Random Bitch

Ashton Irwin isn’t a fucking an idiot, and he’s tired of being treated like one.

He makes his way up a building he knows entirely too well, jaw clenching as his mind unravels with unsettling speed. He’s trying to keep his head on straight, truly, but there has never been a rational thought in his head when it comes to you.

It started two days ago with a passing comment from Ashton’s friend Max. The same friend who’s producing their album. The same friend who’s been listening to all of his rants about one particular person.

“I saw Y/N leave with Luke,” he mentioned casually, a few hours deep into mixing a song that felt like it wasn’t going anywhere.

Ashton, who had been twirling a drumstick, froze completely. His head snapped up, blinking as if what he’d just heard couldn’t be real.

“Really?” He forced his tone to stay even, despite the fact that he knew, deep down, that something was very, very wrong. He kept his gaze trained on the soundboard.

Max only shrugged. “She seemed upset after you guys talked,” he continued. “Saw her and Luke leave. Thought it was weird for him to leave a party early.”

It was, for the most part. Luke never missed an opportunity to get shitfaced and fawned over. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to take you home. Ashton knew about the friendship, and Luke would always let him know when he was hanging out with you.

But this time, he never texted. There were no calls, no warnings. Luke hadn’t even mentioned a word about it. So Ashton sank back into his chair, changed the topic, pretended to be unfazed.

But his mind was already running.

Now it’s been two days of nonstop wondering. He’s texted Luke, seen him, tried to bring you up, and every time Ashton swears he sees something in his face. A flicker of guilt. Of horror, maybe.

He’s not stupid, but maybe he’s gullible. Luke is his best friend, has been for years. Ashton has given up everything for him time and time again. Surely Luke would never think of touching you.

The argument between the two of you is still fresh in his mind. The look on your face as you begged for an answer, egged him to stop acting like he would rather die than be seen with you.

It couldn’t be further from the truth. The feelings that held his heart are strong and dangerous. The kind he hasn’t let himself feel in over a year. The kind he thought he would never feel again.

Fear clutched at him, kept him grounded, kept him from doing the one thing he knows you deserve. Being honest.

He’s not on a mission to be honest right now. He’s on a mission to stifle that voice, that incessant, grating thought that maybe he’s just been betrayed by the person he loves most in the world. He’ll do anything to exist without the suffocating fear that he’s lost it all.

So his fist rises against the door, ready to knock, ready to prove that if someone is lying, he’ll know.

Because he’s tired of being treated like an idiot, and only idiots keep loving the person who drives the knife in deeper.

—

The bathwater is warm against your skin, the sweet aroma of rose-scented bath salts clinging to the air. In your hand is a glass of wine, your eyes trained on the crimson liquid like it might evaporate if you blink too much.

Bubbles cling to your skin, popping softly with each movement. Soft music fills the air, anything but The Neurotics, and you hum along.

This is all an elaborate distraction, a ploy to keep you from checking your phone maniacally every minute. Luke’s silence has weighed heavily on your chest, sitting like a thorn in your side that you just can’t shake.

It’s been a week since you last saw Luke. A week since he bent you over your couch, turned your idea of revenge on its head, and made you question just how far you were willing to go to avenge a broken heart.

The warmth of him sleeping beside you still lingers, even if the next morning Ashton was warming the same spot, claiming the same skin he didn’t even know his best friend had less than twelve hours earlier.

You clench your jaw, sinking deeper into the water. You didn’t mean for it to go this far, for your heart to get this tangled in a mess that only seems to grow by the second.

All you wanted was for Ashton to choose you for once in his miserable life.

You still do.

There’s a knock on the door, faint enough that you consider not getting up to answer it. The water is warm, safe, loosening muscles that seem to stay stubbornly stiff.

Closing your eyes, you try to focus on your surroundings again, try to shove every thought of Ashton and Luke out of your mind.

The knock comes again, louder, more insistent. Almost frantic. You groan, jaw clenching as you sit up in the tub. Glaring at the door, you hear it again.

