ashleftstick

[ashleftstick]

Mafia Ash

In the bustling city of New York, where the shadows whispered secrets only the night knew, a young girl named y/n tried to navigate the treacherous streets. At seventeen, she had seen more than her fair share of hard knocks, her eyes a little too old for her face, which bore the map of a life riddled with struggle and survival. She wore her fiery hair like a crown of defiance, a stark contrast to the dull grey of the buildings that loomed over her. y/n had learned to live in the shadows, to trust no one, and to rely only on her instincts.

Her latest gig was serving drinks at a high-class club that catered to the most affluent and notorious figures of the city. It was a place where deals were made in hushed tones and glances slid over the top of crystal flutes filled with the sweetest poisons. On a stage, shrouded in velvet and dim lights, a band played a soulful melody that seemed to echo the pain and ambition of every patron present. y/n moved through the crowd with the grace of a ghost, her tray balancing precariously on one hand while the other clutched her shaky heart, beating like a drum in her chest.

Tonight was different. Among the sea of faces, one pair of piercing blue eyes caught her attention—eyes that belonged to Ashton Irwin, the infamous mafia boss that even the cops whispered about in fear. His presence was palpable, a dark aura that seemed to suck the air out of the room, leaving a trail of silent respect in his wake. He sat at the back, a king surveying his kingdom, and y/n felt like a pawn dragged into a game she didn't understand.

Their eyes met and held, a silent conversation that sent a shiver down her spine. There was something about the way he looked at her, a hunger that was both terrifying and thrilling. He was handsome, if one could call the sharp angles of his face and the hard line of his jaw that, but it was the cold, calculating gleam in his eyes that truly made him captivating. y/n knew she should look away, but she found herself unable to break the gaze.

Ashton signaled her over with a crooked finger, a gesture that sent a flock of butterflies into a frenzy in her stomach. He was the last person she wanted to serve, but she had no choice. As she approached, her heart hammered so loud she was sure he could hear it. He took his drink from her tray, never once breaking eye contact. His thumb brushed against her hand, a touch so light it could have been a mistake, but she knew it was deliberate. His eyes narrowed, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice low and seductive, the words a promise wrapped in a threat. And just like that, y/n's world was irrevocably changed.

In the days that followed, she felt his eyes on her even when he wasn't there. She'd catch glimpses of his men, lurking in the shadows of the alleyways she walked, their presence a constant reminder of who owned her now. The fear grew like a tumor, eating away at her resolve to resist him. The more she tried to ignore it, the stronger the pull grew. It was as if Ashton had branded her with his gaze, leaving an invisible mark that screamed of his possession.

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, she found herself standing in front of a sleek black town car, the engine purring like a beast waiting to devour its prey. The door opened, and a large, silent man gestured for her to get in. y/n knew better than to argue with fate—or the mafia. She slid into the plush leather seat, her heart racing as the car glided through the city streets, leaving her old life behind like a forgotten shadow.

The ride was endless, the anticipation a knot in her stomach that grew tighter with every passing minute. When the car finally stopped, she was ushered into a penthouse that reeked of power and money, the walls whispering of dark deeds and secrets. Ashton was there, waiting for her, his eyes never leaving hers as she was led into his opulent domain. He was dressed in a tailored suit that hugged his muscular frame, looking every inch the predator that he was.

"Welcome home," he said, his voice a velvet caress that sent a shiver down her spine. The word "home" sounded foreign on his lips, a concept she hadn't known since she'd been on her own. Yet, there was something in the way he said it that made her feel both safe and trapped.

y/n knew what was expected of her now—what Ashton had bought with his cold, hard cash. She was his property, a prize to be used and displayed. But as she looked into the abyss of his eyes, she couldn't help but wonder if there was something more, something hidden beneath the layers of his dominance. Was there a spark of humanity, or was she just another pawn in his twisted game of power and control? Either way, she was in too deep to back out now.

The penthouse was a labyrinth of opulence, with gleaming marble floors and windows that offered a panoramic view of the city she had once called her playground. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the faint hint of something else, something that made her skin crawl—fear. But amidst the grandeur, there was a surprising warmth to the space, a sense of comfort that she hadn't anticipated in a place owned by a man like Ashton.

