5sos Smut

All

4/4 argument preferences:

Ashton

You and Ashton barely fought so when you did fight, it was loud. Voices would raise and you would be screaming at each other until the early hours of the morning.
"You have no idea how annoying you can be, do you?!" Ashton screamed at you, as you clenched your fists by your sides. "I do everything I do to keep you happy and you just throw it back in my face!"
You recoiled at the snappy tone, the snarky remark. You couldn't believe that this is where the argument had gone, in fact you couldn't really remember why you were arguing in the first place. All you knew was that it was a slow build up over the day, him making some remark when he got in, sending you over the edge.
"I do not! But I am not your stay at home wife Ashton, I have my own life but you wouldn't know that because you never care enough to ask about it!" You screamed back, sick of him thinking everything was about him. You had to speak sometimes as well.
His face went red, his fists clenching by his side, before he spun around and walked towards his studio. You kicked the sofa in frustration, sitting down and ignoring the loud banging of the drums. You didn't know when you and Ashton had got to this point, you both knew everything that had been said was complete rubbish; no-one cared about you like Ash did, and he didn't believe you were taking him for granted.
A couple of hours later, you were lying in bed trying to sleep over the loud banging but with no luck.
You slid out of bed, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders and creeping up to the studio. You knocked shyly, knowing if he was still angry it wouldn't be worth your time.
You entered and saw him facing away from you on his drum kit as he kept smashing the kit in front of him. He finished the run he was doing and chucked the drum sticks down before laying his head on the kit.
"I'm sorry." You whispered, making him jump at your presence.
"So am I." He replied, turning on his stool to look at you, his face sweaty and the bags under his eyes so prominent.
"Do you wanna come to bed?" You smiled slightly, and he nodded coming over to you and kissing you softly.
"Sure."

Calum

Calum shut down when you two argued. He refused to acknowledge you or any problem, instead just ignoring you.
He hated arguing with anyone, especially the love of his life, but he was stubborn and he just wanted you to see where he was coming from. He hated being told he was wrong, even when he knew he was.
He slept on the couch without being asked, he just did it because he wanted to prove to you that you were in the wrong as well. Every morning you would walk downstairs and there he would be, curled up uncomfortably on your too small couch, his legs dangling over the end.
"Why can't you just fight back?" You whispered, talking to yourself more than to him. "I want you to show me you care, but you just stop."
You felt lost when Calum shut down like that, the whole point of your argument was how you didn't like how he acted in public. He never held your hand around people, never even a peck on the cheek. If the public didn't know better they would think you were just friends.
"I just want to know you still love me."
But what you didn't know was that Calum was cutting himself off from you on purpose, afraid if he didn't he would push you even further away. His fear of losing you stronger than his fear of arguments. He knew if he lashed out, his words would send you running for miles. He knew he'd never see you again.
"I do still love you, Y/N." he whispered back, his voice hoarse from not talking for so long. "That's the problem."
You were taken aback, but instead of saying anything you just crawled up next to him on the sofa and buried your head in your chest.
"What're you so afraid of?" You murmured, begging for an answer. And he told you.

Luke

Luke never raised his voice around you, in fact you didn't think he raised his voice full stop unless out of a joke. So, when he came home, temper running high from a frustrating day at the studio, you didn't know how to cope with it.
He ignored you when he walked through the door, instead of opting to go upstairs and lock himself in your room. You decided to leave him to it, knowing that's what he usually wanted, but after an hour he came storming downstairs.
"Why isn't there anything to eat?" he grumbled at you, making you raise your eyebrows at him.
"Because you haven't made anything?" you shot back, already annoyed at the tone.
"You've been sat down here for an hour doing fuck all then?" he muttered, making you roll your eyes at him.
"Go back upstairs and sort your attitude out and then maybe we'll talk." You told him. You weren't used to him talking to you like that ever, so you didn't really know what to do.
He scoffed at you. "You're not my fucking mother, so stop acting like it. You're supposed to be my girlfriend."
You were shocked, having no idea what he had meant by that, but whatever it was it was a blow to the stomach. "You can go stay with her tonight then." You whispered, trying to keep your voice from shaking.
You avoided his eyes as you walked upstairs and shut yourself in your room, leaning against the door to stop him from following you. You tried not to cry, you wanted to believe you were stronger than that, but Luke had hit a sore point.
"Y/N, baby, I'm sorry." He called through your door and you could hear the pleading in his voice but it wasn't enough to open the door. "Come on, please, talk to me."
"Go away Luke."

Michael

Your relationship with Michael was toxic from day one. You both argued constantly, but soon made up minutes later. When he was away they got worse, cheating accusations being thrown left, right and centre. You were both proud people, never wanting to admit you were in the wrong.
But you were like magnets, always being pulled back to each other no matter what. You couldn't stay away from each other no matter how much you tried. There was something about your relationship with Michael that had you begging for more every time. You couldn't let him go.
But when your phone flashed with his number this afternoon, he was the last person you wanted to talk to. He'd been out in England, his arms hanging round several different girls and quite clearly touching their butts, all whilst you were stuck at home, scrolling through the endless pictures.
You ignored the call, sending it to voicemail and curling yourself further up in your duvet. You were trying to think of the reason you were still with him and you were coming up short, neither of you trusted each other and were always sending snide remarks straight to each other, almost by the hour. There was nothing left of the relationship you thought you'd built.
But you couldn't remember the time where there was trust. Your relationship was built on lies and deceit.
You saw your phone light up with a message, indicating Michael had left a voicemail.
You pressed play, expecting random apologies and excuses, insisting it wasn't him.
"Y/N, I know you've seen the pictures, I'm not stupid and I just want to say, well, I'm sorry." He mumbled into your ear and it was a shot to your heart. Michael never apologised for the pictures or for the girls, because he insisted he never did anything wrong.
"No." You whispered, pulling his number up and calling it.
"Y/N-" he answered, but you cut him off.
"You fucking bastard." You told him, your hands shaking and tears running down your cheeks. "After everything we've been through Michael, you fucking twat."
"I know and I am so sorry baby, I didn't think, I was angry from our argument and I fucked up." He pleaded with you down the phone and you felt like you were going to throw up.
You gulped, taking a deep breath. "I loved you Michael. I never thought you would actually do it."
"I regret everything I ever did last night, I should have called you but instead I-"
"You fucked some chick." You filled in for him. "You know what Michael?"
Silence on his end.
"Fuck you."