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undersugarnights · 6 months ago

Text

A Flower Bud In Concrete

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ pairing: ashton irwin x hemmings!reader

✧ summary: a surprising reaction to a negative pregnancy test has you and ashton discovering some new kinks.

✧ warnings: absolute filth be warned, heavy breeding kink, dirty talk, slight oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, cum play, fingering, hair pulling, choking, mentions of COVID-19

✧ word count: 5.9k

✧ title: more — by Halsey

✧ author’s note: LAWD it’s about damn fucking time i write for ashton. the things i would let him do to me YOU DON’T GET IT. anyway this is absolutely the filthiest thing i have ever written and i love it. huge thank you to a special someone for helping me out with this — your filthy brain never ceases to amaze me. hope you guys enjoy some filthy quarantine (post?) smut with black haired ashton because i loved writing it.

also, this was inspired by @souperbloom and their AMAZING ashton blurb “island time” which you NEED to read.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The word messy didn’t even begin to describe your life. It was almost comical, the way everything had derailed so quickly—like the universe had yanked the rug out from under you, leaving you to scramble in the aftermath.

Your mind spun as you sat in your car, staring at the unopened test on the passenger seat. The small box seemed to glare back at you, taunting you with the weight of fear it carried. Just looking at it made your stomach churn, flashes of a future you didn’t dare let yourself imagine creeping into your thoughts. You shoved them away just as quickly, refusing to let yourself hope for something that felt so far out of reach.

Your phone sat untouched on your lap, the weight of it somehow heavier than it should have been. You hadn’t even pulled out of the driveway yet, but the thought of what you were about to do made you want to retreat into the safety of your car forever. With shaky hands, you picked it up, your fingers hovering over the screen before you numbly dialed the number you dreaded.

Ashton, of course, didn’t take long to answer. He picked up on the second ring, his voice bright and cheerful as always. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted, the smile in his tone almost palpable. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you today. You coming over? ‘Cause if so, I should probably clean—”

“You don’t have to clean up anything,” you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended as you bit down on your bottom lip. You stared at your lap, the words you needed to say catching in your throat. Finally, you forced them out. “I have a test… I’m late. And, uh, I figured I should be with you when I figure out why.”

The other end of the line went silent, the lack of response from Ashton tightening the knot of stress already coiled in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, waiting, the quiet stretching unbearably.

“Does Luke know?” he asked at last, clearing his throat as if trying to sound casual.

You shut your eyes, frustration flaring at the mention of your little brother. “Why the hell would he know if he has no idea about us?”

“Right, right,” Ashton groaned, his tone sheepish. There was a pause before he continued, softer now. “Okay, well… I’ll see you soon, alright? You’ll take the test, and we’ll figure it out from there. Just like we always do.”

His voice was so kind, so gentle and reassuring that you could almost cry. “Okay,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper as you let out the breath you had been holding.

“Don’t sweat it, babe,” he reassured, the nickname falling off his lips without any hesitation. It sounded almost natural, and it definitely made your stomach tighten. “Everything will be fine.”

You frowned, looking out your window and taking in the relatively sunny day. “Yeah, I guess so,” you mumbled. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

Ashton shifted in the other line. “Drive safe.”

The call hung up with a soft click after that, leaving you once again in anxious silence. You threw your head back against the seat, letting out a long, defeated sigh as your hands came up to grip the wheel.

You first met Ashton when he was just a scrawny kid with hair that swooped over his eyes—your little brother’s annoying friend. Despite being only a year older than him, his friendship with Luke made him feel much younger in your eyes.

When your acting career started taking off, you didn’t give Ashton—or anyone else from those days—much thought. At least, not until their cute little YouTube covers got discovered and their band skyrocketed to fame. Thanks to your close relationship with Luke, you began seeing more of his bandmates.

Ashton always lingered a little closer than the others, his nervous energy unmistakable. The rest of the boys treated you like their older sister—occasionally annoying, but familiar and comfortable. It was obvious Ashton’s feelings were different, but you never dwelled on it.

Not when you met Daniel. He was everything you thought you wanted—kind, charming, and effortlessly sweet. You’d been hesitant at first, unsure if your feelings would match his, but he quickly swept you off your feet.

For nearly five years, the two of you were happy together. Everyone in your life adored him—even Jack, who could be overbearing at times, warmed to him easily.

He was everything to you, his smile brighter than the sun itself. Daniel had shown you a new side of life, filling it with warmth and the promise of forever. But promises are fragile things, and eventually, he broke his—leaving you shattered and alone to gather the pieces of your broken heart.

As if that wasn’t enough, the world began to crumble around you. Whispers of a new illness dominated every conversation, and soon enough, isolation became your reality. Alone in your home, with no one for company but your own thoughts, you struggled to hold on. Work had slowed to a crawl, and seeing friends was too risky.

Ashton had always been the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back without hesitation. His compassion extended to everyone in his orbit, always checking in to make sure they were okay. So when your phone lit up with his call, something inside you broke.

You poured your heart out, tears spilling as he listened to every word of your pain. He let you cry, soothing you with soft words and a patient ear. You felt terrible about it—he’d only been calling to check in out of kindness, not to become a makeshift therapist.

You apologized over and over, feeling guilty for taking up his time, insisting that what you really needed was professional help. But Ashton wouldn’t hear of it. He reassured you, his voice firm yet gentle, that it was no trouble at all. “I’m happy to listen,” he said. And you believed him.

That’s how it started—a strange kind of pen-pal relationship born out of quarantine. It became rare for you not to be on the phone with Ashton. What began as conversations about Daniel and your heartbreak gradually turned into something lighter. You talked about life, movies you’d seen, and the places you’d go when the world opened up again.

One night, during one of your usual calls, Ashton said something that made your breath hitch. His voice, normally so confident, was uncharacteristically shy.

“Yeah, so… basically,” he started, hesitating for a moment. “I only called you. At first, anyway. I was bored out of my mind, sitting in the house with nothing to do. And—I don’t know—I just found myself dialing your number. I’m glad I did.”

That confession had shifted something inside you. Ashton—who had always just been Ashton—suddenly became something else entirely. You started noticing the little things: the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled, how a stray black curl would occasionally fall over his face, or the intense focus in his eyes when he drummed.

When restrictions eased, your friendship transitioned from FaceTime calls to in-person hangouts. Being around Ashton felt surprisingly effortless. He had a way of calming your nerves with a joke or a warm smile, and sometimes, you couldn’t help but notice how his touch lingered just a little longer than necessary.

One night, the two of you got carried away, talking late into the night.

“Shit,” you groaned, glancing at the time on your phone. “It’s so late.”

Ashton just smiled, shifting closer to you on the sofa. His eyes were red from the blunt you’d shared earlier, but they still sparkled with that familiar brightness. “So stay,” he said casually. “I don’t see why you should go.”

The thought of returning to your lonely house made your stomach sink. Staying with Ashton, basking in the warmth of his company, felt like the only right choice. But one thing was clear: if you stayed, if your eyes kept flicking to his lips, you would do something you might regret.