He led her to a room, and for a moment, she allowed herself to hope that it might be a place of refuge, a sanctuary from the world outside. But as the door clicked shut behind her, she realized it was nothing more than a gilded cage, a prison dressed in silk and velvet. She felt his gaze on her as she surveyed her new surroundings, a mix of trepidation and anger simmering beneath her skin.

Ashton leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a curious expression. "Take a seat," he said, his tone a command rather than a request. y/n perched on the edge of the bed, her legs trembling slightly. He approached her, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the cavernous room. He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You're safe here," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "But remember, you belong to me now."

The weight of his words settled over her like a shroud, suffocating and heavy. Yet, there was a strange comfort in his claim, a perverse sense of protection that she hadn't felt in years. He was dangerous, yes, but he was also the one person in this world that had chosen her, that had seen something in her that no one else had. And as much as she hated to admit it, she found herself craving the certainty that came with being owned by a man as powerful as Ashton Irwin.

He stepped closer, his hand tracing a line down her neck to her shoulder. "You're mine," he repeated, his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through her body. "Mine to protect, mine to pleasure, and mine to punish." y/n's breath hitched in her throat as she felt the beginnings of a heady submission. It was wrong, she knew that, but she couldn't fight the allure of his dominance. It was like a siren's call, luring her into a world she never knew she wanted.

His hand slid further down, coming to rest on the bare skin above her collarbone. His thumb stroked the pulse point there, and she couldn't help but lean into his touch. His eyes searched hers, looking for something—permission, maybe. And before she could think better of it, she nodded, a silent agreement to the terms she didn't fully understand.

With that single gesture, y/n felt a shift in the air. The tension that had been building since the moment she'd walked into the club snapped, and she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Ashton's lips found hers, and she melted into the kiss, letting him consume her in a dance of power and passion. It was a dangerous dance, one that could lead to her destruction, but in that moment, she didn't care.

The kiss grew more demanding, his hands exploring her body with a possessiveness that both terrified and excited her. y/n's heart raced, her mind swirling with a tornado of emotions—fear, anger, desire, and a hint of something she dared not name. But as his touch grew more intimate, she felt a strange sense of belonging, as if she'd been made for this moment, for this man.

Ashton pulled away, leaving her gasping for air. "Good," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Now, let's begin your education." And with that, y/n knew she was about to embark on a journey she never could have imagined, a journey into the dark, seductive world of Ashton Irwin, where the only rule was his will—and the only escape was through his cold, unyielding embrace.

The first act of disobedience came a week later. y/n had been given a simple task—to sit quietly in the corner during one of Ashton's meetings with his men. But as the minutes ticked by and the tension in the room grew, she found her curiosity piqued by the whispers of their conversations. She leaned in ever so slightly, trying to make out the words that were not meant for her ears. A mistake that would not go unnoticed.

Ashton's hand shot out like a snake, gripping her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. "What did I tell you?" he snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. The room fell silent, all eyes on the girl who had dared to defy the mafia boss. y/n's heart pounded in her chest, but she held his gaze, a spark of rebellion flickering in her own eyes.

He stood, his chair scraping against the floor like a gunshot. "You will learn your place," he said, his voice icy and controlled. He dragged her out of the room, his grip tight enough to bruise. y/n's eyes widened as he led her to a space she hadn't seen before, a dimly lit chamber with a single chair in the center, surrounded by various instruments that looked more suited to a torture chamber than a penthouse.

He sat her down, his hands firm and unyielding. "You will learn to obey," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "And if I have to break you to do it, so be it." His hand raised, and she braced herself for the pain she knew was coming. The first strike came swift and sharp across her cheek, the sound echoing through the room. She gasped, tears springing to her eyes, but she didn't look away. There was something in his gaze that told her this was just the beginning.

He continued, his strikes methodical and precise, each one a lesson in obedience and pain. She felt the sting across her skin, the burn as it blossomed into bruises. But with every hit, she felt a strange sense of exhilaration, a thrill that danced with the agony. It was a dance of dominance and submission, and she was the unwilling pupil learning the steps.

Through the haze of pain, she heard his voice, a constant drone in her ear. "You will not disobey me," he said, his hand never faltering. "You will submit to me in all things." And as the last of her resistance crumbled, she realized that she wanted to. She wanted to give in to the darkness that he offered, to be consumed by the fire of his dominance.

