If you weren’t aware, this is the sequel to my weirdly popular tattoo artist! ashton smut (Freshly Inked and Fucked).

Just a warning also, this part contains zero smut so sorry to disappoint if you were looking forward to more sexy times. REQUEST A PART 3 OR ILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU

It’s been two weeks since I got my tattoo…and had crazy sex with the tattoo artist on his chair. It’s also been that long since I’ve seen Ashton. His number is stuck to my refrigerator door, staring at me every time I walk past it. I broke my promise to see him again, but I can’t get myself to call him up. What would be the point? It’s not like a relationship could sprout from having hot passionate animal sex with a complete stranger in a tattoo parlor. And what would people think? I didn’t look like his type and he definitely did not look like the guys I’m used to dating. Besides, he’s probably forgotten about me by now anyway.

But maybe I’ve been looking for an excuse to see him anyway, because my tattoo seems to be not as dark as I wanted it, so I called in to get a touch up.

I’ve been sitting in my car outside the shop, switching between hoping Ashton’ll be in there and wishing he’s not. What’s worse is if he’s completely moved on. I check my makeup in the mirror, though I know it’s fine, and let out a long sigh. If I put this off any longer, I’ll be late for my appointment. I finally open my car door and approach the shop. The minute the door opens, I can hear the familar rock songs floating from the radio, and it reminds of the songs we fucked to.

I booked my appointment with one of the other artists, Todd, to avoid an awkward conversation with Ash. My heart sinks when I look behind the counter and see only Todd, working on another customer. No Ashton. “Hey, (y/n),” Todd says, looking up for a second. “This one’s running late. You mind waiting for a bit?” I’m about to answer him, but before I can he interjects, “Actually. Ashton’s on his break in the back. I’ll just make him come back early.” And before I can protest, he’s yelling the same name I had yelled over and over and over again as he was pounding into me that one night.

“What’s up, Todd?” I turn to see Ash’s head pop out of the back room, but Todd doesn’t get to reply before Ashton looks around the shop, spotting me. The moment his eyes meet mine, his whole face seems to turn down, in undeniable disappointment. And it hurts. I stand in my spot, awkwardly clutching my purse in my hands. I look down and focus on my chipped nail polish. “What do you need Todd?” Ashton asks again.

“(y/n)’s come in for a touch up and I won’t be done for a while. Get her in your chair.” I can’t help but let my eyes flicker to his, knowing he had to be thinking the same thing as me–how he’s already had me in his chair, in more ways than one.

“On my break. Just make her wait,” Ashton retorts.

“Don’t be an asshole and get her set up,” Todd says with force.

Ashton sighs and practically drags his body to his black leather tattooing chair. He pulls his tray of tools with a clatter. He doesn’t say anything, but just looks at me. I shuffle over before he finds anything else to glare at me for.

As I set down my purse and sit in his chair, he’s completely silent.

“Can you move your strap a little?” Ashton asks, surprisingly lightly. I oblige and slip my arm out of my tank top strap so I can push it down enough to show all of the tattoo. “Am I just touching up the grenade or the flowers or both?” I’m stunned for a second at where all the anger’s gone.

“Uh, both,” I say. In a minute, the familiar buzzing of his needle begins and I feel the hot, sweet pain on my skin. It’s quiet again and I want to say something, but I don’t know how to make anything that comes out of my mouth not sound like a sad excuse. Ashton’s no idiot–though it makes me wonder how many times he’s been stood up, if ever. I don’t get a chance to speak, when my phone buzzes from inside my purse. I glance at it, wishing I could reach it from where it sits on the floor.

“So it does work,” Ashton murmurs, and I barely catch what he says.

“What?”

“Your phone. It does work." Shit. His needle work continues uninterrupted but by the way his other hand tremors slightly on my shoulder, I can tell he’s pissed, and rightly so.

"I’m sorry, Ash–”

“Save it. I’ve heard them all." So he has been stood up before.

"Listen–” I try again.