And you told him that.

Maybe it was the weed loosening your tongue, or maybe it was the way Ashton looked so unfairly good in his old muscle tee and shorts, but the words spilled out before you could stop them.

To your surprise, Ashton’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smirk. “What if I want you to?” he murmured, leaning impossibly closer. His hand lifted to your face, his fingers lightly tracing along your jaw and down your neck. His eyes never left yours, their intensity making your heart race.

So you gave into your innermost desires and kissed him. And he kissed you back.

The next thing you knew, you were a tangle of limbs on the carpet, the crackling fire casting shadows of your moving bodies across the room as muffled moans filled the space.

That’s how it started—how your unconventional relationship began. You’d made it clear from the beginning that you wanted to take things slow, unsure if moving on from Daniel so soon was the right decision. You and Ashton agreed to keep things casual for now, just hooking up and seeing where it led.

Another mutual decision was to keep your arrangement private—especially from Luke. Your little brother had always been harmless, and you weren’t worried he’d be angry about your relationship with Ashton. But you didn’t want to get his hopes up either. Luke would’ve been over the moon if he found out his best friend and his sister were together, so until you both were certain about where this was headed, Luke would remain in the dark.

For a few months, it worked seamlessly. Life had started to regain a semblance of normalcy as the year drew to a close. That was until your period decided to throw you a curveball.

The drive to Ashton’s place was filled with anxious thoughts and worst-case scenarios playing on a loop in your mind. By the time you pulled up to his house, your hands were clammy from gripping the steering wheel, and the box of pregnancy tests in your lap felt heavier than it should.

You rang the doorbell, clutching the box tightly as if it were a lifeline. Ashton took a few seconds to answer, but when he opened the door, his warm smile melted a fraction of your fear.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he greeted, pulling you in by the waist and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. His easy affection steadied you, if only for a moment.

“Hey, Ash,” you murmured, your voice barely audible against his lips. Pulling back slightly, you met his gaze, searching for any sign of unease or irritation. All you found was concern and affection in his hazel eyes.

Ashton frowned, his hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone, and he gave you that signature reassuring smile. “Go take the test. Whatever it says, we’ll figure it out together.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning forward to rest your head against his chest. For a moment, you allowed yourself to stay there, wrapped in the safety of his arms, wishing you could freeze time and keep the weight of reality at bay.

But you couldn’t hide forever. Reluctantly, you pulled back, giving him a weak, trembling smile. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“I’ll see you on the other side, Y/N,” Ashton replied with a small nod, his voice steady as he let you go.

With your heart pounding, you walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You avoided your reflection in the mirror, unwilling to face the physical manifestation of your nerves.

Hands shaking, you unwrapped the first test and let out a deep, uneven sigh. The whole thing felt absurdly humiliating—peeing on a stick to determine the course of your future. In another situation, you might have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

But this wasn’t that kind of moment.

You capped the test and placed it on the sink, refusing to look at it as the seconds ticked by and the result formed. There was no use in dwelling on it, or stalling the results, so with a deep breath, you reached out and shakily grabbed the test.

Not pregnant.

The words were blunt and stark, staring back at you with an unrelenting certainty. Yet, a sudden surge of denial hit you. That couldn’t be possible, could it?

You had expected relief to come with those two words, but it didn’t. Instead, tears pricked at your eyes, and you slumped onto the closed toilet seat, unable to tear your gaze away from the test in your trembling hand.

How insane did you have to be to feel sad over a negative pregnancy test? The thought rattled in your mind as a quiet sob escaped your lips.

You had always wanted kids—or at least one. The idea of becoming a mother had been a dream you carried for as long as you could remember. It was a dream that had, in part, torn your relationship with Daniel to shreds. He had made it abundantly clear he didn’t want kids, especially not when you and he had faced a similar predicament.

But you did. You wanted one with everything in you.

Your chest tightened as you shut your eyes tightly, trying to push away the ache clawing at your heart. Maybe it was for the best, you told yourself. After all, you and Ashton hadn’t even defined the status of your relationship. You hadn’t dared to dream of having that kind of conversation, let alone one about kids.

Still, the weight of disappointment was unbearable as you wiped your face and mustered the strength to walk out of the bathroom. Ashton was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, nervously biting his nails.

His gaze snapped to you the moment you appeared, his body straightening as he pushed off the wall. He looked tense, his brows slightly furrowed, his hands fidgeting.

“Well?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly with the anxiety he was trying to mask.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to keep any trace of emotion out of your voice. “I’m not pregnant,” you said evenly, squaring your shoulders as you met his eyes.

For a moment, Ashton’s expression softened, something flickering across his face that you couldn’t quite place. But then, to your utter surprise, you caught a glimpse of disappointment.

Your eyebrows shot up in shock as you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, your protective wall snapping into place.

“Let’s have a kid,” Ashton breathed, the words tumbling out as if he hadn’t thought twice. His eyes locked onto yours, wide and earnest, his tone full of sincerity.

You drew in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, your mind struggling to process what he’d just said. There was no way he could possibly mean it.

“Ashton,” you said incredulously, your tone laced with disbelief, “we just lost our shit thinking I might be pregnant. And besides”—your voice rose slightly as your confusion gave way to frustration—“we’re not even together. Not really.”

Ashton shook his head, closing the distance between you in a few determined strides. His hands cupped your face, his breath warm and slightly uneven. “We are now,” he murmured, an excited gleam lighting up his hazel eyes. “So let’s have a kid. You and me.”

For a moment, you were frozen, staring at him in stunned disbelief. This had to be some kind of sick joke. Who in their right mind would randomly decide to have a baby on a whim—especially with someone they were just casually hooking up with?

But then again, there had never been anything truly casual about you and Ashton. Not the way his touch lingered, how his kisses felt like promises, or how his presence made everything seem softer, lighter, easier. It had always been more than either of you admitted aloud.

His gaze stayed locked on yours, wide and earnest, as if begging you to say yes.

“You were freaking out,” you whispered, though the fight had already left your voice. Deep down, you were searching for any sign that Ashton might back out of this sudden decision, that he might have second thoughts.

Instead, he just shrugged, his lips curving into a soft, hopeful smile. “I was,” he admitted. “But then I started thinking—I love you, Y/N. I always have, and I always will. And even though this isn’t the most conventional way, I’d love to make something real with you. And that something?” His voice dropped, full of quiet conviction. “It definitely involves a baby.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your brows furrowing as you tried to process his words. Who in their right mind would agree to this?

Apparently, that someone was you.

“Okay,” you said, your voice soft but steady, a spark of excitement rising to the surface and chasing away your fear. “Let’s have a baby.”

Ashton’s face lit up with pure, unfiltered joy. He let out a triumphant whoop, his hands moving to your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, spinning you in the air. Laughter bubbled out of you, breathless and giddy, as the weight of uncertainty slipped away, replaced by something far more exhilarating.

