5SOS daddy kink smut (from tumblr)

Papa Gateau <ai>

rosebitt.tumblr.com

Wrapped up in a pretty little box with a baby pink bow wrapped around. A little note inside of it read, 'For you, princess. xx' You knew this gift more of an apology from Ashton than anything else; he was summoned away for a surprise business trip to Montréal, when he promised that he'd spend the week loving on you. He'd been so busy lately. He took it out on himself, really, holding you tighter and keeping you closer to apologise and to not feel so bad for leaving his princess all alone so often. He punished himself, saying that he didn't deserve you because of his schedule. It was ridiculous, honestly. He was a busy man, you knew that entering into your relationship, and there was no reason for him to be sorry for unexpected changes like this.

You would be lying, though, if you said you didn't miss him. That you didn't miss his cuddles, his arms, his shoulders. The way his arms would wrap around you, overlapping on another, pulling you close so he could rest his head in the crook of your neck. The way his body so effortlessly dominated yours, the way you moulded into him. And when you leaned your head into the crook of where his neck meets his shoulder, you could smell his cologne, high-class and musky, just like him. His fingertips lightly tracing patterns, like a skilled painter, all across the back of your neck. The way he'd tell you that he loved you, when you were in bed together. The way he'd let his hands wander all over you, even when you weren't having sex, but it was even lovelier when you were. His hips colliding into yours, the sounds of groans and whimpers in the room, one of his arms beside your head and the other on the headboard, crashing it into the wall again and again from the force of his hips.

You would give anything to be with him now in Québec, wrapped up in hotel sheets while he whispered French words to you, his love. There was nothing prettier than when you could hear him utter words in the language, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose, because he knew what affect it had on you. It didn't have to be complex phrases. It could've just been "Je dois me dépêcher, l'avion décolle bientôt."As you heard him say in a rushed sentence over the phone before he left your apartment for the airport. Just the way his lips moved, just the way his voice sang when the accent left his mouth. It was captivating.

And you huffed, your attention brought once again to the lavish box wrapped up so pretty, sitting on your bed. Your interest was peaked, as you undid the bow gently, opening the box to see a beautiful dress, white and silk and obviously designer. 'Only the best for you, princess.' His voice rang through your mind as you picked it up by the delicate straps, the fabric falling gently. Beautiful...

He always gave you gifts, whenever he left. He claimed it was because he saw things and thought of you, but you were pretty sure he was just trying to impress you, and keep you happy, although there was never a moment that passed by when you were with him, that you weren't. He was everything to you, the sunlight peeking through curtains, the warm fire on a cold night, the comfort in a long bath. He was home. But right now your home wasn't home himself, and you missed him so terribly, and it wasn't fair that all those pesky co-workers of his got to hear his pretty French when you were stuck in the quiet flat you shared, with the expansive, god-like city view, and no Ashton to share it with. It made you sound whiny, and spoiled, but when it came to him, you most definitely were.

You decided to wear the dress, to see how it looked, and of course, it was perfect. A perfect fit, he probably even had it tailored for you. You took a picture of you in it, sending it to him with a message saying thank you. Ashton always liked it when you did that; he always told you to send pictures to him of the gifts he got you. And seeing his contact there, saved in your favourites, with the big red heart by his name, made you wish to hear his voice. And feel his touch. And hear his childish giggle, the same one he had when he was putting the heart there in the first place, although no one would ever think so. You pressed his name, and waited, chewing on your lip slightly as the phone picked up on the first ring.