5SOS one shots (boys x Reader)


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14. Argument pt 1

Ashton slams his open palm down on the wooden table, eyes alit with a fury so strong that even Y/N’s a bit terrified because she's never, never, seen him this angry before. She’s seen him angry before, of course she has, they’ve been together for over three years, but she’s never seen him this angry – to the extent that if they were in a cartoon show, he'd probably have smoke puffing out of either side of his ears.    

 

But this is no time for her imagination to be running wild because she’s angry, too. She’s so fucking pissed that the tears accumulating in the corner of her eyes are almost spilling out. That’s how angry she is. Anger to the extent that she’s almost fucking crying – that’s the worst kind of anger.   

 

And it’s stupid, good God, it’s so fucking stupid. It started with Y/N telling Ashton about something that she’s finally decided to do for herself. That she’s finally found a dream, something to chase, because she’s spent most of her life without a dream or wanting anything for herself in her life. That dream involved her going to a school, not in Sydney, and that turned into a tiny argument. That little argument turned into something else, and something else after that, and then both Ashton and Y/N were yelling at each other and calling each other names and it was all horrible. The worst part’s that both of them have no idea what brought it on to this extent. All they know is that they’re pissed at each other and have, apparently, been pissed at each other for a long ass time.   

 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?!” Ashton yells, eyes narrowing and crinkling – not in a way that she’s used to seeing.    

 

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Y/N yells back, “I haven’t done anything wrong! All I’ve done is fucking been there for your stupid band but when want something for myself, it’s wrong?!”   

 

“Stupid? Stupid?! Ashton repeats incredulously, eyes widening as he glares even harder at her. “This is my fucking dream! This is my fucking life goal and I’ve finally fucking achieved it, and you’re calling it stupid?!”

 

Y/N lets out a laugh, so void of happiness that it even leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. “You’re a fucking hypocrite, Ashton. At least what want for myself is something I can attain myself, without waiting to get recognised because all I’ve got to do is study hard for what I want. And yes, your fucking band idea was stupid but I supported it, didn’t I?! I came to every single gig, helped you whenever you were stressed, patched up your hands when you hurt them from drumming! – ”   

 

“– And now you’re calling it stupid,” Ashton laughs mirthlessly, glaring at her so hard that she’s almost certain she’d be buried six feet under if she didn’t know him at all. “What a girlfriend,” he raises his voice, arms stretching out at either side of him before he’s clapping obnoxiously loud, “Y/N Y/L/N – best girlfriend of the year. Shitting on her boyfriend’s dream.”   

 

Her hands are thrown up in the air in exasperation as he says that, “What the fuck are you on about?!" She yells at him, tugging at her hair, "All I’ve ever been is fucking supportive and now that I finally found something that want for myself, you’re pulling all of this shit with me! So tell me, yeah, who is being the bigger dick? I’ll give you a clue – it’s not me,” she seethes.   

 

“Why the fuck would you even want to suddenly move, huh? Suddenly want something for yourself?" Ashton mocks with a humourless grin spread across his lips. The smile (that shouldn’t even be allowed to be classified as a smile because it's so sinister) is slid off of his face as he speaks again, "You’ve met someone else, haven’t you? You're cheating on me, aren’t you?!” Ashton bellows, his voice practically trembling with anger as he speaks, a finger going to point accusingly at her.   

 

“What the fuck – no, I’m not!” Y/N yells back.    

 

“You fucking are!” He yells again, “You’re fucking cheating on me! What – am I not fucking good enough for you?! Huh?!”   

 

“Fucking hell, Ashton, I’m not – ”   

 

“You know what?” He interrupts her mid-sentence, voice loud so that he’s overpowering hers. “I don’t even fucking care anymore,” Ashton practically spits. “Fucking leave,” he hisses, pointing to the front door behind him. “I’m so much fucking better off without you anyway.”   

 

“Yeah?” Y/N cocks her head to the side a little, a small and completely humourless, void of any sort of happiness, smile tugs at her lips. “Feeling’s mutual,” she seethes, then she’s picking up her bag and car keys, shoving past Ashton to walk out the door, hand going to rub under her eyes. And when she walks out, neither of them are looking back.    

 

—   

 

The streets are dark, hazy. Or maybe that’s just the tears clogging her eyesight. Probably.    

 

Y/N isn’t even going to lie – almost every bone in her body wants her to go back to Ashton, pull him into a hug and just fall asleep next to him because she’s missed him so much but every logical part of her brain is telling her ‘no. He’s said what he wants to say. He’s probably always wanted to say that. Don’t do it. Don’t go back. Put yourself first, for once.’

 

And she’s listening to the logical part of her brain because she is sick and tired of being walk over everyone else. So Y/N carries on with her drive, one hand on the wheel since the other is preoccupied with wiping away her tears that she’s so desperate to prove to herself aren’t there. She’s alone, but she still doesn’t want to cry because Ashton isn’t worth her tears. Ashton isn’t worth her time. Ashton isn’t worth her.