“I love you too,” you mumbled breathlessly as Ashton set you down gently. You were still giddy, your mind flashing with images of your possible new future. Your hands came up to Ashton’s shoulders, watching him.

His hands lingered at your waist for a second, his eyes softening even more. His smile was radiant, lighting up the room, and he looked almost boyish. Your heart swelled in your chest as you looked at him.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” you breathed, nervous laughter bubbling up inside you. “We’re really going to do this?”

Ashton laughed, leaning his forehead against yours. “We’re doing this,” he confirmed, his voice sure and steady. He brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb briefly brushing over your bottom lip. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

A faint blush krept up your cheeks, the words lighting a fire inside you that was almost surprising in its intensity. You should have been scared, after all, your life was going to forever be altered, but it was exhilarating.

”What now?” you asked softly, your fingers absentmindedly brushing through Ashton's hair. The jet-black color suited him far more than you wanted to admit, and the sight of him like this-confident, certain, and utterly yours-sent a thrill down your spine. “Where do we even start?”

Ashton's eyes darkened, his lips curving into a devilish smirk as his gaze locked with yours. “We start by making that baby, of course,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. The playful elation in his tone had shifted, replaced by something deeper, more primal.

The heat in his voice sent a shiver racing through you, and you swallowed hard, excitement and nerves dancing in your chest.

Ashton didn't wait for you to respond. Instead, he closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was demanding and all-consuming, leaving no room for second-guessing. His arms tightened around your waist, holding you flush against him as his lips moved against yours with practiced skill. You melted into his touch, your hands threading into his hair, tugging just enough to elicit a low groan from him.

Ashton coaxed your lips open with teasing nips and soft bites, his tongue sweeping over yours, tasting you like he couldn't get enough. A muffled moan escaped you as you felt him lift you effortlessly, his grip firm but careful as he carried you through the room.

The world tilted slightly, and before you could process where he was taking you, your back met the cool surface of the kitchen counter. You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, smirking as your eyes met his. “The kitchen, Ash? Can't even wait until the bedroom?”

“Too far,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with need. “Need you now.”

Before you could respond, you heard the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing. Your jaw dropped as you looked down to see your shirt now hanging in shreds, the pieces slipping from your shoulders. “Ashton!” you gasped, half-laughing, half-scolding. “You ripped my shirt!”

He pulled back briefly, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “It was mine first,” he said nonchalantly, his mouth returning to your neck to leave a trail of kisses. “You can steal another one later.”

You couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, though it quickly turned into a sharp gasp when his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch. His hands roamed your body freely, sliding up your back to unclasp your bra with practiced ease.

When his calloused hands cupped your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze, a soft groan escaped your lips. Ashton took it as encouragement, his fingers teasing your nipple. His mouth followed soon after, trailing hot kisses down your chest before capturing your nipple between his lips.

Your head fell back as he gently nipped at it with his teeth, a moan spilling from you.

Meanwhile, his other hand began its slow descent down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your shorts. “God, you're gonna look so pretty, all full of my cum,” he growled against your skin, tugging the fabric of your shorts down your legs.

Ashton's mouth continued its heated journey down your body, every inch of you humming with anticipation. The thought of him finishing inside you sent a thrill through you that you couldn't deny, and as he kissed along your stomach, pausing at your hip bone, you couldn't tear your eyes away from him.

When he looked up, his hazel eyes were dark and glassy with lust. His teeth caught the edge of your underwear, and you let out a soft gasp as he began to pull them down, agonizingly slow.

Ashton let your underwear fall to the floor, his hands gentle as he spread your thighs apart. His lips parted slightly as he took in the sight of you, laid out on the kitchen counter, wet and glistening just for him. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, quickly yanking off his sweater and tossing it somewhere in the room without a second thought.

His hands slid up your thighs with deliberate slowness, his touch sending shivers through your body. He traced a single finger along your folds, biting his lip as he collected your arousal. “You're so pretty for me,” he murmured, voice husky. “Such a pretty pussy.”

When his finger slipped inside you, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, and your back arched off the counter instinctively. Heat flooded through you as he added a second finger, curling them just right, finding that spot inside you with practiced precision. A loud moan spilled from your throat, your body trembling under his touch.

His lips found your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin, marking you without hesitation. “Since we're telling everyone we're together now,” he murmured between kisses, his breath hot against your skin, “I'm gonna make sure they know. You're mine.”

“I'm yours,” you whimpered, your voice breathless and needy as his fingers sped up, your legs shaking with the intensity of it all. If he kept this up, you wouldn't last much longer.

Ashton hummed in satisfaction, his lips curving into a smile against your neck.“That's right, baby. You're mine. Gonna fill you up to the brim, put a baby inside you. Isn't that right, pretty?”

You nodded frantically, tugging at his hair for something to ground yourself. His words only spurred you on, the heat in your core building to a fever pitch. But just as you were about to tip over the edge, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and desperate.

A frustrated whine escaped your lips as you propped yourself up on your elbows, ready to protest. But your words died in your throat when you saw Ashton hastily kicking off his jeans.

When he pulled down his black boxers, freeing himself, your eyes widened. You had been with Ashton countless times, but he had never looked so painfully hard. His cock stood thick and ready, the tip an angry shade of red, glistening with his own arousal.

Before you could fully process the sight before you, Ashton's hands were on your hips, pulling you off the counter. He gave you no chance to protest, spinning you around and bending you over the cold surface.

“You're gonna take all of me,” Ashton growled, his voice low and commanding as he lined himself up with you. “And you're gonna love every second of it. Be a good girl for me. Good girls get my cum.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your hands gripped the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turned white. “I’ll be a good girl,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Ash. I want you to fill me up. Please.”

A smirk played on his lips as his hand slid around your waist and down between your legs, his fingers expertly teasing your clit.

The sensation sent shockwaves through you, making your knees buckle slightly. Your moans grew louder as Ashton ran the tip of his cock along your entrance, the teasing driving you to the brink.

“Beg for it, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dominance, his fingers working you mercilessly. Every nerve in your body was alight, your need for him consuming every thought.

“Please,” you cried, your voice breaking into a small sob. “I need you, Ash. Fill me up, stretch me out, put a baby in me—please, I'm begging you.”

Ashton groaned low in his throat at your words, his control slipping as he finally pushed into you, slow and deliberate. “That's my good girl,” he rasped, his grip on your waist tightening as he buried himself inside you inch by inch. “And you're gonna take every single bit of me, aren't you?”

The stretch of Ashton finally filling you up was overwhelming, nearly enough to tip you over the edge instantly. You didn't know how you'd gotten so worked up, but as he buried himself to the hilt, the sensation was so intense tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you whimpered, your voice trembling. Ashton's hand trailed up your back, settling around the back of your neck, his grip firm but not overwhelming.

