5SOS one shots (boys x Reader)


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21. Not the Only One

“You’ll wait for me, right?” Ashton can’t help but ask, peering up at Y/N through his eyelashes, eyes revealing a sort of vulnerability that he'd normally hide so well. “You’ll be here when I get back. Right? Waiting for me?”   

 

Y/N smiles – the smile a sweet one that instantly has his own lips curling up slightly at the corners, merely at the appearance of her smile. “‘Course I will, baby. I love you, yeah? A lot. Always will.”   

 

Ashton lets himself relax, smiling up at her. “I know,” he mumbles. “Love you, too. Like, a fucking lot. Words can’t even even sum up how much I do? And, like. I don’t know,” he shrugs, still gazing at her from where his head’s still rested on her lap, “Just really fuckin’ love you.”   

 

Y/N bites down on her bottom lip slightly, cheeks colouring. She ducks her head down and Ashton instinctively lifts his head up a bit, and she kisses him – soft and sweet and heavenly. “I’ll wait forever and a day for you if I have to, Ash. I always will.”  

 

I can’t believe you let me down
But the proof’s in the way it hurts



For months on end I’ve had my doubts
Denying every tear
I wish this would be over now
But I know that I still need you here

 

Ashton takes in a deep breath. Slowly inhaling, then exhaling. Times like these, he kind of wishes he’d picked up smoking from when they were touring with the One Direction boys, maybe bummed a cigarette off of Zayn when the elder had offered him one because he’d kept him company this one time while he went and smoked a stick. Wishes he’d picked up the nasty habit because of how he feels it’d be easier to deal with this shite.    

 

He’s been on tour for, what? Three months? Probably. He isn’t really keeping track anymore because he’s realised that it hurts so much more when he does. It’s supposed to make him feel better or summat, counting down the days till home. It does – when they’re, like, a week away from the tour’s ending. Other than that, it’s torture. Pure torture, is what it is, knowing that you’re not going to be home for fuck knows how long and the people you love and left behind are still there, waiting.    

 

Or, well. Was. She was waiting. It’s obvious that she’s not now, 'innit? He’d seen the signs earlier, just never chose to bring it up and acknowledge it properly for fear that he might’ve just been fucking things up even more. Ashton noticed how the conversations that Y/N and him used to have dwindled down slowly, and he could play it off as both of them being busy with their own things, but. He can’t, because he’s specifically planned out times to call her, when he knows that she’ll just be about to chill in bed to listen to some tunes, maybe watch TV show, or summat, and the boys make sure that he’s got this, like, time interval thing, for at least ten minutes so that he can talk to her.    

 

It worked out well, and things were good, yeah? Things were good. Then they just… weren’t. She just – started becoming detached. The phone conversations got shorter, and sometimes, when he called her, she’d tell him she had to go without giving a clear reason and cut the call before he’s able to get a word in. And, like. He’s not saying he needs to know where she is all the time – Christ, he’s not a parental figure – but to know that she's legitimately blowing him off to go, like, clubbing and stuff (he saw her tweets and stuff). It fucking sucks.    

 

Then comes today. Today, when he sees this picture, from one of those high quality fan account things, where sometimes there’ll be pictures of Y/N. So, like, he’s not proper startled when he sees the tweet from that account with her name in it, but then he opens the tweet, and, fuck. His heart drops to his stomach and his jaw clenches and. He should be angry, right? Be angry and call her up and yell at her or summat because there is this photo of her and this other bloke standing so close to each other in a club with their arms around each other and her head’s tilted back and the fucking knob is clearly kissing her neck.    

 

But – he can’t.     

 

He’s suspected it – that maybe she’s gotten tired of waiting for him and she’s moved on to some other guy, maybe waiting till he got home before breaking things off with him to further things with the nameless, faceless, other dude. But now that there's actual proper proof that it’s happening – he can’t bring himself to do anything about it. Because she’s causing him pain, so much pain, but. But he needs here there, even if she’s not physically there, and. Jesus Christ, it sucks. It sucks. 

 

But when you call me baby
I know I’m not the only one

 

You’ve been so unavailable
Now sadly I know why
Your heart is unobtainable
Even though Lord knows you kept mine

 

“– and, like. It was awesome, though. Seriously. Like, my throat fucking kills now, but, shit. It was amazing,” Ashton practically gushes as he flings himself down onto the leather sofa in the back lounge. The others are staying away from there, he knows they will, so he’s got full reign over the back lounge for quite awhile.    

 

Mmhm, that’s great, baby. You okay nowYour throat still hurts?"    

 

"Ehh,” he shrugs his shoulders. “M'talking now, yeah?” He jokes with a little laugh. “M'alright. Nothing a bottle of hot water and lozenges and stuff won’t cure, y'know?" Ashton asks rhetorically. "So how was your day?”   

 

Good,” comes Y/N’s reply. “Did some things, met some mates. The usual.”   

 

He sits up at that, the word 'mates’. Sits up straight, eyes trained on the empty wall before him. “Yeah?” Ashton mentally pats himself on the back for not having his voice crack over that one word. “Who? I know them?”   

