas and potentially Sundays if the orphanage could afford it.

On that note, Tom and the other orphans would've been Christian, most likely CoE. Although Catholic orphanages did exist, Wool's is not named after a Saint and so was more likely Protestant. Tom would've gone to church every Sunday, perhaps in a chapel on Wool's grounds, although if not, it would've been at the local church. He also would've been expected to pray. He'd go to Sunday School alongside normal school (which would've been at the local public school or perhaps, if Wool's was especially large, which I don't think it was, there would've been one of the staff who could teach or they'd bring someone in). For Christmas itself, Tom would likely get an orange which was incredibly special due to his diet likely not including fruit.

Tom would've shared everything, including clothes. He probably didn't even have underwear, and may sometimes have had to wear dresses/frocks, especially when he was younger, due to a lack of clothes. These clothes would've been stiff and itchy, potentially with lice. They would've been washed once a week, as with the orphans themselves (in large buckets!), and been hung out to dry on huge lines. Depending on how many clothes there were to go round, Tom would've spent this time in underwear (although sometimes orphans didn't even have this) or in another pair of clothes that had been worn by other children hundreds of times before. It's no wonder Tom stole — he literally had nothing, not even his own clothes (and perhaps not even underwear either).

Tom would've been expected to care for children younger than him, including babies, from a very young age. Even if he didn't enjoy it, Tom would've been good with young children and it's no wonder he was able to make Head Boy at Hogwarts because of it.

The Great Depression would've made these conditions worse. Although some of the conditions would've improved over the years, the Great Depression meant that everything was more expensive. Meals were probably downsized, if not cut entirely to one a day. The amount of kids at the orphanage probably rose during this time due to parents having to abandon children, which would've been especially prevalent in the East End which, as I've mentioned previously, was just slums and dockyard. Meat probably disappeared completely from Tom's diet, even at Christmas.

All in all, Tom's early life and conditions at the orphanage were grim. Kids died around him, conditions were cramped with diseases, illness and lice, he'd not even have his own clothes, meals would be limited, he'd spend his free time looking after kids younger than him and he'd fear being adopted. The roaring twenties were shit and the thirties shitter still. Hogwarts would've been the best thing that ever happened to Tom — it's no wonder he called it his home.

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle meta #harry potter meta #hp historical context #hp meta #idk what research jkr did but she was wrong #I found parts of this with just a quick google search and other stuff I already knew #but jkr failed in the research department #tom would NOT have had his own room #also this makes dumbles treatment of tom so much worse #ask #anon ask

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souperbloom · 3 months

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https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR3Bwg74/ yesssss sir🫡

i know where your head’s at anon. trust me.

the tiktok of ash talking crazy during the valentine genius interview can be found here.

————

cherry pie. [A.I.]

🍒 boyfriend!ash

valentine’s day smut. tee hee.

a/n: happy belated valentine’s day soup nation <3 sorry for my inactivity. school has been whooping my ass but i promise ill be back soon ! :3

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut!, oral (f!receiving), pet names, overstim.

WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

It wouldn’t take long for Ashton to figure out what your Valentine’s Day surprise held in store.

Your body, at his disposal, splayed out on his plush king-sized mattress; dressed head to toe in red lace and satin. You were like a gift-wrapped present, tied up with a little red bow.

It was everything you’d been dreaming about since the moment you saw that little red set in the window of your local lingerie shop. The perfect surprise for the most perfect boy.

"Ash, baby?" you call into the distance as you hear the shower turn off from the master bathroom.

After dinner, you told Ashton you’d rather head home and unwind, as opposed to going out and getting an after-dessert drink. And of course, despite putting up a bit of a fuss about it, your boyfriend agreed.

You told him to hop in the shower and get ready for bed: setting the expectation that there’d be no sugar tonight, and all you really wanted to do was cuddle in bed and watch a movie.

The disappointment laced through his features when you told him what you wanted from him was quite obvious. But since he had fussed enough about not going to the bar, he figured a little less bitching would do him some good on this special day.

It was hard enough for you to bite back your smile while lying in his face, already knowing what would be waiting for him after his shower.

"Yeah?" He finally replies from the bathroom, the echo of his voice bouncing off of the tiles and into your ears.

"You comin’ in soon?" you ask, hints of innocence in your question as you adjust your position to fit the steamy energy you were trying to exude.

"Yeah, yeah— gimme a minute. I’ll be out before you know it, sugar.”

You couldn’t see it, but you could practically hear the smile that sprawled across his face within his lewd reply. He knew how much you adored that nickname.

Maybe he had a better clue than you thought.

A few more minutes pass you by, subtly quiet music streaming from the TV filling you with anticipation. You couldn’t want to see the look on his face when he walked out to you like this. It took you long enough to find a set of lingerie as perfect as this one; only to have to speedily change into it the moment you heard the faucet turn on.

"Baby," you whine, faux impatience woven into your tone, "M’gettin’ tired."

You hear Ashton scoff playfully, slightly seeing his bare silhouette through the mirror as he takes a towel to his head to dry his hair off.