“Yeah? You like being stretched out like this?” he rasped, his voice thick with arousal, his hips unmoving as he stayed buried deep. “You're so fucking tight, baby. You feel so good wrapped around me. I'm gonna come so hard for you, so deep.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your frustration building as Ashton still refused to move. His free hand roamed down your body, squeezing your hip before pulling back and landing a sharp slap on your ass.

The sting sent a jolt through your body, making you clench around him involuntarily. Ashton groaned low in his throat, the sound deep and guttural. “God, I wish you could see yourself right now,” he muttered, smirking as he delivered another sharp smack to your ass. This time, the moan that escaped you was loud and unrestrained. “So pretty, bent over a counter for me, taking me so well.”

You nodded eagerly, your eyes squeezed shut, every nerve in your body focused on the feeling of Ashton filling you. “You're so warm,” he groaned, his hips shifting just slightly. “I need to hear you. Every gasp, every moan— want it all. If you hold back from me, baby, you'll regret it. Got it?”

The threat sent a shiver down your spine. His earlier promise not to finish inside you if you misbehaved hung heavy in your mind, the thought alone making your chest tighten with desperation. “Fuck me,” you begged, your voice shaky and whiny. “Please, Ash, just move already.”

Ashton let out a low chuckle, dark and taunting. “So needy, aren't you, sweetheart?” he teased, his words dripping with smug amusement. Before you could respond, he pulled out of you slowly, the sensation drawing a loud moan from your lips.

“Don't whine,” he chided, his tone sharp but playful. “You're gonna take what I give you.”

But mercifully, Ashton seemed to decide your torture had gone on long enough. On his next thrust, he pulled out almost completely before slamming back into you, the sudden force stealing the air from your lungs. A yelp tore from your throat as his hand tightened in your hair, pulling your head back slightly.

Ashton set a punishing rhythm, his hips slapping against yours with every thrust. The lewd sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, mingling with your loud, uncontrollable moans. The delicious friction he created with each movement made your legs shake, the intensity overwhelming.

“That's it, good girl,” Ashton purred, his voice dripping with approval. “You take me so well. Can't wait till you're all round and pretty for me,”he murmured, his thrusts growing harder, more deliberate. “All mine. My perfect little cum slut.”

The possessive tone in his voice made your entire body shudder. His hand tugged at your hair again, pulling you upright and flush against his chest. His other hand slid up to knead your breasts, his fingers tweaking and teasing your nipples as he continued to thrust into you relentlessly.

One hand slowly slid up to your neck, wrapping around it gently before applying just enough pressure to make your head spin. The dizziness only heightened the pleasure coursing through you, amplifying every sensation.

But Ashton didn't hold for long. His hand eased away, and your hearing slowly returned as you gasped for breath. He released your nipple and pushed you back down onto the counter, his voice low and rough. “So fucking perfect,” he groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair again, using it for leverage as he pounded into you harder.

The heat of his movements, his filthy words, and the way he dominated every inch of your body brought you closer and closer to the edge. Your moans and whimpers grew louder, each pull of his hand in your hair sending a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure rippling through you.

“Baby, I'm close—” you choked out, your voice breaking with need.

“Yeah?” Ashton rasped, his hips never losing their relentless rhythm. One hand slid between your legs, finding your clit and teasing it with quick, precise circles. The intensity made your breath hitch, and he leaned in, his voice dark and commanding. “Come for me, baby. Show me how good I make you feel. Show me how much you love my cock.”

You couldn't hold back. Between his unforgiving thrusts, his dirty words, and the way his fingers worked you with expert precision, the pressure inside you finally snapped. A loud cry tore from your throat as you came, your entire body trembling violently with the force of your release.

Ashton's lips brushed your ear as you shook beneath him. “Just like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers never faltering even as your body slowly began to come down from its high.

“Ashton,” you gasped, your legs trembling uncontrollably. “Fill me up, baby. Please— need your cum.”

His breathing was ragged, his pace becoming erratic as he chased his own release. “I'm close, baby,” he groaned, his hand slipping away from your clit to grip your hips tightly. His movements grew sloppy, and he buried himself deeper with each thrust. “I'm gonna come so deep inside you. Gonna fill you up, make you mine, put a baby in you.”

It didn't take long before Ashton's rhythm faltered, and he let out a broken whimper of your name. His body shuddered as he spilled into you, the warmth of him flooding your core just as he'd promised. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, each twitch of his cock making you moan softly.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, completely still except for your heaving breaths. The only sound filling the kitchen was the ragged symphony of your labored gasps. Your body felt boneless, leaning heavily against the counter to stay upright.

Ashton pressed soft kisses along your shoulder blades, his warm breath fanning your damp skin and making you shiver. “You’re gonna look so hot as a mum,” he teased with a lazy smirk, slowly pulling out of you.

You whined at the sudden emptiness, the loss of him leaving you aching. Before you could protest, Ashton turned you around and lifted you onto the counter. The cold marble against your bare skin sent a jolt through your body as he gently spread your legs wide.

His eyes glittered as he took in the sight of his release dripping from your core. “Can't let any of this go to waste,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

With deliberate care, he slid a finger along your sensitive clit, making you gasp sharply. Then, without hesitation, he pushed a finger inside, catching the white ribbons threatening to spill out and gently pressing them back into you.

The overstimulation had your legs shaking again, and you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him work with hooded eyes. Every touch sent sparks shooting through you, and the satisfaction on his face as he ensured none of his release escaped made you ache for him all over again.

Ashton knelt before you, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with a mischievous glint before he leaned in, running a slow, deliberate stripe along your core with his tongue. His movements were unhurried, carefully cleaning you up without disturbing the evidence of his release too much. He only lapped up the small traces that had escaped, trailing down your thighs.

When he was satisfied, he pulled back, the soft sound of his lips parting making you shiver. Rising to his full height, he grinned widely, his expression smug and satisfied. You returned his smile with a lazy one of your own, reaching up to tug him down into a soft, lingering kiss.

“I love you,” you murmured against his lips, your voice tender. “And this was... definitely fun.”

Ashton pulled away just enough to meet your gaze, his grin morphing into a playful smirk. “I love you,” he began, his tone laced with mischief, “and about that…”

His hand slipped down between his legs, stroking his still semi-hard cock until it stood at full attention once again. Your breath hitched as you watched him, speechless, as he lined himself up with you once more. With an achingly slow push, he slid back inside you, making both of you groan at the sensation.

Your arms gave out beneath you, leaving you fully leaning against the counter. “Gotta make sure it all stays in there,” Ashton murmured, his voice low and strained. His hips rolled gently, his eyes fixed on where your bodies joined. “Give me a few, and we'll go again. Maybe even one more time after that.”

A soft laugh escaped you, the movement causing your walls to flutter around him.

Ashton let out a deep groan at the sensation, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice breathy but teasing. “We can do this as much as you want.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

hope u enjoyed u nasty freaks. my requests are closed atm but my inbox is open if you wanna chat :)

628 notes · View notes

undersugarnights · 26 days ago

Text

Nights Like This

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ pairing: luke hemmings x reader

✧ summary: days with an overactive toddler often lead to eventful and desperate nights. like this one.