 

When she glances down at the radio for a brief moment to turn on something, anything, so that she’s not suffocated with her thoughts – that’s when it happens.   

 

Lights enter her peripheral vision and Y/N glances up just in time to see a massive ten-wheeler truck driving straight smack into her. And she tries to pull on the steering wheel, dodge it, but she’s too late because the next thing her mind is registering is pain. 

 

And her last thoughts? Even after all the things he’s said, even after he’s practically shitted on her dreams, her last thoughts are “Ashton Irwin, I am still so in love with you. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said, and if there’s anyone worth my tears or my time, it’s you, it’ll always be you,” before there’s nothing but blackness plaguing her once overdriven-with-thoughts mind.   

 

—   

 

It’s three hours later when Ashton’s body is slumped to the ground with his jaw hurting because of how hard he’s grinding his teeth together, with dried tears on his cheeks. It’s three hours later when he realises what he’s actually said, what he’s actually done to the one person he’s sure that he’ll only ever love. It’s three hours later when he calls her, only to get her voicemail.    

 

“Y/N, please,” he breathes into the phone, sniffling. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean what I said. I know you’re not cheating on me, baby, I know that. I was being an asshole and I’m so sorry. Christ, I’m so fucking sorry. I love you. I need you, Y/N. God. I need you so much. I was lying when I said I was better off without you. When you’re not with me, I’m not… me. I’m never okay when you’re not with me and I just,” he sighs, pulling at his hair. “I’m so fucking sorry. Just, please. Come back here. Or pick up your phone. Please.”

 

He tries to dial her again, ten minutes later. He gets her voicemail again and he’s sighing, “Please, baby. Please, pick up. I’m sorry. Come back.”   

 

Twenty minutes later. Voicemail again.   

 

He tries again, and again, and again. And he leaves voicemail, after voicemail, after voicemail – all apologising for what he’s said. All telling her that if she’s really sure about what she wants then he’ll support her, no matter what. He’ll even move with her, because he knows he can’t properly function without her. He’ll be there for when she’s stressed, he’ll be there for when she’s got big projects, and he’ll be there the day she graduates – and he’ll be the one giving a standing ovation and clapping obnoxiously loud because he’ll be so fucking proud of her. It hasn’t even happened yet but Ashton’s already so proud of Y/N because she’s finally got a dream and she's finally chasing it.   

 

If he wasn’t so much of a prick in how he reacted to her telling him that then they’d probably be cuddled against each other, asleep, and Ashton would be the first to start apartment hunting for her. For them.    

 

The sun rises and Ashton barely even notices. The drummer is still slumped against the wall, phone in hand. He heaves himself off of the ground, brushing himself off. His eyes catch sight of himself in the mirror and he looks, well. He looks disgusting. His eyes are rimmed red, there’s dried tears on his face, his hair’s a mess and he just looks terrible.    

 

A shower does him good, and then he’s in proper clothes, phone in hand and ready to get his girl back. He knows where she would’ve gone. She would’ve gone to her best friend’s house, so that’s where Ashton goes.   

 

“What?” She hisses once she sees that it’s Ashton who’s come knocking. She’s dressed like she’s ready to go somewhere and Ashton would’ve normally asked where she’s headed, but he’s got other priorities right now.   

 

“Where is she?” Ashton practically demands. “Where is Y/N?”   

 

“Why the fuck do you care?" She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Last I heard, you're so much better off without her, anyway,”  she mocks and Ashton has the decency to look ashamed of himself as he darts his gaze to the ground. “Fucking do me and her a favour, and piss off.”

“I love her,” he says, looking up. His eyes are glassy now. “I fucking love her, so much, and I can’t live without her, and I need to find her and apologise because I didn’t mean anything I said and,” he cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Where is she? Where’s my girlfriend?”   

 

“You should’ve used your fucking pea-sized brain before you said what you said then, don’t you think so?!” She finally yells at him and Ashton staggers back a step from shock. “Because of you, you might have to fucking learn how to live without her. Because of you, I might lose my best friend in the whole entire world. Because of you, her parents might lose their daughter. Because of you, she is lying on a fucking operating table right now!" 

 

 —   

 

"Hey,” a hand lands on Ashton’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. Ashton doesn’t look up and he doesn’t know who it is, because his mind’s too fogged up with the fear of knowing that he might lose the love of his life to be able to tell who’s voice belongs to who. “It’s gonna be okay.”   

 

Ashton looks up at that, teary eyes landing on the tanned black-haired, brown-eyed younger boy, “How can you be so sure?” He manages to croak out, blinking as he feels more tears start to accumulate at his eyes.   

 

Calum shrugs, going to sit next to him in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, “Because Y/N’s badass. She’ll pull through.”   