“Done,” Ashton says before I can attempt a sincere apologize.

He gets up and walks away into the back room. Todd’s occupied with his other client, so I follow Ash into the back room.

“I was going to call you but–”

“But what? You "lost” my number?“ He takes my silence as a lack of an answer. "What? What was the reason you didn’t call?” His voice tells me he’s angry, but there’s a soft tinge to his face and tone that says he’s truly hurt.

“I’m not like you. I can’t just go out with whoever I like.” He looks confused so I continue. “There’s a social order to things, Ash. We’re completely different kinds of people. It doesn’t work like that.”

“That’s a bullshit answer, (y/n). You don’t know what kind of person I am.” Ashton is angrily pulling a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and opens a door that lets out behind the tattoo shop. I’m on his heels as he’s sticking a cig between his lips. He reaches to light it and I swat it from his mouth, letting it fall to the ground unlit.

“What the fuck, (y/n)?” He reaches for another one from his pack, but I grab that from his hands too.

“You wanna prove to me what kind of person you are?”

“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” Ashton spits. As I won’t give him a chance to light up, he pushes past me back into the back room.

“Take me out to dinner,” I say. He shoves his cigarettes back into his jacket, so I continue. “Or let me take you out. Tell me about your family, your home, your past girlfriends. Tell me about you tattoos,” I say, stepping closer, and reaching my hand out to lightly touch his ink-covered bicep. “What’s your favorite movie? Favorite color?” Ashton doesn’t flinch away from my touch, so I go on. “I want you to tell me all about you. And then I want you make love to me like you mean it.” This next part gets Ashton’s attention. His head turns to look me in the eyes, his own hazels ones impossible to read. They look confused, but intrigued, yet conflicted swirled into one rich color. “And I don’t mean fucking me in the tattoo parlor, on your chair. I want you in bed with me, touching me like it’s the first and last time.”

By now, Ashton has completely turned to face me, giving me his full attention. I’m distracted by how his chest rises and falls beneath his tattered band shirt. But I continue.

“I want free roam on your tattoos, to trace them with my fingers. Like this.” I pause and run my finger slowly from his shoulder all the way own his arm, following the pattern inked into his skin. “I want your hot body above me, as you thrust into me. I want to brush your hair out of your face. Mostly, I want you to take your time with me, because we don’t need to rush.”

Ash finally speaks up. “You can’t just not call me, come back here and demand this from me.” His words fly though me like a poison-tipped arrow. He pulls away from my closeness and my face visibly falls. He goes back out into the shop lobby. I’m left alone in the back, but not ready to give up. This is my fault, after all.

“I really am sorry, Ashton. I know I fucked up,” I try again. Todd looks up briefly as I follow on Ash’s tail.

“Maybe we are just too different, (y/n),” Ashton says.

“Please don’t,” I whisper, but the bell signifies that he’s already left the building.

I’ve been wanting to do a thorough tattoo artist ashton smut so here you go sorry for mistakes its 5am and this took me fucking 5 hours 

also i’ve made a rock playlist to listen to while reading and it mentions some of the songs so click here

P.S. SMUT COVER (below) PROVIDED BY THE LOVELY boomuke!

From the moment I walk in to the tattoo parlor, I feel the judging eyes on me. Both tattoo artists and customers alike are staring at me, wondering what is a girl like me doing in a place like that? You could say I’m more of an inside-out Oreo cookie, innocent cookie on the outside, with a punk rock creme filling. I can’t remember when my fascination with tattoos began, but I’ve always known I want to get tons of them.

I walk up to the counter and say in a slightly shaky voice, “I’ve got a scheduled appointment for a tattoo at 7.”

The man then asks, “Who’s the artist?” To which I reply,

“Ashton.”