✧ warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, creampies, parent sex, lil bit of choking, lil bit of baby trapping (but like, not really?) hints of a breeding kink if you squint. fluffy married sex, sickeningly sweet.

✧ word count: 5.6k

✧ title: nights like this by the kid laroi

✧ author’s note: i got a request for this a whileeeee ago and i started writing it but gave up after like a paragraph and crashed out. long story short i scrapped it and moved on. a few days ago i got a notification that somebody liked the post where i replied to this request and i decided to revisit it. anyways now i wanna have a filthier flower bud in concrete moment for luke, but in the meantime have this cutesy lil smut full of parental and married life bliss.

anyways, send ur requests!! send me some calum ones too in celebration of OCO!! also, first blurb with the new @

oki bye.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Luke’s voice carries gently through the baby monitor — a low, sleepy hum as he sings one of his sweet, nonsensical lullabies. The kind that makes no sense to anyone but Eden and somehow works every time. Your little girl is curled around a stuffed bear three times her size, one she refuses to sleep without, her tiny body finally stilled in sleep.

You lie on your bed, propped up on one elbow, head cradled in your palm, a soft smile tugging at your lips. You watch the monitor like it’s your favorite show, heart melting as Luke finishes his made-up song — even though Eden had fallen asleep minutes ago. He stays there a little longer, crouched beside the crib, gently smoothing her curls back from her forehead.

It never fails to hit you, the way he is with her. The patience. The gentleness. The quiet strength when she’s crying. The goofiness when she’s giggling. The complete surrender in every moment he gives her. Watching Luke be a dad is like falling in love with him all over again, every single day.

Eden’s two now. Old enough that you sometimes get a full night’s sleep. Still young enough that “sometimes” is generous. She’s clingy in the most adorable, exhausting way — a velcro baby through and through. If she had it her way, she’d sleep pressed right between the two of you every night, one chubby hand on each of your cheeks like a hostage negotiator.

It’s been ages since you’ve felt Luke touch you in any way that wasn’t a fleeting kiss on the cheek, a sleepy forehead press, or a soft hand at your waist as he passed by in the kitchen. Sweet, yes. Loving, always. But you missed the other kind of touching. The kind that made your toes curl and your thighs ache.

On the monitor, Luke leans down and kisses Eden’s head, slow and reverent. His smile — that bright, easy thing you’ve always loved — is crystal clear on the tiny screen as he rises to his feet.

Sighing, you shift in bed, letting your body melt into the mattress as you roll onto your back. Your eyes trace the ceiling lazily, shoulders finally relaxing for the first time since dinner. That nighttime routine was no joke. Eden had been on one tonight — not a meltdown exactly, just her usual chaos cranked to eleven.

She was particular. Meticulously particular. Luke liked to say she got that from you — always with a teasing smirk and a kiss to your temple, like he didn’t find it completely adorable in both of you.

Dinner had been its own disaster-slash-comedy special. Eden refused her pasta outright until Luke made her laugh so hard she accidentally snorted a bite. Then came the bath — where, midway through rinsing, she got the zoomies and took off through the house naked, squealing with delight as she chased a bewildered Petunia. You’d run after them like some exhausted sitcom mom, while Luke collapsed against the hallway wall laughing too hard to help.

Then came the bedtime stalling. The “just one more story” and “just one more kiss” protests — Eden’s greatest hits. You’d lost count after five kisses. Luke had given her six. Of course he had.

Parenthood wasn’t easy. Your back hurt. Your privacy was a myth. Half your laundry was tiny socks you swear didn’t exist an hour ago. But God, it was worth it. Every bone-deep ache and stolen moment was soothed by a little girl with his dimples and his blue eyes and a giggle that made your heart feel too big for your chest.

And then there was him.

Your husband. The love of your life. The man you’d somehow become wildly, inconveniently feral for in the most domestic circumstances imaginable.

Like when he knelt beside the crib with that sleepy, adoring smile. Or when he’d hoisted Eden onto his hip with one arm and stirred mac and cheese with the other. Or when he stood at the sink washing baby bottles with those long, skilled fingers like he was doing the most sacred task in the world.

No man should look that good covered in banana puree and Goldfish crumbs. It should be illegal. And yet, there you were — staring at him like he was a centerfold in Hot Dads Monthly, wondering how the hell you were supposed to go another night without climbing him like a tree and thanking him for doing the dishes with his shirt half off.

Outside the room, you hear the familiar drag of tired footsteps padding down the hall — heavy, slower than usual, exhaustion stitched into every step. Luke’s making his way toward you like he’s been moving through molasses since bedtime.

The door creaks open a moment later.

He steps in, and even through the low lighting, you catch the way his eyes find yours right away. That sleepy, boyish smile blooms across his face, soft and crooked, as he closes the door behind him and leans his full weight against it like it’s holding him up.

“Hey, handsome,” you grin, pushing yourself up onto your elbows.

Luke rubs his eye with a knuckle, stifling a yawn. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs — voice thick and scratchy with sleep, but tender in the way it always got just for you. It was the voice he used when Eden was napping on his chest, when you whispered secrets in the kitchen after midnight, when he told you he loved you without needing to say the words.

He sighs as he pushes off the door, dragging a hand through those mess of blond curls and shuffling toward the bed like he’s been walking for miles.

“Sometimes I wish I had the stamina she does,” he says with a sleepy laugh. “Imagine the shows I could put on.”

You snort, swinging your legs off the side of the bed just long enough to peel the covers back before slipping underneath them again. “Your stamina is plenty impressive, babe,” you say casually, eyes twinkling. “If it was any more intense, we’d have, like, seven more toddlers wreaking havoc in the living room.”

Luke grins, standing at the edge of the bed as he grabs the hem of his hoodie and yanks it over his head in one motion.

Your mouth goes dry.

Because, of course, he’s not wearing a shirt underneath. He rarely does — a personal crime you’re convinced is 100% intentional. Your eyes sweep over the soft slope of his stomach, the faint lines of muscle, the sharp cut of his V, and that maddening trail of golden hair leading straight under his sweatpants like a neon “pull here” sign.

Your thighs clench. Reflex.

“I’d love that, y’know,” Luke says as he tosses the hoodie onto a nearby chair. “Seven little yous. Or mes. Or some chaotic mix of both.” And then he flops into bed beside you with a groan, face half-buried in your pillow, long limbs sprawled like a starfish.

You let out a soft giggle, crawling over to him on your hands and knees — slow and playful, your sleep shirt riding up just enough to make him stare. Luke watches you with that look again. The one that’s almost too much to bear. Like you hung the stars. Like he can’t believe you’re his, even now, even after everything. Reverence, pure and radiant, etched across every sleepy line of his face.

His cheek is smushed into the pillow, hair falling messily across his forehead, lashes fluttering as he follows your movements. You lean down and press a kiss to the tip of his nose — he scrunches it a little — then trail another one to his shoulder, and another to the dip of his back, lips brushing over soft, warm skin still humming with the heat of the day.

