5SOS one shots (boys x Reader)


10. Life goes on

“Michael Clifford— member of one of the world’s greatest rock bands,” Y/N exclaims in a mock-announcer’s voice when Michael walks into her bedroom.


The boy himself snorts, shaking his head as he throws himself onto her bed. “As if. You do know I can only play, like, three chords, right?”


Y/N shrugs, grinning at him. “So you’ll learn more. Practice makes perfect and stuff like that,” she waves a dismissive hand in the air, before joining him on the bed, kissing him on the nose. Because— reasons.


Michael scrunches up his face rather adorably, but then he’s roping an arm around her waist and pulling her in closer with a smile lighting up his handsome face. “I don’t get it,” he mumbles softly.


“Don’t get what?”


“Why you have so much faith in me. I mean— look at me. ‘m a high school dropout and I wanna be in a band but I can barely play the guitar and ‘m not even a good singer, and—”


“Fuck off,” Y/N rolls her eyes playfully, a hand covering his mouth. “You have dreams and you’re getting closer and closer to achieving that dream. And like I said: practice makes perfect. Hell, the only reason the greatest guitarists are great is because they keep playing and playing. John Butler started when he was, like, sixteen? And look at him now— he’s fucking amazing. Just like you’ll be, one day.”


Michael snorts out a laugh, even with her hand still over his mouth. She pulls a face but doesn’t move her hand away. “And you’re a great singer, alright. I love your voice.”


Michael pulls her hand away finally. “You’re my girlfriend, you have to say that.”


“Not true,” she shakes her head. “If you sucked, I’d tell you.” He snorts again. “And as to why I have so much faith in you…” she shrugs, “I just do. You’re talented, Mikey, and so are the boys— and you guys are going places. I know you are.”


Michael tightens his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Never leave me,” he murmurs against her skin.


“Not planning to.”





Being left behind is one of the worst feelings in the world. It’s like— the people you love are leaving without glancing back even once, not even caring if you’re going to follow or not.


That’s how Y/N feels— because Michael’s left her behind. Funny thing is, they’re still together. And she doesn’t even know why.


Once upon a time, before the fame, he’d told her to never leave him, and she’d meant it whole-heartedly when she’d responded with words that she wasn’t planning to. The thing is, Michael didn’t change overnight.


It was a gradual thing that Y/N took too long to realise, until it was too late and there was nothing she could do to try and keep him grounded because he’d already reached the point of being a little bitch to everyone surrounding him— including her.


Take now, for example. The boys are on tour and Y/N’s come along for a week because she could, and Michael was happy about it for about five minutes— then he wasn’t.


He went out clubbing with the boys and photos of him grinding against random girls popped up on the internet the day after. Y/N ignored them, telling herself that it was just harmless dancing, and she wordlessly forgave him even though he didn’t apologise and it probably wasn’t harmless anything.


Then the next day, he just—


He yells at her the moment he sets his eyes on her. Michael doesn’t even smell like alcohol, meaning that he’s a hundred percent sober, and is just yelling at her for being extra on tour and how no one even wants [her] there and that everyone doesn’t even like [her].


The door to the hotel room they’re sharing is pushed open. He barely acknowledges her, sauntering into the room and pulling off his snapback and kicking off his shoes.


“I’m leaving,” is all Y/N says to break the silence.


Michael turns to look at her, an almost unimpressed look on his face. “… Okay. And?”


She just stares at him, then, because— wow. She expected a reaction, and not just that. But Michael’s just staring back at her, neutral faced, then he rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the tele and.


She scoffs, getting to her feet and she shakes her head in disbelief. “You know what? Fuck you.” She spits out, and Michael turns to look at her again, mouth twitching. “I’m leaving. Leaving, as in— leaving. I’m done. I’m finished, I can’t—” she shakes her head. “I’m done. We’re over.”


“Cute,” Michael scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You actually think I give a fuck. I never needed you anyway,” he waves a hand towards the door. “So be my guest. Leave.” His lips stretch up into an ugly smile. “We both know I’m way too good for you, anyway.”


“You’re a fucking prick.” Y/N spits out.


“Maybe,” he shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “But I’m also in a world famous band. And you? You’re not. You’re just Y/N. I’m Michael Clifford. I don’t need you.”


Y/N runs her tongue along her lips, shaking her head. “I know Michael Clifford. I fell in love with Michael Clifford. The Michael Clifford that I knew would never—”


“Would never what?” Michael taunts, getting to his feet, too. He raises a brow. “C’mon, then, finish your sentence.”