“He’s just finishing up a piece. Fill out the paperwork here and have you i.d. ready for when he comes back.” I’m left to fill in my information at the counter. Hoisting myself up onto the high bright red stool, I peer over the counter. getting a look at the setup of tattooing chairs, lined up three in a row. The middle is empty, while the far left is being sanitized by a heavily pierced woman, which leaves the last chair to be occupied by my tattoo artist, Ashton. my eyes immediately take notice of the beautiful girl seated in the chair, white thigh exposed and shining with new ink. But when I catch sight of the guy behind the needle, I don’t want to look at anything else.

He’s dressed in black skinny jeans and a white Sonic Youth graphic tee, with a hole in it–through which I spot a bit of his chest tattoo. Over it, he wears a red and black flannel. His hair is a dark blond and looks as if it hasn’t been cut since he hit puberty–which seems to be ages ago by the size of his biceps and chiseled jaw, speckled with stubble. His shaggy locks droop over the black bandana he’s wearing–no doubt to keep the hair from his face (though it fails miserably, also to my delight).

I’m further treated when he begins to remove the flannel, revealing his full tattoo sleeves beneath his cut-off.

His tattoos are the first thing to strike me, how they snake up his arms and continue beneath his shirt and lick up his neck. One sleeve is made up of mostly black tattoos, while the other is splashed with classic-style tattoos in bright reds and blues. What I can see of his chest piece is also all black, and what appears to be the tip of wings spanning to the base of his broad neck. In this moment, it seems as if tattoos were invented to be displayed by this man, and this man only. My mouth had ironically gone dry while I soaked in the view of his glorious ink.

By the time I actually realize what he’s doing, he’s slicking the woman’s fresh tattoo with Vaseline. She rises from the seat and pays him. I’m again drawn to the way his hand smoothly slips the wad of cash into his back pocket before he reaches for the sanitizer to wipe the seat down with. Before I have time to roll my tongue back up and return it to my mouth from where it lies on the floor like a squishy, pink carpet, he is walking towards me.

“You must be my next appointment,” he says, offering me his hand.

“And last,” calls the larger man that helped me earlier. “You lock up, Ash." 

"I’m Ashton. We’d spoken on the phone earlier.” He shakes my hand as I quickly reply with my name.

“Have you got your i.d?” He asks, and I curse myself for forgetting to pull it out before he came over. My hands have a jitter to them, which goes unnoticed by Ashton, as they fumble into my wallet and present my driver’s license.

“First tattoo?” He asks, nodding towards my shaking fingers.

“Actually no,” I reply, flushing a light shade of pink.

“Well it’s just us here now so it’ll be real chill and done in no time.” Ashton shows me to his chair. I sit while he leans up against the nearest counter. “So what is it I’m tattooing for you today? I don’t remember what we’d talked about on the phone.”

“The start of a larger piece on my shoulder slash neck area,” I answer, automatically bringing my hand up to indicate the spot.

“That’s right. And you’ve brought the printed photo?”

“Yeah.” I pull the copy from my purse and hand it to him. Ashton studies it for a bit.

“A grenade with flowers. I like it. Will be a pleasure to tattoo on you.” He sets the paper down for a minute to arrange his tray of tools and find a disinfectant wipe. Ashton turns to me with the wipe in hand, pausing to survey me. “Love, you’ll need to remove that shirt. I haven’t got x-ray vision,” he says after a moment. “Sorry, that sounded rude. You can turn so your stomach’s facing the chair first if you’re nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” I say with a sudden unexpected burst of courage. I pull my tee over my head and let it drop to the floor by my feet. I then sit in the chair so my shoulder is facing outward.

I’d decided to wear a sports bra to the session, so my boobs pressed up against the cool black leather of the chair. I purposefully brushed the long strands of hair away from my neck so Ashton could get a good view of my cleavage flush against the chair. The cool pad of the disinfectant hit my skin, making me suck a breath in, making my chest even more pronounced. I took a chance to sneak a look at him, peering up at him beneath my eyelashes and catching his eye, which was previously ogling my rack.

To my dismay, Ashton looks away and when he comes back with the outline of my tattoo, a look of complete professionalism has taken over his strong set golden eyes and lips.