“Mm,” he hums, low and pleased, voice vibrating under your lips.

You giggle again and plop down beside him, reaching over to flick off your bedside lamp. The room melts into a soft hush, bathed in the faint blue glow from the hallway nightlight.

Luke shifts closer, immediately, instinctively, like he can’t bear not to touch you. His chest meets your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His nose nuzzles behind your ear, and his breath is warm against your neck — slow and steady and his.

You settle into his embrace, threading your fingers through his and tugging his arm tighter around you. His hand splays across your stomach, palm warm and grounding. You sigh into the safety of it all.

“I love you,” you whisper, turning your head just enough to brush your lips against his. The kiss is feather-light. Sacred.

You feel him smile into it, soft and sleepy. “I love you too,” he murmurs, voice thick and full and certain.

You close your eyes again, letting your body go soft in Luke’s arms. The quiet hum of the fan and the low, steady static of the baby monitor blend into a kind of lullaby — one that dulls the ache in your thighs and slows your racing thoughts, just enough to pretend you’re actually going to fall asleep.

It lasts all of two seconds.

Luke’s fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt — slow, deliberate — the callused pads brushing against the sensitive skin of your waist. Your breath hitches. Your heartbeat stutters.

He keeps going. Tracing your stomach, skimming your ribs, until his hand stills just beneath your breast. A pause. A warning.

Then his thumb moves — just a soft, slow stroke — and your body arches into it before you can stop yourself.

“Luke,” you whisper, sharp and breathless, as he abandons all pretense of subtlety. His hand fully cups your breast, warm and familiar, and then he’s pinching — just enough to pull a quiet whimper from your lips, your hips twitching instinctively against his.

He grins against your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the slope of it. “You know,” he murmurs, voice low and sinful, “this whole trend of big shirts and tiny shorts around the house…”

You shiver as his teeth graze your skin.

“…is really fucking with my self-control

Your back arches slightly, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to catch the moan threatening to escape. Slowly, you press back into Luke, feeling the growing hardness straining against your ass.

“Says you,” you whisper, breath hitching as his hand trails down from your chest, toying with the waistband of your sleep shorts. “Taking off your hoodie like a fucking slut.”

You feel his smile against your neck, smug and shameless. “God, I can’t believe you’re real,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked as his hand slips under your shorts with no hesitation. His fingers tease just above the fabric of your panties, while his hips grind forward, pressing into you with aching need. “My wife. My fucking woman.”

His other hand sneaks back up beneath your shirt, finding your chest again, greedier this time. You gasp — only for it to die into a moan as his fingers rub slow, maddening circles over your clothed clit. It’s just enough friction to make you dizzy.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts softly, amusement laced through the heat in his voice. “Can’t wake Eden up, remember?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as he keeps going, every brush of his fingers a cruel kind of heaven. You bring your hand to your mouth, trying desperately to smother the breathless whimpers that spill out anyway.

But Luke’s grinning behind you now, nose brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re so bad at being quiet, baby.”

And god, you are.

Your thighs are trembling, eyes squeezed shut as Luke keeps working you over, patient and relentless. Every touch feels amplified — sharpened by the risk of being caught, by the thrill of finally being touched like this again.

“Been dreamin’ about having you like this,” Luke breathes, grinding up against you, hard and desperate, like the only thing keeping him from losing it completely is the thin cotton barrier between you. “Dreamin’ about those pretty little moans… how wet you get when you have to be quiet.”

But then—he stops.

You freeze.

For a second, your heart stutters. Maybe he heard something — Eden fussing, a creak of the crib, the soft rustle of sheets. But before you can spiral further, his hand slips down, confident and cruel, sliding your panties aside and dragging one long, slow finger through your slick.

Your eyes roll back. A breathy whimper escapes your throat before you can stop it.

Immediately, Luke clamps a hand over your mouth — warm and rough, wedding band cool against your cheek.

“Oh my god,” he groans into your ear, low and wrecked, as his fingers return to your clit, teasing slow, devastating circles. “You’re soaked. All this for me, baby?”

You nod frantically, muffled moans caught in his palm, the heat of his body burning into your back. He’s pressed up against you, rock hard and trembling with restraint, and the thought of him finally sliding inside sends a full-body shiver down your spine.

Then his fingers dip lower, just barely skimming your entrance — playing, circling, torturing. Not yet. Almost.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you whimper, burying your face into the pillow as you try to grind back against him. Luke hisses into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse, and your breath stutters hard.

He circles your clit again — barely there — then finally dips down, gathering your wetness before slipping two fingers inside. Your mouth opens in a gasp, but you bite your lip to keep the sound in.

“No, baby, that’s all you,” Luke murmurs against your skin, grinning as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of you with slow, deliberate pressure. “When’s the last time you even wore a bra? I swear I’m turning into a full-blown pervert.”

You manage a breathless giggle. “Maybe that was— oh, fuck— the plan all along.”

He hums, low and dangerous. “Shhh, baby,” he laughs softly, licking the shell of your ear while keeping that maddening rhythm. “Let me have my way with you. But I can’t do that if you wake Eden up.”

Your face is nearly buried in the pillow now, thighs trembling with restraint. The wet sounds of Luke working you open are obscene, slick and needy — the kind of sounds that always seem to follow him wherever he touches you.

“Mm, keep doing that,” you groan into the pillow. “And you’ll have another kid to worry about not waking up.”

At that, Luke’s thumb begins to circle your clit again — slow and focused — and your entire body jerks in response. You fist the sheets so hard your knuckles go white, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loud.

“Just like that, baby,” Luke whispers, voice thick with praise. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Then his hand stills.

He slowly withdraws his fingers from your body, and you let out a desperate little whimper, lifting your head to glance back at him, confused and breathless.

“Calm down,” he murmurs, grinning as he tugs at the waistband of your shorts and underwear. “Just wanna get these out of the way. You can be patient for me, yeah, love?”

You lift your hips instinctively, just enough to help him slide the fabric down and off. He tosses them aside, leaving you in nothing but one of his old band tees — worn, oversized, and hitched high around your waist.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand wrapping around your thigh to coax your legs open again. “Look at you. Such a pretty mess.”

You shift slightly, pressing your ass back against the hard outline of his cock through the soft cotton of his pajama pants. His breath catches — barely audible — and then his fingers are inside you again, slow and deliberate.

You glance down, watching as his fingers slide in and out, slick and glistening. Your breath hitches. It’s obscene. It’s everything.

Your hand reaches back, finding his hair, curling your fingers into the thick mess of it and tugging gently at the roots.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper, voice raw and soft as you turn your head just enough to brush your lips against his.

He doesn’t kiss you — not fully — just breathes against your mouth, forehead resting against yours, his entire body wrapped around you like a secret. The spooning position makes everything feel more intimate. More tender. More desperate.

Like if he could crawl inside you and stay there, he would.