"I’m coming, I’m coming—" he coos, the towel still covering his head as he begins to whistle.

You dip your head back into the pillows for a moment, letting out a satisfied sigh. Seeing his body in the mirror was already getting you hot and bothered, not to mention the button-down shirt and leopard print jacket combo he had decided on wearing to dinner tonight. The thought of him drove you wild; and you were more than happy to submit to that.

Soon enough, Ashton emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and tucked into itself, accentuating his physique. Along with the other towel that was still on his head, causing him to lead himself back into the bedroom blindly.

"So I was thinking we could watch—"

His thought stops in its’ tracks the moment he slides the towel off of his head.

"—Holy shit."

When his eyes meet yours, they double in size instantly. There’s a longing in his gaze, as if seeing you whipped him through the space-time continuum and barely brought him back down to Earth.

"Oh, baby," he hums, his eyes continuing their journey down your body and taking you in, in all of your crimson, lace glory, "You’re too good t’me."

"Happy Valentine’s Day, Ash," you purr, running a seductive hand up your thigh and letting your index finger collect the fabric of your satin slip.

"My God. What am I to do with you, sugar? Wrapped up all pretty n’ nice for me… Fuck, you’re wearing the hell outta’ that thing, baby…"

His lovesick babbling continues as he nears the bed, dipping his knee down into the mattress. Your eyes still lingered on him, bottom lip caught between your teeth as the two of you have an erotic stare down.

"Do whatever you want t’me. This is your gift, after all." Your coy smile grows wider as he slowly starts to crawl towards you.

"Whatever I want, you say?" He repeats your question as if the answer wasn’t obvious, "I’m not sure if you’re ready for that."

His body now hovers over yours, savoring his last few glances before he tears you out of this outfit and has his way with you. You knew he’d get you out of it faster than you’d gotten into it.

"I’m ready for anything. I’ve waited all fuckin’ week for this." You giggle up into his sparkly fern eyes as he’s now fully on top of you, eyeing you like you were the last cookie in the cookie jar.

"All week? Jesus, baby… If I knew you were gonna’ get dolled up like this I’d have thrown a Valentine’s Day in January." His playful remark sends a chill down your spine as he takes the back of his hand and caresses your cheek.

"I’d get dolled up every night for you, you know this. Just thought I’d save it for a special occasion."

His hand begins a trail down your collarbone towards your chest, "I had a feeling you were up to somethin’. You had that look in your eye."

You chuckle, trying to ignore the moan threatening to spill from your lips, "What look?"

"The look you have when you’re up to no good. You’re a pretty shit liar," he teases.

"Well, I’d say I pulled this surprise off successfully, shit liar or not— That’s all I was really hoping for."

"Successful is an understatement, sugar. You look sweet enough to eat…" He hooks his finger onto the fabric between your breasts, tugging it down gently. "…Sweet like cherry pie."

Not another moment passes before Ashton is dipping down to wrangle you into a passionate kiss. His hands roam with fervor, feeling the contours of your body with his broad palms and taking breaks to gently squeeze the parts he loves most.

His tongue entwines with yours seamlessly, as he makes a sly effort to grind his hips down between your inviting thighs. You sigh into his mouth, lacing your arms around the back of his neck.

"Fuck me, baby, you’re obscene," he sighs, breaking the kiss momentarily to leave a trail of kisses down your neck towards the valley of your breasts, "Think I might have to have a slice of my cherry pie."

You nod as if to say, ‘duh, Ash', wordlessly consenting to his request. He always aimed to please you, despite sometimes being sent to bed unrewarded. But he was such a good sport about it; you sometimes believed that he preferred giving as opposed to receiving.

Generous. There’s the word for it.

"This outfit is gorgeous," he sighs dreamily between kisses trailing down your stomach, "I feel bad takin’ it off so soon."

You shake your head, an electric current shooting up your body as his kisses start to near towards the apex of your thigh. "Don’t feel bad, it’s served its’ purpose."

"Was it’s ‘purpose’ to drive me insane? Because— it’s doin’ a great job at that."

You shrug playfully, enjoying the fiery path of destruction that this little get-up was causing in your sweet boyfriend’s head. He could barely contain his excitement as he parted your legs, gazing at you hungrily with a smirk. His slender fingers then hook onto waistband of your panties, pulling them down and off of you at a tantalizingly slow speed.

"Gonna give you my hand. Squeeze when it’s too much for you, m’kay?"

You nod down at his mellow smile, and grab his extended hand as he positions himself.

"Mhm."

With a sigh, he caresses your inner thigh gently, taking in the sight of you. It was hard enough to be patient after he had promised something he was sure would drive you crazy; you knew him well, but not well enough.

You were sure he had some tricks up his sleeve.

"’Gonna make you feel so good…"

His gravelly voice trails off as he lowers his mouth to your core, lips hovering inches above where you needed him most. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t growing a bit impatient.

"Yeah?" you taunt, rubbing your thumb in circles over the back of his hand, "You’re all bark, no bite."

He chuckles lowly, still leaving patterns across the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, "And you’re gonna regret having such a smart mouth, sugar."