 

Don’t think so,” is her offhanded response. “Listen, baby, I’ve got to go, yeahThere's – um. Something. Bye, Ash.”   

 

Ashton gulps silently. “Yeah. Um, yeah. Sure. I – uh, I should go, too. Boys are calling me," lie. "I love – ” there’s a click, and then there’s the disengaged tone filtering into his ears.    

 

With the phone still held up to his ear, he sighs softly, a single tear slipping down his cheek before he can stop it, tell himself to man up and shite. “I love you,” he breathes out to no one, still staring at the wall. “S'funny, y'know. You said you’d, uh. You’d always love me. Said you’d wait forever and a day for me if you had to and, fuck. It’s not even been six months and you – you didn’t. Were you – were you lying? When you said that? Were you ever telling the truth, when you said you loved me? Did you ever? Love me? Did you ever? It’s not – not fucking fair, y'know? Because, like. I’m still so fuckin’ in love with you, and you’re. You're not. And, like. You’ve got my heart – right there in the palm of your hands, and. I don’t. Have yours. I don’t. I never will have it, will I?”   

 

Ashton breathes out a shaky sigh. His vision’s blurry and it’s not from the sweat dripping from his hair into his eyes. His hands are clenched in fists and he’s shaking, and he didn’t even realise it. He squeezes his eyes shut, blowing out another slow exhale, trying to calm himself down as best as he can. But he can’t.    

 

He ends up letting out a frustrated cross between a scream and a growl, then he’s pulling his hand back and chucking his mobile at the wall as hard as possibly can. The screen cracks and shatters and he hears footsteps coming towards the back lounge but he just really, really, does not give a fuck anymore.   

 

Maybe I am just not enough
You’ve made me realize my deepest fear
By lying and tearing us up

 

Ashton takes in a deep breath, phone clutched tight in his hand. They’re in hotel rooms for the night and since they’ve actually got enough money for it, they’ve all got their own rooms, and he’s never been more thankful for that. He dials the number he’s long since memorised, waiting for the call to be picked up as he takes a seat at the edge of the bed.    

 

Hello– ?”   

 

“It’s because I’m not enough, 'innit?” is all Ashton says, not even bothering with a proper greeting.   

 

Ashton?” comes Y/N’s tinny voice through his phone, and she sounds confused and it shouldn’t be adorable but fuck everything because he still finds it adorable. Fuck everything. “You okay?”   

 

“It’s because I’m not enough, 'innit?” He repeats, tone firmer. “You just. I’m not good enough for you. I’m just – like. Gone. And you don’t like that, don’t want to put up with that. Like. I'm gone a lot, and. And there's – that’s what fucks things up? So, like. You give up, and. And you – you find comfort in this other guy and – ”   

 

There’s a short, forced and forcibly tinged with disbelief type of laugh interrupting him, “Woah, Ash. Are you alrightLike, what’s this about?”   

 

“I saw the pictures, Y/N!” Ashton finally exclaims. “I saw the fucking pictures, of you and… and him! Fuck, basically everyone who’s a fan of the band has probably seen it because someone tweeted it out and. And, Jesus Christ. I can’t even be mad because – because it’s, like. I feel like it’s my fault, but it’s not and you – you – I just.”   

 

It’s quiet. Y/N doesn’t say anything. There’s just breathing. That’s all he can hear, and maybe he can hear his own hear pounding in his chest, but he’s not too sure. “He’s. He’s there, isn’t he? With you? Right now,” Ashton finally speaks, blinking his eyes rapidly. He thought things could change – he could forgive her because he’s so fucking in love with her and he can’t live without her, and. He just, needs her.    

 

But she doesn’t need him, does she?   

 

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, and Ashton holds his breath. “– ” she starts, cutting herself off. He can hear her take in a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I just. I missed you, and I,” she makes another sound, like she's disappointed with herself or summat. “miss you.

 

 "How dare you,” Ashton breathes out then, his tone laced with utmost incredulity, voice no higher than a breath’s whisper. Y/N makes a noise at the other end of the line, as though she’s about to say something, ask about what she’s apparently daring to do. Ashton just speaks again, before she’s got the chance to. “How dare you say you miss me with your spit still on his tongue.”   

 

It’s silent on the other end of the line. All he can hear is the sound of her sharp inhale and Ashton wants to just take it back, say he's sorry, so sorry, for saying what he’d did even though he’s done no wrong in this. Ashton wants, so badly, to book the first flight home, to where she is and cuddle up against her and apologise for being awful and tell her that things can still be okay, but he can’t. He can’t because he knows he’s right and, if anything, it would be wrong if he did that.    

 

I’m sorry,” is all she says, voice croaky and soft.    

 

“Yeah,” Ashton exhales softly, and he’s so tired.He sighs, the heaviest of sighs that’s filled with dejection and, just. He's tired. "Yeah… I am, too.“ And when he cuts the call, it’s final. It's – it’s him letting go. Finally.  

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