Finally, he stopped, his breathing heavy, his eyes alight with a fierce satisfaction. y/n's body was a canvas of pain, but she felt alive in a way she hadn't in years. "Do you understand?" he asked, his voice low and rough. She nodded, the fight draining from her like sand through an hourglass. "Say it," he demanded, his hand still holding her chin.

"I understand," she whispered, the words a surrender. "I'm yours, Ashton." And in that moment, she truly was. The fear had transformed into something else, a desperate need to please him, to be the one he sought to control.

He leaned down, his lips capturing hers in a brutal kiss that left her gasping for breath. His hands roamed over her body, claiming it once more, and she didn't fight him. Instead, she melted into him, her body responding to his touch like it had been made for this purpose. The line between pain and pleasure had blurred, and she was lost in the storm of his dominance.

As he pulled away, she felt a strange sense of peace settle over her. The world had narrowed to just the two of them, a twisted dance of power and submission that she didn't want to escape. Ashton's eyes searched hers, looking for something, and she knew she had given it to him. Her complete and utter surrender.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to her bruised soul. He took her hand and led her back to their shared bed, his touch gentle now, almost tender. y/n knew that she had crossed a line, that there was no going back. But as she lay beside him, his arms wrapped around her protectively, she found a strange comfort in the aftermath of the storm.

The following days were a whirlwind of passionate exchanges and subtle power plays. Each encounter grew more intense, more intimate, as Ashton pushed her boundaries and she tested his limits. His grip on her was unyielding, a constant reminder that she was his to command. Yet, within the confines of his dominance, she discovered an unexpected freedom.

One evening, as the city lights danced on the horizon, y/n stood before Ashton, her body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. He had instructed her to undress and kneel before him, and she had complied without question. His eyes raked over her, a silent challenge that sent a jolt of electricity through her. "You're mine," he said, his voice a low growl that resonated deep within her.

The struggle grew more heated, their bodies tangling in a dance of desire and domination. y/n found that she craved his touch, the way he claimed her, the way he made her feel both powerful and powerless. Each time he punished her for an infraction, no matter how small, she felt a thrill that grew into a deep, dark ache. And when he took her, it was with a ferocity that she matched with her own burgeoning fire.

Their encounters became ritualistic, a silent war waged on the battlefield of pleasure. Ashton would demand, and y/n would give, each surrender a victory and a defeat wrapped into one. But she was learning, adapting to his games, finding ways to push back, to challenge his control without overstepping the invisible line.

One night, she took the initiative, her eyes gleaming with a rebellious spark. She approached him slowly, her hips swaying with the rhythm of a siren's call. His gaze followed her every move, his pupils dilating with desire. Without a word, she straddled his lap, her hands on his shoulders, her breath warm against his neck. He stiffened, surprised but not unwilling.

Their eyes met, and she saw the challenge in his gaze. But she didn't back down. Instead, she leaned in and whispered, "Teach me." It was a dare, a declaration of war, and she knew it. The air crackled with tension as she waited for his response.

Ashton's grip on her hips tightened, his thumbs tracing circles that made her skin burn. "You want to play?" he asked, his voice a dark promise. She nodded, her heart racing with excitement. And so, the game began anew, the rules ever-shifting in the tapestry of their twisted relationship.

Each night brought new lessons in submission, new battles to be won and lost. And with each victory, y/n felt the chains that bound her to him tighten, the invisible links forged from passion and pain. But she also felt something else—a connection, a bond that went beyond the physical.

As the weeks turned to months, y/n found herself torn between her need to rebel and her desperate craving for Ashton's dominance. She had become addicted to the high of their power play, the exhilaration of never knowing where the line between punishment and pleasure lay. It was a dangerous game, one that could easily consume her, but she couldn't bring herself to walk away.

Their dynamic grew more complex, the lines between captor and captive blurring until she wasn't sure who was truly in control. But she knew that she was in too deep to escape now. The darkness in Ashton's eyes had become a mirror, reflecting back the part of her she had buried deep, the part that craved the very things she feared most.

And so, she embraced it, letting the fire of her rebellious spirit meld with the icy steel of his dominance. They were two halves of a whole, locked in a passionate battle that neither could win—and neither wanted to lose. Together, they danced on the razor's edge, balancing the fine line between love and obsession.