“Wait a damn second,” you yell, shooting up from the tub and grabbing the nearest towel. You dry off as best you can, then snatch up a robe and slip it over your shoulders.

You storm out of the bathroom, angrily wrapping the tie around you and knotting it tight at your waist. The wet smack of your feet against the floor fills the empty space, and you almost laugh.

Stopping in front of the door, you crane your neck to peer through the peephole. Standing there is Ashton, jaw clenched, annoyance barely contained.

That makes two of us, asshole.

You turn the lock and whip the door open, hip popped, nostrils flaring as you brace yourself for whatever insanity Ashton is about to spew to justify wasting your time.

“What?” you snap.

For a moment, Ashton looks thrown. Still, he recovers just as quickly. He leans against the doorway, flashing that same infuriating smile that’s ended with your clothes on his bedroom floor more than once.

His eyes rake down your body, taking in the robe keeping you decent, the wet strands of hair clinging to the nape of your neck.

Your face heats before you can stop it. He always has this effect on you.

“Been a minute since I saw my favorite psycho,” he grins easily, pushing off the doorway and into your apartment like he’s been there a million times before. He has, which is deeply irritating.

You pivot on your heel and slam the door shut, watching as Ashton drops into the couch without ceremony. He looks at you with something dark swirling in his hazel eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Wanna explain why you almost kicked down my door?” you snap, staring at him expectantly.

Ashton schools his expression, a smooth, easy grin sliding back into place. “Can’t I come say hello to my favorite psycho?” he asks, leaning forward until his elbows rest on his knees.

His dark hair has grown longer, sandy roots starting to show. The contrast is striking, making his already sharp features even more devastating.

“You haven’t said anything to me in days,” you reply, your tone struggling to stay even. Your head is a mess, but Ashton’s attention still feels like a laser burning straight through you.

He makes it hard to think, especially when your heart is already threatening to beat out of your chest.

Ashton stands, that dark look crossing his eyes again. He crosses the room in a few quick strides, brushing past you as he heads for the kitchen.

Blinking, you gather your thoughts. He’s acting strange, like he’s waging a war against himself. Hesitantly, you trail after him.

He’s already opening your fridge, eyes scanning the contents with visible annoyance.

“You seriously don’t have beer?” he mutters.

You stiffen, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s fattening,” you grumble, lifting your chin. “Not all of us have a caloric intake that consists of fermented grains.”

Ashton shakes his head, grinning again. “That’s why you’re always so miserable,” he shrugs, turning back to you and slowly closing the distance.

You take an involuntary step back, but your heart is already hammering. His grin doesn’t reach his eyes. His dimples feel sharp instead of endearing.

“That’s why you’re always fucking around,” he continues. “Who was it this time, Y/N? Trying to make it hurt? Make some dumb point you know is only going to dig you deeper.”

Ashton doesn’t know about Luke. That much is clear. If he did, he would’ve made it known by now. He would’ve stormed in and raised hell.

But he’s onto you. And if you’re not mistaken, that darkness in his stare is jealousy.

Your breath catches. There’s no way it actually worked. There isn’t a universe where a dumb decision made in the clutches of heartbreak does something like this.

But here he is, standing in front of you with barely concealed fire in his eyes.

So you lift your chin and plaster on your best smirk. “Aw, is the big bad wolf jealous?” you coo, reaching out just enough to trail a finger down his chest.

His eyes narrow, jaw clenching. He backs you into the counter, the cold marble biting through the thin silk of your robe. Still, you don’t deter.

You keep looking at him.

Show me. Show me you want me. I know you do.

“You’re so full of shit,” he mutters. “You know what I am? I’m bored, Y/N. Bored of you pulling the same crap over and over again. Crazy isn’t as desirable as you think.”

You purse your lips. “You could’ve fooled me,” you shoot back with a sly grin, because you know Ashton. He’s just like you when it comes down to it. Scared. Vindictive. Jealous.

His hands plant on the countertop on either side of you, caging you in. His eyes blaze as he glares down at you with searing intensity.

“You like me crazy,” you say. “You like me losing my shit for a scrap of your attention. Admit it.”