The minutes ticking by on the clock seem to be the only sound in the deserted parlor until Ashton’s needle turns on and drowns out the buzzing in my clit with the buzzing of its own. Even as he begins my tattoo, he remains in concentrated silence, a solemn look still plastered to his face.

“So it must be fun being a tattoo artist,” I say, attempting to stir up some kind of conversation.

“It’s got its interesting times, yeah,” he replies before falling silent again. It seems like the whole session has dragged by with no talking, just the quiet sound of rock music floating from the radio perched on the counter. By the feel of it, my tattoo’s nearly done. Sure enough, I feel his steady hand trace the long thin line of the safety lever. His other hand comes up to help finish the line–as it ends more on my side rather than my shoulder. I find myself relishing the roughness of the pads of his fingers on my skin, but how he still touches me just as gently as if I were one of the flowers now inked on y skin. It’s then that I feel his hand brush against my clothed breast, and I’m ashamed of how hard my nipples are (surely that didn’t go unnoticed by him?). I’m sure this is by accident, but I’m also sure that he isn’t sorry he did it, though he does apologize with a choked, “Shit, sorry”.

I shake it off and he’s just finishing up my tattoo, rubbing a thin coat of Vaseline on it, when he speaks up. “So you said this isn’t your first tattoo?” I’m surprised but flattered by the way I make his voice flutter. How could such a masculine, confident-looking man be nervous…especially because of me?

“Yeah, I’ve got just one other,” I reply.

“I can’t see it right now,” he comments. It’s not a question or statement really, and I can’t tell what he means by this, but I continue,

“No. You wouldn’t be able to see it.”

“I tattoo for a living. I’ve done tattoos in all sorts of places,” he replies, regaining his composure.

“Let’s just say it’s in a place you wanna get to,” I retort. Even Ashton’s surprised by my boldness.

“What makes you think I want to?” He asks, his eyebrows knitting up in a questioning look. He gets up from his stool and begins to clean up around me, completely ignoring me. He even picks up my shirt and tosses it in my direction.

“I still have to pay you,” I remind him.

“You haven’t even checked out your tattoo,” Ashton says.

He’s got a mirror in hand, and holds it out to me. I take it and attempt to angle it so I can see my shoulder. “I can’t get the angle right,” I huff, lowering my arms.

Ashton’s firm arms move down and grip mine, pulling them back up. His large hand skims down my wrist to the tips of my fingers until he reaches the mirror, moving it so I can see my tattoo. I only glance for a second at the hand grenade tattooed on me, because I’m too distracted by how close his body is to mine, resting just behind me so if I were to even move back slightly, I’d collide with his chest. I can even feel his warm breath on my neck, making my nerves stand on-end. Some loose strands of his hair tickle my ear.

“Like it?” He whispers inches from my face. His arms have now slipped around my waist and sit at the waist line of my jeans.

“Love it,” I murmur back. At this point, I’m not sure how much longer I can resist Ashton’s subtle advances, but I can thank God when his fingers intertwine with mine, pulling on one of my arms so I am forced to turn around to face him. His copper eyes meet mine and spur me on, pulling my lips to his as if he was some kind of strong magnet. His mouth is as firm as they look, though they somehow still manage to melt into every break between our lips. His tongue wastes no time in finding its way into my mouth, tasting the tang my teasing words leave behind. His hands touch every bit of me they can reach as they make their way to cradle my face. I can’t decide what turns me on more: the way he knows how to maneuver around my body even though we’ve never met, or the way he’s still gentle with me.

His hair grazes my forehead as it hangs loosely from his bandana, and we continue kissing even as he drifts the two of us towards his tattooing chair. I step blindly, relying on only him and the careful hold Ashton has on my body to guide me. A loud clatter rings through the empty shop, what I can only assume to be Ashton running into and knocking over his tray of tools. He pulls away from my lips, eyes opening deliciously slow and sensual.