Their nights were a tumultuous symphony of moans and whispers, of flesh against flesh and hearts beating in sync. y/n knew that she was changing, that she was becoming something more than she had ever been. And as she looked into the abyss of Ashton's eyes, she realized that he was changing too, that their twisted dance was etching lines into the very fabric of their beings.

One evening, the storm within them grew too great to be contained. They collided in a fiery embrace, their teeth clashing as they kissed, each struggling for dominance. His hands were everywhere, claiming her with a desperation that bordered on violence. She met him with equal ferocity, her nails digging into his back as she pulled him closer.

Their love-making was raw, an unbridled passion that left no room for gentleness. Ashton's grip on her hips was punishing, his thrusts deep and demanding. y/n cried out, her body a battleground of pleasure and pain, each sensation heightening the other until she couldn't tell where one began and the other ended. He took her to the edge and held her there, his eyes never leaving hers, a silent challenge that she couldn't refuse.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she urged him deeper, her body a living flame that only his touch could quench. His teeth sank into her shoulder, and she screamed his name, the sound a declaration of war and surrender all at once. They moved together in a rhythm that was as old as time itself, a dance of dominance and submission that had become the very essence of their existence.

In the aftermath, their bodies entwined and slick with sweat, they lay panting on the rumpled bed, their hearts hammering against each other's chests. The air was thick with the scent of sex and power, a heady mix that intoxicated them both. y/n felt the tremors of his muscles beneath her, the aftershocks of their shared climax, and she knew that she was irrevocably his.

Their relationship grew more intense, a tapestry of light and dark that wove together to form a bond that neither could break. They knew each other's every weakness, every desire, and they used it against one another in their endless game of cat and mouse. Yet, amidst the chaos, there was a strange peace, a sense of belonging that she had never felt before.

But the shadows of their pasts lurked just outside the penthouse walls, waiting for their chance to slip in and tear them apart. y/n's old life was a ghost that haunted her dreams, whispering of a freedom she had lost. And Ashton had enemies, men who would stop at nothing to see him fall. They were a match made in hell, two souls dancing on the precipice of disaster.

One night, the storm outside mirrored the tempest within the penthouse. Rain lashed against the windows, a mournful wail that seemed to echo their tumultuous love. Ashton held her tightly, his arms a cage of warmth and protection. But she knew that the outside world would not be kept at bay forever. The time was coming when they would have to face the demons that lurked in the shadows—together or apart.

y/n looked up at him, her eyes filled with a fierce determination. "Whatever happens," she whispered, "I'm with you." His grip tightened, his gaze dark and unreadable. "Forever," he murmured, and she knew that she had just made a deal with the devil himself.

The days passed in a blur of stolen moments and whispered secrets. Ashton taught her the art of power, the subtleties of control, and she absorbed his knowledge like a sponge, eager to be his equal. But she also saw the toll it took on him, the weight of his empire a burden that he bore alone.

One morning, she found him standing by the window, the city sprawling below like a treasure map of sins and secrets. His eyes were distant, his mind a million miles away. She approached him, her hand tentative on his shoulder. "What is it?" she asked, her voice soft.

He turned to her, his expression haunted. "We can't stay here," he said, his voice tight with tension. "It's not safe." The words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of change, of danger lurking just around the corner.

y/n's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't flinch. "Where will we go?" she asked, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her stomach.

"Somewhere they can't find us," Ashton replied, his eyes never leaving hers. He took her hand, and she could feel the tension coiled in his grip. "Pack your things. We leave tonight."

The hours ticked by with agonizing slowness, each minute a reminder of the impending danger. As the sun set and the city transformed into a neon jungle, Ashton led her to the bedroom. The air was thick with the anticipation of a storm, and she could feel the electricity crackling between them. He turned to her, his eyes blazing with a hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. "One last time," he murmured, and she knew what he meant. One last time before the world came crashing down around them.

Their clothes fell away in a frenzy, a dance of desperation that left them both breathless. His hands were everywhere, claiming her as if she were the last piece of himself he had left to lose. They tumbled onto the bed, their bodies a tangle of limbs and need. His kisses were bruising, his touch demanding as he reclaimed her once more. y/n met his ferocity with her own, her nails raking down his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Their lovemaking was a battle of wills, a fierce struggle for dominance that neither could win. Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a silent promise that he would never let her go. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, her body arching to meet his. The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the silence.