His eyebrows lift, and he smiles with all his teeth. It feels like a warning.

“Who did you fuck?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Ashton is quickly losing his patience. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, the way he looks like he’s one word away from punching a wall.

You can’t help it when your hands are already on his belt, working it open with ease. His eyes flash.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps, but he doesn’t make a move to stop you.

Grinning, you meet his eyes. “What you came here to do?” you repeat, cocking your head. You smile, an innocent flash of something lethal that doesn’t reach your eyes.

His hands are on your waist in a second, and he lifts you with ease before dumping you unceremoniously onto the counter.

You gasp, your robe loosening enough to slip dangerously low on your shoulder, and Ashton’s eyes drink in the exposed skin hungrily.

“You think you’re funny?” he hisses, his hand slipping beneath the robe, hot against your thigh. His rough hands are no stranger to you, but you still shiver at the contact.

Your nipples harden beneath the robe, pressing against the thin fabric. You can’t even pretend Ashton doesn’t affect you. The way he moves, the way he looks at you.

“The funniest,” you answer breathlessly.

Ashton chuckles darkly, gripping your chin. “You won’t be laughing for long,” he spits, patting your thighs roughly.

You gasp as his hand inches closer to where you’re already aching and wet. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, chest rising and falling fast.

Then he runs his finger through your folds, circling your clit with cruel precision.

“All that mouth on you and you still get like this for me,” he mutters. “You really expect me to believe you’re not a pathetic little cockwhore?”

His fingers slip inside you, pumping relentlessly. You moan, head falling back as his fingers curl expertly. His hand tightens on your jaw, forcing your gaze back to his.

“Don’t look away now,” he barks. “Eyes on me if you want to come.”

You blink through heavy lids, hips grinding helplessly against his hand.

He smirks slightly, curling his fingers again, keeping a delicious rhythm. Your thighs part, but you match his intensity.

“You think you’re gonna get me to talk?” you pant, your mind going hazy from the sensation of Ashton’s ministrations. “You just couldn’t wait to claim me for the night to appease your fragile little ego.”

He leans forward, leering and dangerous. “You fucked someone else,” he repeats slowly. “You’re too smug. Too okay with me being gone. You did something.”

Your thighs are shaking, and his thumb begins to circle your clit slowly. You freeze, a gasp tearing from your throat as the pleasure spikes tenfold.

“Maybe I just wanted—” your breath hitches as his pace picks up, cutting you off with a moan. “A better orgasm.”

The memory of Luke’s desperate whines, the way he kissed you, the softness in his hands flashes through your mind.

Then Ashton surges forward with a growl, lips crashing into yours. It’s a mess of teeth and heat, his tongue slipping into your mouth and sending a shiver down your spine.

His lips are hot against yours, kissing you with burning intensity. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and you bite his in return. He groans, the sound pulled deep from his throat.

“You wanna play that fucking game,” Ashton says between kisses. “Fine. I’ll play that game. I’ll just have to make sure that cunt of yours is too sore to even think about anyone who isn’t me.”

His words make you dizzy as he pulls his hand away. You whimper at the loss, breathing hard, brows knitting as you look at him.

Ashton looks down at his fingers, spreading them to watch the way your slick clings to them. It’s obscene, the way his pupils dilate as he lifts his hand toward your mouth.

“Clean up,” he instructs, his other hand dropping to palm himself through his jeans.

You look up at him through your lashes, slowly lowering your mouth until his fingers rest on your tongue. You suck lightly, making sure to clean every trace of your mess from his skin.

When he pulls his hand back, he doesn’t waste time, untying the flimsy knot at your waist and pushing the robe from your body.

You’re naked now, thighs spread, hands braced behind you as you stare at him in open challenge.

Still, every nerve in your body is begging for his touch.

His chest is heaving, and he presses his hand to your cheek, still damp with slick and saliva, before kissing you hard. You can’t stop the moan that escapes you, kissing him back just as fiercely.