“Now let’s find that other tattoo, shall we?” Ashton purs, his fingers sneaking underneath the elastic band of my sports bra. I raise my arms above my head and watch his gaze intently as he pulls it over my head. I shake my hair loose and give him some time to take in the sight of my bare chest. “Fantastic,” he whispers more to himself. Ash cups my boobs in his hands before running his fingertips over the sensitive skin. My nipples are hard from being in only a sports bra in the cold tattoo parlor.

Then, he lets his hands skim down my stomach and work at the button on my pants. They soon fall to the ground and leave me in my lacy grey thong, which I purposefully wore to my appointment. There’s nothing like wearing sexy underwear while getting a tattoo.

He grips my ass in his hands, squeezing it and pushing me up against his body. “You’ve got too many clothes on,” I state. Ashton obliges and whips his shirt off, along with his pants, which are so tight at the ankles that he has to shake them off. I finally get a look at his full work. In the middle of his broad chest is a skull, surrounded by wide, feather wings that reach all the way to the tops of his shoulders. On the left side, right on his pec, he sports a classic-style star in black and red with fancy scrawl above and below that reads: “Bound by Blood”.

I’m cut off from admiring his ink by a swift palm to my ass, sending a sharp smack reverberating against the bricks walls. Ashton brings down his other hand in the same manner, leaving them both on my ass, then spinning me around again and pulling my bum to rub against his tight grey boxer briefs, now straining against his obvious hard-on. I hear “Sultans of Swing” by Dire Straits begin to play from the radio as I grind onto Ashton, moving your hips to the strum of the guitar. He grabs my hair in his fist, pulling my head back so my whole backside is flush against him. His mouth strains to place quick but wet and sucking kisses to my exposed neck, making me moan low in my throat.

“That’s it baby girl, make noise for me.” I practically purr in appreciation of his pet name for me. His fingers pull aside my thong so they can show my clit some love, circling it relentlessly. Without warning, he yanks my thong roughly down my legs, letting it drop to my feet. Ash turns me around again to get a good look at my naked body, his lips turning up in a smirk when he finally spots my tattoo. “What is it? I’m going to need a closer look at it,” he says slyly, pushing me lightly back so I fall into his chair, the cool leather pricking my ass and back like icy lovebites.

Ashton sits at the edge of the chair between my legs, staring at my mound as if it were topped with whipped cream and a cherry. “A rose? How classy,” he scoffs before placing a small kiss to the tattoo that sits at my pantyline.

“Shut up, asshole,” I breath in as his mouth moves lower towards my heat. His tongue relaxes my folds, slathering him in his saliva and my own copious juices. His tongue works at my clit while two of his fingers take the place at my entrance, teasing me open.

“What a good girl. Sure didn’t expect this when I saw you come in,” Ashton approves. I grip the arm rests as my whole lower region tingles beneath his mouth. He pulls one of my legs over his shoulder, pulling me closer to his mouth. I’ve never heard anything like this–just the sound of Ashton eating me out and “Zombie” by the Cranberries jamming in the background. My moans join the singer’s voice and it’s driving Ashton to work my body faster and faster. Apparently Ash can feel my oncoming orgasm just as I do, because he removes his mouth from my clit and trails his kisses up to my belly button. “Get up,” he groans against my skin and I do what I’m told.

I stand and watch Ashton suck his fingers clean then pull at the waistband of his boxers, struggling to sheath his throbbing cock. He pulls them down in one swift movement, his dick springing free. Ashton takes my place on the chair. “Ride me, baby,” he says, grabbing my hand and guiding me towards his lap. I’m practically drooling over his massive, muscular thighs and am dismayed when he begins to roll on a condom. I only hope I will get to feel him in my mouth later, because right now I want to focus on being fucked into oblivion.