Without warning, he dips his head down and licks a stripe up your slit, gathering the wetness on his tongue with a sly smile. You groan on impact, naturally, watching his sandy curls scatter across his forehead with his movements.

You almost regretted what you said when he started to prod at your entrance with his tongue, letting his nose do all the work on your clit for him. It felt like a sensory overload; he had always shown his love for pleasuring you but, never to this magnitude.

"Ash, oh fuck—" your words come out choppy, staccato breaths breaking apart each syllable as your free hand flies to grip his hair. He hums into you in reply, the vibration from his baritone voice causing a ripple through his tongue to rip right through your lower half.

You start to writhe above him as his tongue works in tandem with the tip of his nose, all while peering up at you over your silky lace babydoll dress.

"Fuck, baby. F-feels so good," you groan, attempting to keep your eyes from lulling closed. The eye contact between you was far too mesmerizing to pull away from.

Upon hearing your sultry compliment, Ashton begins to move faster. He switches the focus to your sensitive bud, flicking his tongue quickly and causing another wave of pleasure to shoot through your limbs.

His free hand then moves to push up the fabric of your slip, resting his palm flat on your stomach while his mouth moves in circles. Your body lurches forward when he hits a particularly sweet spot, the pleasure almost becoming too much to bear.

You remembered briefly what he had told you about his hand… ‘squeeze when it becomes too much.’

So, you did.

It was too much.

Your heart rate was doubling and it was growing difficult for you to keep the stars away from the backs of your eyelids. You knew you were close to your limit.

But when your grip tightened around his hand—

He didn’t stop.

In fact, he began to move even faster. His eyes shimmered as he peered at you above your hips, watching your jaw fall slack as you’ve now lost any ability to keep your composure.

"Fuck, oh my god. Please—" you beg, mushing into a whining mess, "Ashton, please."

His ears perk up at your exasperated plea, quickly ripping his hand from your grasp and using it to replace his tongue. He pops his head up, upper lip and chin drenched in your juices as he studies you with a pout.

"Can ya’ give me a few more minutes, sugar? Tastes so fuckin’ good…"

As his skilled fingers move in place of his tongue, he makes sure not one moment of your time is unoccupied. He uses his thumb on your clit to draw moans out of the back of your throat; index finger dipping in and out of your entrance.

"B—but… It’s too… too much…" you whimper, interrupted by your own moans betraying you, "M’ so close…"

"Please? I’ll go slow…" Ashton pleads, starting a gentle trail of kisses onto the inside of your thigh, "Not gonna be too much for you, sugar… ‘Said I could do whatever I wanted… Just need a few more minutes t’ taste you, my love."

You open your mouth to reply, but the sound of your voice is replaced by a pitchy moan as he dips that index finger fully inside of you. He curls it upwards and starts that familiar ‘come hither’ motion, creating pressure in your tummy and bringing you to cry.

"O—okay…" you mumble meekly, "F—few more minutes."

Ashton lets out a quiet chuckle at your words; finding the audacity to smile before he’s diving back in to indulge in you. You no longer had control over your shaky limbs, nor any control over the loud expletives tumbling from your lips. The sounds of your wetness boom through your head, as that familiar feeling begins to creep up on you.

"Ashton, baby— gonna’ cum… Gonna’ cum really soon…" You try your hand at warning him; but he was one track minded. He kept his pace, never faltering, using his fingers and tongue in cohesion with one another to send you hurdling towards the finish line.

As he savors his last few tastes of you, he groans in delight. The sounds of his smug satisfaction are just what you need to fully push you to the brink of your orgasm.

"Fuck, Ash! Oh, shit—"

Your pleas were merely encouragement for Ashton. His rhythm continues to pick up speed, climbing and climbing until galaxies were fogging your vision and your legs were tensing up.

"Ashton!"

The final shout of his name had you doubling over in ecstasy, yet his tongue continued on, as did his fingers— you were relishing in the feeling of your orgasm as the butterflies once encaged in your abdomen had set loose and began fluttering throughout your body. He rode you through your high with a final few kitten-licks to your clit, for good measure.

The tension in your shoulders and thighs had finally cracked once his movements came to a slow. Your breathing, heavy and labored, started to readjust to the oxygen levels back down on Earth.

"Ashton… oh— oh my god," you sigh, watching as your boyfriend tenderly starts to massage your jittery legs after he had practically sent you into orbit.

"I know, right?" He smirks confidently at your airy reply, pleased with his ability to ruin you so effortlessly.

You can’t help but giggle, listening to the thunderous beating of your own heart through your chest. He moves to comfort you instantly, kissing your thigh gently before resting his head in its’ place, "Dinner and dessert for Valentine’s Day? What a lucky guy I am…"

"The luckiest, I think," you hum, petting his head with a smile, "We should celebrate holidays like this more often."

Ashton chuckles, reaching up to interlock your fingers before planting a kiss on your knuckles.

"Got time for another round, sugar? President’s Day is right around the corner."

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#5sos fanfic #ashton irwin smut #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton 5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos #ashton irwin #soupster requests

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