Y/N swallows. “Would never let something as stupid as fame get to his head.” She shakes her head again, picking up her bags and making a beeline for the door before Michael can say anything else because it would make this so much harder. Her head and heart is aching— Michael isn’t the same Michael that she met years prior, but he’s still Michael but he’s not.


“Hey, Y/N?” He calls out, just before she steps out the door. She pauses mid-step before she can stop herself. She looks at him over his shoulder and it’s wrong of her to hope that maybe a tiny bit of the Michael that she fell in love with is still there. (But she carries on hoping anyway.)


He smiles— and it’s almost a sweet smile. “We were never going to last. You’re just— not good enough for me.”


The Michael she fell in love with is no more.

Life goes on.


It hurts for Y/N to carry on with life like nothing’s happened, but she has to, because life goes on. Michael’s not the same Michael that she fell in love with. This Michael is— someone she doesn’t recognise. Someone she wouldn’t want to know.


So she carries on with her life. It hurts, but—


Life goes the fuck on.





There’s a knock on his hotel room door, and Michael slowly gets to his feet, groaning even though there’s no one around to listen to him complain about getting up. Another knock. “Calm down, fuck, I’m coming.”


Michael pulls open the door, and Ashton grins back at him, Luke standing behind him. “What.”


“Double date at this arcade that Cal saw just now, when he was walking back from the pharmacy. He’s taking a nap because he’s a loser but team you and Y/N versus team lashton. Let’s go.”


Michael snorts, “Yeah, no thanks,” then he makes a move to shut the door.


Luke’s still grinning slightly, like he thinks Michael’s just playing around. “Aw, come on. You and Y/N can make out and stuff later. Arcade, Mike. We haven’t been in one of those since— fuck knows how long ago!”


Michael raises a brow, looking completely unimpressed. “What are you— eight?” He scoffs, “’sides. Y/N isn’t even here anymore. She left. You should follow her example,” he pulls a mocking smile over at them, and then he’s shutting the door in their faces.





“… What the fuck just happened?”


“Did he just say that Y/N… left?”


“I repeat: what the fuck just happened?”





The others would be lying if they said that they wrote Michael’s off behaviour from the other day. Because they didn’t. If anything, they’re paying even closer attention to him now— unsure if he’ll suddenly break down because fuck— he and Y/N weren’t together anymore and they’re actually been together for a long ass time, who wouldn’t fall apart after the collapse of a relationship that long?


Michael, apparently. Michael wouldn’t fall apart.


All he does do is go out more and more, and whenever they’re not playing any shows— he’s barely even talking to them. He’s out with his new friends (all fancy socialites that they’re not even sure how or when he met) and getting spectacularly drunk before returning to the bus or hotel for the night.


Hell, he rarely even talks to them anymore— and they’re supposed to be his best friends. The only interaction they seem to have these days are when they’re on stage and they’re all putting up that façade where they’re still as close as ever and they’re just pulling playful faces at each other whenever someone else is singing.


(They’re not, though, is the thing. Calum and Luke try to talk to him as best as they can, whilst on stage with loud music and screams and cheers, but all he does is smile and laugh and poke his tongue out at them— all the while shooting them the nastiest glare they’ve ever seen come from his eyes that were once a semblance of home.)


Then one day, Michael almost punches a security guard in the face. For no fucking reason. While stinking of weed and booze and sex.


That’s the final line.





It takes a lot of begging, but she agrees. Three-fourths of the band let out simultaneous sighs of relief.





Y/N doesn’t know what she’s doing there. The Micheal in that hotel room isn’t the Michael that she knows anymore. He’s a whole other person and she doesn’t even like that new person, at all.


But they’d called her, and they’d begged (and those are going to be some fond memories), and now she’s here.


She takes in a deep breath, knocking on the door. Nothing. She knocks again. There’s a fuck off from inside, barely audible, but she hears it. With a roll of her eyes, she uses the key card they’d given her to enter, immediately staring straight back at Michael who’s flat on his back on the bed, shirtless, and with his head propped up— a scowl on his face.


“What are you doing here?” He spits out.


“What are you doing with your life?” She shoots back, as venomous as he did, pushing the door shut behind her.


Michael rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back onto the bed. “The fuck does it matter to you? Just leave, Y/N. Jesus. Nobody fuckin’ wants you here.”


“Oh I’m not here for you,” she says as a matter-of-factly. It’s not a complete lie, either. Michael props himself up on his elbows, still scowling at her. “I’m here because your friends called me. They seem to think that I’ll be able to set you straight.”