“Missed you more,” Luke murmurs, lips trailing down the curve of your shoulder in slow, open-mouthed kisses. “Fuck, I’ve been so horny lately I got hard just watching you walk up the stairs.”

You let out a breathless laugh, grinding your hips back into him. He whines — an actual, desperate sound — and buries his face in the crook of your neck like it’s the only way to survive you.

“Good to know I still have it,” you whisper, smug.

“Shut up,” he mumbles against your skin, and his fingers pick up speed, leaving you gasping. “You gotta keep quiet, my love. Don’t forget.”

His long fingers work you open effortlessly, the occasional swipe of his thumb over your clit sending jolts up your spine. You shiver when he moans against your neck, the sound vibrating through you, skin breaking out in goosebumps.

He’s slow. Intentional. Like he’s savoring this. Like there isn’t a ticking time bomb of a toddler down the hall.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” Luke breathes, his lips brushing your jaw. “Thinking about how my cock’s gonna feel, hmm?”

Your eyes flutter shut. You nod frantically, biting down on your bottom lip to keep the noise trapped in your throat.

Luke shifts behind you just enough to press his cock more firmly against your ass — hot, hard, and barely restrained beneath his pajama pants. The pressure alone makes your mouth water.

“Baby,” you gasp, fingers digging into his bicep. It flexes as he keeps fucking you with his hand, slow and relentless. “Please. Please, I need you.”

“Need me to what?” Luke asks, all false innocence, voice like sin. “Need me to fuck you stupid, baby?”

His fingers slide out of you, dragging your slick up through your folds, circling your clit with maddening precision. He’s teasing again — slow, measured, cruel in the way only Luke can be.

You jolt at the sensation, hips moving on instinct, grinding against his hand with raw, frantic need. The kind that’s been simmering under your skin for days.

“Baby,” you hiss, voice hoarse from the effort of keeping it down. “If you’re not inside me in the next five minutes, I’m divorcing you.”

Luke stills, then lets out a hushed laugh, biting your shoulder to muffle it. “You’re so fucking needy,” he chuckles, wicked and breathless. “Fine. Just because you beg pretty. And because if I tease you any longer, Eden’s definitely waking up.”

His hand slips from between your thighs, and he brings his fingers to your lips, glistening.

“Clean me off first,” he murmurs. “Be a good girl.”

You don’t hesitate. Your lips wrap around his fingers, tongue licking them clean, moaning around the taste of yourself. Luke groans softly behind you — that guttural, broken sound you know means he’s barely holding it together.

“Fuck. That’s so hot.”

His fingers slip from your mouth with an obscene pop that echoes through the quiet room. Behind you, Luke shifts just enough to shove his pajama pants down, freeing himself with a soft grunt.

You feel the heat of him immediately — his cock thick and flushed, grinding slowly against your ass, teasing you both with the drag of it.

His hand slides down your thigh, guiding your leg up and over his hip to open you wider for him. That same hand wraps around his cock, and he groans through gritted teeth as he strokes himself, slow and tight.

Your breathing quickens, chest rising and falling as the anticipation builds — and then you feel him. The head of his cock, hot and slick with precum, rubbing through your folds. You whimper at the contact, and Luke groans in response.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, burying his face in your shoulder and biting down gently to stifle himself.

He teases your entrance, circling it once, twice, before finally starting to press in — slow, unhurried, deliberate.

The stretch is divine — just enough to make you gasp, every nerve lighting up as he pushes deeper. You shift slightly, craning your neck just enough to see his face. His eyes are half-lidded, bottom lip caught between his teeth like he’s trying not to lose it completely.

A soft moan slips from him. “Shit, baby… you’re so fucking tight,” he pants. “Can feel you sucking me in. Such a greedy girl for me.”

Luke sinks into you slowly, inch by inch, every push setting off a new wave of pleasure that shivers down your spine. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you close, grounding you. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin as he groans softly — almost like it’s too much. Almost like you’re too much.

When he finally bottoms out, it feels like coming home.

He stills, fully sheathed inside you, twitching each time your walls flutter around him. You’re soaked, throbbing, completely wrapped around him — and Luke can barely breathe.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice low and wrecked. “I missed being inside you. You’re so fucking wet and tight—I can feel everything.”

“I missed you,” you whisper back, cheek pressed to his. “Missed being stretched out like this. Missed us.”

He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, buried deep, holding you like he’s afraid he’ll disappear if he lets go. The stillness hums between you, thick with want — not rushed, not frantic, but aching. A moment suspended in the kind of intimacy that makes your chest burn and your thighs tremble.

You both just breathe for a second.

Wrapped around each other, finally giving in to the slow, simmering need that had been building for days.

Luke presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, barely more than a brush, before gently tugging your shirt up until it bunches just above your chest. His hand slips beneath, finding your breast again — warm and reverent, his palm cradling you like he needs the contact just to breathe.

Then he starts to move.

Slow, deep strokes that make your whole body shudder. You bite down on your wrist to muffle the moan that threatens to escape, the sound caught in your throat like a secret. Luke isn’t faring much better — soft, breathless whimpers spilling into your skin as he rocks into you, his hips pressing close with every push.

His teeth graze your pulse point, dragging gently. A moment later, his tongue follows, soothing the sting, leaving you trembling.

“You take me so well, love,” he whispers, voice thick and ruined, hips picking up their rhythm. The pleasure builds with each thrust, slow but devastating, until your eyes roll back and you’re forced to bite into the pillow just to stay quiet.

He groans into your neck, almost desperate. “So fucking good for me.”

Luke rolls his hips, settling into a pace that’s just slow enough to draw it out — to keep you aching — but steady enough that you can feel the tremble in his hands from how tightly he’s holding himself back.

“You have no idea what it does to me,” he whispers, voice low and cracked, each word punctuated by a deep, deliberate thrust. “Seeing you with that ring. Wearing my name. Raising our kid.”

“Full—full of you,” you whimper, gasping as he hits that perfect spot. His rhythm never falters, but you feel the way his grip tightens at your waist, like he might lose it at any second. “God, I missed being fucked like this.”

Luke lets go of your breast, shifting just enough to fuck into you harder, the bed starting to creak beneath the motion — soft, rhythmic, dangerous. You both freeze instantly, breath caught in your throat, bodies locked together as you listen with baited breath.

Silence.

No tiny footsteps. No sleepy cries. Just the quiet hum of the baby monitor on the nightstand.

“Luke,” you hiss, desperate, wiggling your hips back against him. “Please—fuck, please don’t stop. You can’t keep doing this to me.”

That does something to him.

Luke brings his fingers to your lips, pushing two into your mouth without warning. Your lips part automatically, sucking them in with a moan. Your back arches as he pulls them out just as quickly, trailing down your stomach before slipping between your legs.

He finds your clit easily, rubbing slow, steady circles in time with the deep roll of his hips.

“Just like that, baby,” he coos, voice gone sweet and filthy. “Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You nod frantically, lip caught between your teeth as your thighs twitch, the pleasure winding tighter with every passing second. His fingers stay lazy on your clit, teasing you through it, never giving too much — just enough to drive you insane.

