5SOS one shots (boys x Reader)


25. Insecure

Y/N’s not exactly someone who's comfortable with herself – with her body. She’s alright. 


She doesn't hate herself, per se, but she doesn't exactly like herself, either. She’s the type of person who’ll go “fucking hell I am an attractive human being” one moment and then she’s going, “ha ha who am I kidding I’m a piece of shit,” and it’s stupid, really, but she can’t help it. All a part of growing up and slowly learning to accept herself, she suspects.  


And she has, really. Kind of. She’s progressing. She’s slowly learning to love herself, because she’s got a boyfriend who takes every single opportunity he’s got to tell her that she's beautiful and “so, so perfect,” as he would mumble, lips mouthing the words against her skin whenever Y/N starts to doubt herself, doubt him, doubt anything. And really, he's the perfect one in this and whenever Y/N says as much, she’d get a disbelieving scoff and then a list, almost, about why she’s apparently so perfect.   


But then she's walking into his house one day, the sound of some video game echoing around the house and –    


“Nah, bro, I mean,” she hears Ashton say, huffing out a laugh. “Like. Her thighs are massive. Sometimes she takes so much space, more than me sometimes and I'm the one with the dick – ’s why I have to sit with my legs open and shite, right, but. Y/N? Christ, her thighs, though. Flattens out to the size of a fucking island,” he says, and then he. He fucking laughs. He laughs like he hasn’t just said the most rude and insensitive thing he could have ever said and.   


Y/N drawls in a deep breath, opting to not make her presence known. She’s only just walked in, anyway, and they hadn’t heard her come in. They’re too busy laughing over her. Usually they’d be laughing with her – not at her – but. Whatever.    


She can deal with people criticising her – her body, her everything, basically – because their words mean nothing. Because those are words that were more than likely typed out by snotty prepubescent teenaged girls who actually think that they’ve got a chance with Ashton – the oldest member of the band who literally considers himself to be of a whole different age group as compared to his band mates who are literally a mere year and two younger than him. Y/N takes those words in her stride, smiling, even, as they spit out these things to her (through the internet, but). When it comes from Ashton, from her bloody boyfriend, – that. That she can’t handle as well.   


Ashton's the one who’s been all “you’re so beautiful,” and “I don’t understand how you don’t see it, babe,” and “if I'm a six then you're literally off the charts”. He’s been the one to slowly coax her into loving herself, to making her do things (like going on a diet, or to the gym) because she wanted to – not because she thought she didn’t fit society’s standards of beauty.    


It was Ashton who was all sweet and kind and nice words, but. But then he’s saying things like that and Y/N can’t help but think if it’s been a joke all along. Like a bad story, a bad fan fiction, where Ashton – the bloke who’s all melodic giggles and dimpled grins and endless, selfless love for everyone, everything, around him – is actually a massive twat who’d lost a bet and had to ask her out.    


If he is then Y/N’s made a grave mistake by falling in love with this chap, hasn’t she? She’s so fucking in love with him and she’s never thought there would come a day where she would regret it (because she’s naïve and she believed that Ashton and her were it) but she kind of regrets it now. (And the feeling of regretting falling in love with someone who’s so wonderful but could really be a monster hiding under a façade is one of the most shite feelings she’s ever experienced.)   


Y/N takes in a deep breath. She’s got to be logical about this, right? Can’t just immediately assume shite like that? Maybe talk to him or summat. (Also avoid letting him see her thighs while she’s sat next to him, no matter if she’s in jeans or shorts.)    


She makes her way back to the house, plastering on a grin. It’s not as loud anymore, and with a glance to the wall clock, she realises that she’s been gone far longer than she assumed.    


“Y/N? ’s that you?” Ashton calls from the living room, head tilted back and lips immediately lifting into a grin as she comes into his line of vision.    


“Hey,” she smiles, almost nervously, before she yells at herself internally because she’s got to be all nonchalant and casual about this. Didn’t want to give Ashton more things to list about things he hates about her, did she?   


“Come here,” he says, much like a greedy child, making grabbing hands towards her, earning a small laugh from her. As soon as she’s within touching range, Ashton grabs onto her hands and tugs her down so that she’s sat on his lap and. And if he thinks that her thighs are massive when she sits, he must also think that she’s, like, too heavy or summat.    