 

“What if she doesn’t?” He asks, voice no higher than a whisper. “I can’t live without her, Cal. I can’t.”   

 

—   

 

Y/N’s parents come out of the room that Y/N’s currently in, and they’re both crying and it shatters at Ashton’s heart. He hasn’t even gotten to see her yet, and if her parents reactions are any consolation, he knows that he’s going to be fucking bawling when he comes out. Y/N’s father pulls her mother into a hug, then he's locking eyes with Ashton, nodding over in the direction of the room – silently telling him to go into the room and see her.    

 

Ashton takes in a deep breath, hands starting to shake and lip already quivering, even before he’s seen her.   

 

It takes less than a millisecond for him to see her and for tears to start streaming down his face like it’s fucking raining from his eyes or something. Y/N’s motionless on the bed – hooked up to tubes with bruises and cuts and bandages and a cast around her arm. And it takes another millisecond before Ashton’s stumbling forward, dropping to his knees by the side of her bed, picking up her uninjured hand and siding his fingers between the spaces that hers leave.   

 

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeats over and over, tears still running down his face and his breath’s hitching each time he talks because he’s trying to apologise and make sure that she hears that he’s sorry, because he just needs her to know that. He doesn’t hate her. He loves her. He doesn’t not need her. He needs her as much as he needs oxygen to survive.    

 

—   

 

It’s three days later, and Ashton hasn’t moved from his spot in the chair next to Y/N’s bed. He’s always holding onto her hand, and refusing to do anything apart from sit with her. The nurses tried to get him to leave but Ashton can get pretty violent and intimidating when he needs to be. They backed off pretty quick. And he’s spent so much time just talking to her, telling her things. Apologising over and over, at least every hour, whenever there’s no one else in the room apart from him.    

 

When her parents are in the room, he just sits and holds her hand. When his mum’s in the room, he just sits and holds her hand. When the boys are in the room, he just sits and holds her hand.    

 

Ashton never talks when there’s other people in the room. The only people he’s talked to in the three days of him being in there were the nurses who tried to get him to leave, and Y/N – even if the conversations are solely one-sided.   

 

And just as Ashton feels like he’s run out of tears, he takes one lasting look at her and he’s crying again. Tears are leaking out of the corner of his eyes and he’s scooting the plastic chair so much closer to the bed than it already was.   

 

“Please,” Ashton chokes out, pressing fervent kisses to the back of her hand and feeling the saltiness of his tears as they drip down onto her hand. “Please, Y/N. Wake up. I can’t live without you. I need you. I love you. We have so much more to look forward to. I’ll move with you, and we’ll live in a little apartment. Maybe even get a little dog for when I’m out on tour and for when you’re stressed with your workload at school. And once things calm down a bit with the band, I’ll ask you to marry me while we’re watching the tele, and you’ll say yes before acting like you’re not about to cry tears of happiness, and ask me to shut up because you want to watch whatever’s playing on the tele. And we’ll get married and we’ll stay married and everything will be great and perfect, just like you are. Perfect. So perfect. Please, please, please, wake up. Y/N, please. Wake up. I love you, I’m sorry.”   

 

And Ashton’s so hopeful for a response that he might’ve missed it if he weren’t holding onto Y/N’s hand so tightly. But he feels it, a little twitch of her hand, and it’s instantly got Ashton sitting up straighter as his eyes gaze so much more intently at her. The room’s silent, so silent, apart from the constant beeping of the heart monitor she’s hooked up to. Ashton dare not even breathe because if she’s waking up then he wants to see it all, he wants to make sure that he’s the first thing she sees and that he’s able to apologise over and over and tell her how much he loves her and how he’ll move with her  because that’s what he wants.    

 

There’s a response, alright. Just not a response he’s hoping for. It’s the response he’s dreading. It’s the response that’s got him kicking at the chair as he stands. It’s the response that’s got him screaming at the top of his lungs, yelling at her unconscious figure on the bed. It’s the response that makes the doors to the room she’s in burst open, doctors and nurses rushing in. It’s the response that’s got nurses shoving him out of the room as they run to Y/N’s side.  

 

It’s the response that makes Ashton collapse to the ground, clutching at his chest because the emotional pain he’s feeling is so strong that it’s physically affecting him. It’s the response that makes the boys and his mum and Y/N’s parents and her best friend come sprinting to him. It’s the response that’s got them all crying, holding onto each other.    

 

It’s the response of a single sound. A single sound, accompanied by a visual aid.   

 

The monitor had a continuous beeping sound. One after the next, as if a truck was backing up in the street and alerting anyone of it's presence. It was so sudden. Ashton hadn’t expected it. But it was just out of nowhere, after a twitch from her fingers, that the monitor changed its sound. And this time, the sound was constant. No breaks in between the beeps. Just a long, flat piercing sound that penetrated Ashton’s ears.   

 

The monitor had flat-lined.

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