As they reached the peak, the storm outside broke, the thunder a cacophony that drowned out their cries. They clung to each other, their hearts racing in time with the rain, the lightning flashes casting them in stark relief. In that moment, she knew she would follow him anywhere, into any darkness that awaited them. They were bound now, linked by a chain of desire and danger that was unbreakable.

When it was over, they lay tangled together, their breaths ragged and uneven. The storm had passed, leaving the city washed clean and gleaming. Ashton held her close, his arms a warm cocoon that she never wanted to leave. But she knew that this was just the calm before the storm, a brief reprieve from the chaos that was to come.

They dressed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. y/n packed her meager belongings, her heart heavy with a mix of fear and excitement. This was the life she had chosen, the path she had taken with open eyes. And as she zipped up her bag and turned to face Ashton, she knew that she would walk it with him, come hell or high water.

As they descended the stairs, the penthouse felt like a prison she was both desperate to escape and terrified to leave behind. The walls had held their secrets, their battles, and their love. But it was time to move on, to face whatever the world had in store for them.

The car was waiting, the engine purring like a living beast. As they slid into the backseat, y/n felt the finality of their departure. Ashton's hand found hers, his grip reassuring. "We'll be okay," he said, but she could hear the doubt in his voice.

The city streets blurred together as they drove through the night, the neon lights a kaleidoscope of colors that painted the windows of the town car. They didn't speak, the weight of their unspoken fears too great to be voiced. But as they left the city behind, the horizon opening up before them like a gaping maw, she knew that their future was a blank page, ready to be written in the ink of their shared destiny.

And so, they ventured into the unknown, two lost souls bound by a love that was as dark as the night and as fierce as the storm that had brought them together. They had no map, no compass, just the unyielding promise of each other's hearts and the shadow of Ashton's empire looming over them.

[ashleftstick]

In the Heat of You (Ash)

The air between you and Ashton feels thick, charged with something unspoken. It’s the kind of tension that hums in the silence, a pull that neither of you can ignore. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows across his face. But there’s nothing soft about the way he’s looking at you.

His gaze is dark, intense, like he’s trying to read you, to decode something inside you, but it’s clear there’s more on his mind than just figuring you out. His body is tense, his jaw set tight, and every time his eyes flick to your lips, you feel your pulse quicken, a spark of heat running through you.

It’s the quiet after the chaos of the tour, and for the first time in a long while, it’s just the two of you—alone in a room, with no distractions. But this silence... it feels like it’s about to crack.

You can’t stand it anymore.

“Ashton,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You know he’s listening, can feel every muscle in his body tuned to your voice. “What’s going on with you tonight?”

He lets out a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. His hands, resting on his knees, are clenched tight. You can feel the energy between you—raw, untamed, thick with something deeper. He doesn’t answer immediately, and the pause stretches long, the tension building with each second that passes.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence, low and gravelly. “I’m trying not to lose control.”

You lean forward, your heart pounding in your chest, the words igniting something in you. "Control over what?" you ask, your breath catching in your throat.

He shifts, a slight movement that feels like a warning. “You,” he admits, his voice rougher now, edged with frustration. “Every time I’m near you, it’s like I can’t breathe. I can’t think. And I—” He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, standing abruptly. The air between you crackles with the shift, the space between you now brimming with heat and restraint.

He turns to face the window, his back to you, his shoulders tense. You can see the muscles in his back ripple under the fabric of his shirt, and it drives a new kind of hunger in you—an ache deep in your chest. You know what he means, feel the same pull, the same desperate desire. But you’re not sure how much longer you can wait for him to make the first move.

“Why don’t you just let go?” you challenge softly, your voice a little daring, a little breathless. “You don’t have to fight it anymore. I’m here.”

Ashton spins back around to face you, his eyes dark and stormy, his body vibrating with tension. The look in his eyes sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. Without another word, he closes the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands gripping the sides of your face, tilting your head back with a fierce urgency.

And then, he kisses you.

It’s not soft. It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, hungry, a collision of lips and heat. His mouth crashes against yours, his hands pulling you to him so fast that you gasp. The kiss is bruising, intense, every part of him demanding and consuming. His tongue slips into your mouth, stroking and tasting, as if he’s trying to drink you in.