So with a laugh, she pushes at him gently till she’s sat on the lounge beside him, immediately taking a square pillow to rest on her thighs as she grins as him – so practiced and perfect.    


Ashton pouts, though, “Cuddle.” He demands, almost.   


Y/N pokes her tongue out at him, “No thanks,” she says in a playful tone, and Ashton’s giggling, because they’re like that – they’re playful. And Y/N loves cuddling, especially with Ashton since Ashton’s long decided to stop cuddling his band mates (“I’m getting too old for this band cuddle thing, seriously”) but it’s different because she’s a bit cross with him and she also doesn’t want to, like. Accidentally squash him or summat.    


He’s clearly waiting – for her to break out into a soft, fond smile, and then come cuddle him. But it never comes. And he’s frowning, “Babe, what’s wrong?” He asks and his tone is dripping with concern and eyes are wide and filled with worry and. He’s caused this, but he doesn’t even know it.    


“Nothing,” she says, teeth slowly nibbling into her bottom lip. Ashton narrows his eyes over at her, one eyebrow raising as if to say ’you are a shit liar and I know you so much better than that, so stop lying to me and Y/N decides that sometimes she kind of hates how he does know her quite well. “‘s nothing. Honest.”   


“Y/N.” Ashton deadpans, eyes softening. “Please. What’s wrong?”   


She considers lying, insisting that she’s fine and that nothing’s wrong, but. She can’t. Not when Ashton’s looking at her like that – doe-eyed and filled with so much warmth and concern, mouth downturned because he’s upset that she's upset and. God.


Y/N breathes in slowly, eyes darting to the pillow on her lap, “… Heard you talking about me just now.”   


Ashton frowns, “When?” He asks. “You were here earlier?”   


“Went in, then out, 'cos I'm – never mind. Doesn’t matter. Was just a bit. I dunno. Hurt, is all. ’m fine now, though, honest.”   


“Why were you – ” he starts, then he's freezing and shoulders are tensing and his eyes are widening as he looks at her. “You heard me say that thing about you – about your – ” his eyes dart down to the pillow and he’s instantly cursing, “Fuck. Babe, ’m sorry, yeah? I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t even mean to say it, honestly, I just. It just. I – fuck. ’m sorry, babe, please don’t be mad at me. Didn’t mean it at all. Love you so much – love all of you. Every bit of you.”   


“’s alright,” Y/N mumbles quietly in response.    


“’s not,” Ashton insistently shakes his head and then scooting so much closer to her, literally hauling her into his lap. Y/N chokes out a little squeal, tries to get out of his hold, but he’s strong, okay. He holds her down, hands on either sides of her hips like she’s weighing nothing more than a feather. “Baby, please.” He says quietly and she stops struggling to peer at him through her eyelashes. “’m sorry. ’m a shit excuse for a boyfriend to even say that about you, to my mates, too, but. I just.” Ashton sighs, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder.    


“’s dumb, 's so dumb, but. I wanted to. I – pride. It was a pride thing, and I was hoping that you’d never hear me say it because I never want you to feel like you’re not perfect – because you are, you are,” he insists when she opens her mouth to deny it. “But they were saying shite like. I was whipped, 'cos I said sumthin’ about you being so beautiful and how I was afraid that you'd leave me when we went back on tour or summat and how I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it if you left and. They were all taking the piss, saying stuff like I was so gone for you, and I just. Fuck. Being a male is annoying, honestly,” Ashton ends up huffing out, earning the tiniest of smiles from the girl on his lap.    


He lifts his head up, placing a chaste kiss to her lips, “I love you, yeah? What I said – that thing about your thighs, or whatever, I don’t even remember what I said 'cos I literally find no fault with you, and. Yeah. I love every bit of you, I reckon I always will.”   




“Yeah,” Ashton nods. “Forgive me?”   


“Yeah,” she echoes, smiling slightly. “Still a bit cross, though, not going to lie. But. I get it? The whole male pride thing. ’s so stupid. Boys are stupid.”   


Ashton gives out a long and exasperated sigh, forehead dropping back down onto her collarbone and she startles slightly. Thinks he’s about to say something like, ’but I already said I was sorry’, but is instead presented with, "I know, right?!“   


She blinks, then she’s smiling, letting out a little laugh. Definitely in love with this man-child. Definitely doesn’t regret it.   

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...