I straddle his lap and slowly lower myself onto him, feeling his hands helping to smoothly guide his cock into me. I let out a loud breath from my parted lips, taking a peek at Ashton’s expression before letting my eyes close in pleasure. It seems just as I think he can’t get any more angelic, something else comes along and knocks me to my feet like a punch to the gut. His eyes are knitted closed and his mouth forms a ‘O’. Ashton squirms beneath me, letting me know to move before he gets impatient. I calculate my stride, going slow enough to enjoy every inch of him entering me, but fast enough to keep him satisfied.

“Fuck (y/n),” Ashton grunts, forcing my eyes open. I meet his eyes, the gold in them glinting more than ever as he watches me glide on top of him. He breaks our eye contact to lean in and give my nipples some attention, his tongue swirling deliciously around them.

“Yes, Ashton. God fuck!” I cry, voicing my pleasure for him.

“You’re so sexy,” he says, pulling away from my nipple for a minute.

“I need to get more tattoos here if this is the service I get,” I say, though it comes out more as a breathy moan.

Even though I’m in the middle of being thoroughly fucked by Ashton, I find pleasure in the sound of his laugh, a sound among many others that I want to remember forever.

“You’re driving me fucking nuts, darling,” Ash groans. His hands grip my waist, stopping me from gliding on his dick so he can thrust up into me, pounding into me like the fine workings of an engine.

My moans come more frequent and increase in volume. Both of us can no longer speak coherent sentences. All it is now is each other’s names and “fuck shit” “God” “fuck fuck fuck”. He sets me down again, but keeps his grip on my waist, continuing to pull my hips back to the base of his cock, harder and harder until Ash grunts.

“I’m there. FUCK,” he shouts, before he throbs in me. I get off his lap to his confusion, peel the condom from his cock and stroke him and lick his head until he’s cumming in my mouth. I swallow, earning a breathless “good girl” from Ashton. Once he’s caught his breath, I reach for my clothes. “Not so fast, baby girl,” Ash stops me. He pulls me back into the chair like before, reattaching his mouth to my heat. His tongue slips into and out of me, then laps up to my clit, his fingers working wherever his tongue isn’t at that moment. My orgasm is finally tipping, spilling over as he circle my clit with his tongue. I cry out his name a few times, clutching as his mop of hair. I pull his mouth closer to me, until I feel my orgasm subsiding, the stars slowly disappearing from behind my eyes.

We both dress in silence, at a loss for words. Once he’s got his boxers and tight jeans back on, Ash leans down to pick up his fallen tools and replace them to the tray. Meanwhile, I shamelessly admire his shapely ass as he bends over.

“Are you staring?” He grins, facing me and standing up, arms crossed in mock surprise.

“Just enjoying the view,” I return his sly smile.

“Don’t suppose I’ll be seeing yours anytime soon again, will I?” He asks, and I look up to see his face has gone serious. Here comes the awkward “what now?” phase of sex. And it fucking sucks–especially when this is most likely goodbye even though I wouldn’t mind seeing Ashton again.

“Dunno,” I shrug, pulling on my shoes. “By the way, what do I owe you for the tattoo?” I ask, grabbing my wallet from the counter.

“How about you treat me to dinner and we’re square.”

“That doesn’t seem fair, Ashton. This is like $100 work right here. I don’t want to cheat you.”

“Promise me I can see you again. That’s all I want from you,” he says, handing you his phone numbers scribbled on the back of one of the tattoo place’s business cards.

“I promise.”

(TO BE CONTINUED)

I’ve been working on this for ages and I’m so excited to finally be done with it tbh. I hoPE YoU DONt hATE iT!!!!!!! ohgod im so tired 

Requested: No
Word Count: 3926
Character Count: 21481
Warnings: Daddy kink

Where are you. Your phone vibrates again. You rest your elbow on the bar, clicking on it, knowing you’ll be ignoring it. You glance at the time; nearly four in the morning.

I will find you. You can’t just leave.

You let out a sigh of exasperation, quickly typing back a response to him. Well, looks like I did. Oops.

Only two hours ago, you found out Ashton had been sharing the details of your sex life with his friends; who were also your friends. It wouldn't 

Keep reading