You kiss him back with everything inside you, your hands finding their way to his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer. His breath is ragged against your lips, each exhale a sound of frustration and want. You can feel the muscles in his arms tense, like he’s holding back from doing something more, something that might break you both apart in the best way.

His hands slide down your back, pulling you flush against him, and the heat of his body makes your heart race. You can feel him—feel the hard, undeniable evidence of how much he wants you. The tension between your bodies is explosive, and it’s all you can do not to completely lose yourself in him.

Ashton pulls away for a split second, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, trying to catch your breath. “I need you,” he breathes, the words barely a whisper, but they strike like lightning in the stillness of the room. “God, I can’t think about anything else. All I can think about is you.”

You exhale shakily, your hands trailing down his chest, the desire between you two more than you can handle. The pressure is building, and you know you’re both on the edge of something that could consume you both completely.

Without thinking, you tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. The moment the fabric leaves his body, you feel the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, and your body responds instantly, an electric pulse running through you.

Ashton lets out a low, tortured sound at the touch, and his hands fly to your waist, pulling you closer, if that’s even possible, the heat between you intensifying. His lips are on you again—this time slower, deeper, more insistent as his hands slide up your back, guiding you into a rhythm that matches the frantic beat of your heart.

"Don’t hold back," you breathe against his lips, your hands gripping the sides of his face as you pull him closer. "Not now. Not ever."

The words break something inside him. Ashton groans against your lips, a sound of raw need, and the last of his restraint shatters. He kisses you again, this time with an intensity that feels like it might set you both on fire. His hands roam across your body, every touch, every caress setting your skin alight. He’s not asking anymore—he’s taking, and you’re giving, both of you drowning in the raw need of it all.

The world outside doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is Ashton. The heat, the need, the burning tension between you. It’s everything. And as his hands slide under your shirt, you know, without a doubt, that nothing will ever feel as electric as this.

[ashleftstick]

Ashton Irwin Comfort

The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a gentle light on the room, creating a comforting, warm atmosphere. You sit on the edge of the bed, your legs tucked under you, as Ashton lounges beside you, his hand resting on his chest. The rhythm of his breathing is steady, but you can tell he’s deep in thought. There’s a quietness between you two that’s rare in the bustle of life on the road.

His voice breaks the silence, low and a little hesitant.

“As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes I forget how much I need moments like this.” He chuckles softly, though it’s tinged with a touch of melancholy. “Just you and me, no crowd, no noise… just us.”

You glance over at him, noticing how his usually playful demeanor softens in these quiet moments, how his eyes—those deep, expressive eyes—are full of something more than just his usual confidence. They’re filled with a rawness, an openness that makes your heart flutter.

You lean over, resting your head on his shoulder. Ashton tilts his head slightly, his lips brushing the top of your head as he exhales slowly.

"I don’t think I tell you enough," he starts, his fingers gently threading through your hair, “but I... I need you in ways I didn’t even know I could need someone.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze, searching for any sign of doubt in his words. But there’s none. Only sincerity, the kind that makes your chest tighten with affection.

"I’m not always good with words," he continues, his thumb lightly tracing the outline of your hand. "But when I look at you, all I feel is this... overwhelming sense of love. It’s not something I can easily explain. It’s like you’ve become the song I can’t stop playing, the rhythm that keeps me going, even when everything else is chaos."

His voice drops a little, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes the world around you fade.

“I don’t deserve you, you know that, right? You make me better, you make me whole, and... I just—" He pauses, biting his lip before continuing, voice barely above a whisper. "I love you. More than I’ve ever known how to say."

The words hit you like a wave, unexpected but powerful. There’s a vulnerability in his tone that you don’t hear often, a moment of complete honesty. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of it settle between you, and you move closer to him.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing his cheek gently, tracing the line of his jaw as if to confirm he’s real, that this moment is real.

His eyes soften, the corners of his lips curling up into that familiar smile—the one that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“I’ll never stop showing you, you know,” he says with a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s in every song, every look, every moment I get to spend with you.”

Ashton pulls you into a gentle embrace, the warmth of his arms surrounding you like a safe haven. His heartbeat is steady against your cheek, and for a moment, you both just exist in this quiet space, the outside world forgotten.

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of him—comforting, familiar—and you know that this love is real. You’ve found something rare, something worth holding onto.