“I love you so much,” Luke murmurs against your neck. “You look so fucking pretty stuffed full of my cock.”

Your hand reaches back blindly, tangling in Luke’s hair and yanking at the roots. He groans into your neck, hips stuttering before he picks up the pace again — faster now, more desperate — and so do his fingers.

That familiar coil in your belly starts to tighten, fast and sharp. You can feel him everywhere, every inch of him buried deep, every snap of his hips jolting through your spine. Your stomach flutters, your thighs twitch, your whole body buzzing like live wire.

“Bet no one would believe what a pretty little slut you are for me, hmm?” Luke growls, voice rough and wrecked, the edge bleeding in. “That you’re the most gorgeous fucking cockwhore — mine. Bet if I told you I was close, you’d beg me to stay in, wouldn’t you?”

“Please, baby,” you sob, the words falling out broken. “Wanna be dripping with you for days. Want you to come inside me, please, please—”

Luke’s hand flies up to cover your mouth, silencing your cries as his teeth sink into your neck, biting down just hard enough to sting. You gasp beneath his palm — the pain sharp, the kiss that follows it soft and soothing, a cruel little contradiction that makes you whimper into his skin.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he pants, fingers circling your clit with perfect pressure, filthy and reverent all at once. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock like the perfect little thing you are?”

You nod frantically beneath his hand, body trembling, seconds from unraveling. Stars begin to bloom at the edges of your vision, your thighs quivering as you squirm back against him, chasing every last bit of friction.

“Yeah, just like that, baby,” Luke grunts, voice thick and desperate. “Come for me — I’ve got you.”

With one final, devastating thrust, your body breaks. You bite down on your wrist, muffling the cry as the dam bursts open. Your back arches into him, muscles locking tight, legs shaking with the sheer intensity of your orgasm. The world narrows to heat, motion, and Luke — still buried inside you, still moving, still whispering in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he moans, breath ragged. “That feel good, baby? So good for me.”

Your body sags against him, boneless and buzzing, completely undone — and Luke doesn’t waste a second.

Without warning, he pulls out, and before you can even catch your breath, he’s flipping you onto your stomach. A sharp gasp escapes you as your cheek hits the pillow, and then his hand presses firmly between your shoulder blades, holding you down just enough to make your breath hitch again.

A wave of heat pulses through you at the shift — that sudden, dizzying change from softness to raw possession. Your heart skips as the realization sinks in. You’re not done. He’s not done.

And God, that only makes you wetter. You bite down on your lip in anticipation.

“You gonna let me use you now?” Luke pants, hovering over you, his hand fisted in the sheets beside your head for balance. His voice is wrecked, low and hungry. You nod — small, breathless, already trembling — and that’s all he needs.

You feel the thick head of his cock drag through your soaked entrance before he sinks in with one hard, brutal thrust.

You arch beneath him, a gasp ripping from your throat before you can stop it. Luke slaps his hand over your mouth again, groaning into your ear.

“Be quiet,” he tuts, voice tight with restraint. “Don’t need a fussy baby interrupting while I’m busy fucking my wife into the mattress.”

His hand drops from your mouth and curls around your throat again, warm and grounding — claiming. Then his hips pull back and slam into you, fast and unforgiving.

Each thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, sending shockwaves through your body as he finds that perfect spot over and over. You bury your face into the pillow, biting down hard to stifle the sounds clawing up your throat.

Luke is panting, gasping, barely keeping it together. “I’m not gonna last,” he grits out, voice breaking. “This pussy’s too fucking perfect. Perfect — and mine.”

His words dissolve into growls, each one filthier than the last. His hand tightens around your throat just enough to make you dizzy — never enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who you belong to. His thrusts get rougher, messier, his control slipping with every desperate snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, his forehead falling to your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. Please — let me fill you up, baby. Please.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you flex your leg back just enough to push him deeper, lock him in place.

Luke lets out a broken moan — almost a sob — as he comes, spilling into you with a sharp, shaking groan. A string of curses and your name fall from his lips like a prayer, wrecked and reverent. He exhales hard, thrusting once, twice more before collapsing onto his back beside you, totally spent.

You’re both breathless, the room quiet except for the sound of your hearts pounding. You turn your head just enough to look at him — and, of course, he’s already looking at you. That lazy, fucked-out grin is spread across his face, curls messy, lips kiss-swollen.

“I love you so fucking much,” he murmurs, still panting.

You roll your eyes, resting your cheek on your palm. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease, reaching over to brush a damp curl from his forehead. “You talk a lot for someone who has a mess to clean up.”

Luke’s eyebrows lift, amused, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nudges your thigh and gently rolls you onto your back. He hovers above you for a moment, then starts kissing his way down — slow, deliberate, worshipful. Every inch of exposed skin is met with his lips, his stubble, the heat of his breath.

When he reaches your thighs, he spreads them apart with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“You always look so fucking pretty when I’m dripping out of you,” he says, almost dreamily. His finger drags through the mess between your legs — a light, filthy stroke that makes you shiver — before he leans in and licks into you without another word.

His tongue is warm, slow, unhurried as he laps up every drop he left inside you. You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut, sinking into the bed as his mouth works — greedy but soft, careful with your overstimulated body.

He places one last kiss to your clit and your legs twitch instinctively. Luke chuckles, smug, and crawls back up your body, kissing along the way until his mouth finds yours.

The taste is unmistakable — both of you, hot and sweet and earthy on his tongue.

You sigh into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, hands roaming across his broad back. You never want him to move.

“I really fucking love you,” you murmur when he finally pulls away, settling beside you again.

Luke grins, flushed and glowing. “Yeah?”

Instead of answering, you crawl onto your knees, shooting him a sly grin. His cock rests against his stomach, still half-hard, glistening. You lean down and drag your tongue in one slow, deliberate stripe from base to tip.

Luke lets out a filthy little moan, head falling back onto the pillow as you take the head into your mouth. Your tongue swirls along the underside — that sweet spot just beneath the crown — and his legs twitch in response. You can taste yourself on him, and the mix makes your head spin.

“Christ,” he exhales, voice already wrecked. “You’re fucking insatiable—”

He’s cut off by the rustle of sheets and the unmistakable sound of a sniffle, soft and pitiful.

You both freeze.

A glance toward the monitor confirms it: Eden’s sitting up in bed, clutching her stuffed bear to her chest, face crumpled into the world’s saddest pout.

Luke groans. Not the sexy kind. The parental kind.

“Rain check?” you whisper, flashing him a sheepish smile as you reach for your discarded underwear and shorts.

He’s already sitting up, dragging his pants back on with the sort of defeated slouch that only comes from being cockblocked by the literal love of your lives.

“If we can squeeze it in before Eden turns eighteen,” he mutters, deadpan. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

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if u made it here ur awesome!! thank u to anon for this amazing request. i love dad luke.

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