Michael snorts. “Fuck them. Fuck you. You can go now.”


Y/N rolls her eyes again. Her insides hurt, but she’s not going to let him see how much his words are fucking ripping her apart. Instead, she pulls a mocking smile onto her face. “Look. I didn’t want to come.” Lie. A part of her hoped and hoped that maybe Michael would actually stop being a giant prick. “I’m here for the boys’ benefit. And you don’t want to see me anymore? Fine. I don’t care.” Oh, but she does.


Y/N points to the closed door. “But them? They don’t deserve this. All they’ve ever done is been there for you. They’re going through the exact same thing with the media and the whatever that you are. They’re the only ones who can understand. They’re the closest thing to brothers you will ever have. Keep this shit attitude up and you’ll lose them, too. So snap the fuck out of this and apologise to your bandmates—your best friends—and then reevaluate your life. Prick.” She spits out, scoffing and then turning on her heels— intentions fully set on walking out that door and heading straight for the airport.


Michael’s silent. Until he’s not. And, “Leave, then! Leave. Walk out of that fucking door. Walk out of my fucking life. That’s what everyone does, anyway,” Michael spits out and— suddenly, Y/N realises what this is about.


For all that Michael’s a cocky asshole, he’s actually so self-conscious and insecure to the point that when things are going good for him, he shuts down because he has it in his mind that things are going to go to shit the moment he starts to enjoy aforementioned good things. He’d hated Luke for a solid year because he thought that the younger boy was stealing his best friend from him. Hearing word that Luke hated him, too, did nothing for his self-esteem.


Y/N arches a brow, unable to help the incredulous look that comes onto her face. “That’s what this is about? You’re afraid that—” she pauses, shaking her head. “—afraid that they’re going to abandon you?” She asks in disbelief.


Michael says nothing. Stays brooding and glaring holes at the tele screen. The Winter Soldier’s playing. Ironic, really. Cap would die for his friend who doesn’t even remember him. Michael’s pushing away the people who cares for him like family, for no reason.


“They’re your best friends,” she continues when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything. “You’re in a band with them. They’re not going to abandon—”


“This isn’t about them!” Michael eventually yells, spinning to look at her.


Y/N scoffs. “Yeah? Then, pray tell, who is it about?”


“You, okay?!” Michael seethes, getting to his feet. “Fucking you.”


Y/N frowns at him. She’s so confused. “What do I have to do with anything?”


“You’re—” he gestures at all of her. “—you. I can’t fucking compete with that.” Y/N gapes at him. She’s convinced he’s high and/or drunk, but she smells nothing informing her of him possibly being either. “You settled. You weren’t supposed to settle.”


“What the fuck are you on about?” She asks tiredly, dragging a hand down her face.


“I am in a band. A band that’s fuckin’ famous now, and— and. Fuck. I could have anyone I want, and you just— you’re you. I have tried to fuck so many people. Sometimes I don’t even try and they’re throwing themselves at me, and I just— I can’t even— they’re not you. I’m so—” he gestures at himself. “—and you’re so—” he gestures at her. “If I can get that many people without trying then you should get so many more. You settled for me. Stupid, ugly, fucking fucked up me. You settled.” Michael seethes.


She’s silent for the longest time afterwards, piecing together what he’s just said. It’s all broken sentences and it barely makes sense— nothing equates to why he’s so angry at her. But eventually, she looks back at him, brows furrowed, “So you’re upset that I— what? That I stayed? That I didn’t leave you whilst you were out of the country? That I loved you?”


Michael says nothing, but judging from the way he clenches his jaw, she takes it as confirmation.


She takes the steps towards him, poking him in the chest. He snaps his head up in surprise. “You don’t get to be angry at me for that.” She spits out. “That is my choice. These are my feelings. You do not get to tell me how I should feel, who I should love. That is on me. That is my choice.”


Michael inhales sharply, jaw working. He still says nothing.


She shakes her head. “Apologise to the boys. Sort your shit out. Call me when you get your head out of your ass because—” she pauses, shaking her head again. “Apologise to the boys. And stop acting like a little bitch.”


She turns away again. But when she’s got a hand on the handle, she pauses, turning to look at him again. He’s still there, watching her. “You are allowed to— feel good. To have things go your way. You are allowed to have someone to love— someone to love you. Just because you don’t think you’re good enough, it doesn’t mean that the whole world does, too.”

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