“You’re gonna tell me who it was,” he says again, his hand dropping from your cheek to wrap lightly around your throat. “You’re gonna tell me whose cum I’m about to fuck out of you.”

He punctuates it by finally unbuttoning his jeans, the sound of the zipper sliding down ricocheting off the kitchen walls.

You grin, dazed with pleasure but still smug. “You know the rules,” you laugh. “No one comes inside. That’s a boyfriend privilege.”

Nobody but Luke.

The thought almost makes you freeze, your smile fading just a fraction. Ashton catches it, because of course he does, his eyebrow lifting like he’s finally found the answer he was looking for.

Then he’s gripping your legs, hauling you down from the counter without ceremony. He spins you around, bending you over until the cool marble presses against your bare chest.

“Boyfriend privilege this,” he mutters. “Boyfriend privilege that, but you still let me spread those pretty legs whenever I want.”

He leans forward again, breath warm against your ear as he licks your earlobe. You feel the head of his cock trail along your entrance, teasing, always close enough but never quite what you want.

“Ashton,” you whine, gritting your teeth as you try to grind down on him.

He licks a line up your neck, sucking at the skin just below your pulse point. “No,” he says darkly. “You don’t get to beg unless it’s for forgiveness.”

His words make you ache, desperation building by the second.

“Who,” he repeats, slowly enunciating each word, “did you fuck?”

You blink, tilting your head to the side. “I’m not talking.”

Ashton shrugs, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth. “That’s okay,” he says. “I’ll just have to fuck it out of you.”

Then, without another word, he thrusts in.

You gasp, your back arching as your body adjusts to his size. He’s so warm, so big, filling you like nothing else ever could. His groan reverberates through you, but his eyes never leave yours.

“So fucking tight,” he grits out. “Always taking me so well. Bet nobody fits like I do. Nobody stretches you out like I do.”

He starts moving his hips, delivering delicious thrusts that send shivers racing through your body. Your toes curl against the floor, cheek pressed to the counter.

His hands grip your waist, tight enough to bruise as he picks up the pace. Your body jolts with every drag of his cock, your thighs shaking before you can stop it.

“You’re gonna tell me,” he whispers. “You’re gonna tell me, or you don’t come. Simple as that.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you, loud and cruel, cut short by a moan when Ashton hits that perfect spot inside you.

“You’re scared,” you gasp, rocking back into him. “Scared somebody fucked me better than you did. Scared I won’t come running back to Daddy Ash for more.”

His hips snap faster, and you whimper, eyes threatening to roll back. He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, each intoxicating groan spilling hot against your ear.

“You know nobody knows this pussy better than I do,” he says easily. “Maybe I’ll pin you down and remind you what I can do with just my mouth.”

His hand snakes around your torso, slipping between your thighs until he finds your clit. He rubs steady, firm circles in time with each devastating thrust, and before you know it, your moans are filling the apartment.

“So fucking wet for me,” he groans. “Squeezing me like that— fuck, you’re so greedy, Y/N. You expect me to believe you get like this for anyone else?”

Ashton pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you, then slams back in relentlessly. Heat floods your veins, your stomach tightening. Your hands reach out helplessly, searching for anything to anchor you to reality.

“Fuck,” you whine. “That feels so good— don’t stop.”

“Ah, there she is,” Ashton grins, biting your earlobe. “Needy as always, dripping down my cock. My messy little thing. Mine.”

His fingers speed up, and you’re teetering on the edge before you can even process it. Ashton grips your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes over your shoulder.

“Who was it?” he repeats. “Tell me, and you come.”

You writhe against him, grinding your hips back. “Can’t— can’t remember,” you smirk, barely forcing the words past your moans. “Gonna have to check the list.”

Ashton groans, then stills his hand on your clit.

“Fine,” he grits out. “You wanna act dumb? I’ll fuck you dumb.”

He pulls out of you completely, leaving you empty, clenching around nothing. Your mind is a mess of pleasure and him. Ashton and his rough hands, his deep hazel eyes, the intoxicating dimples that could get him out of anything.

Your heart stutters.

Ashton spins you around, lifting you until you’re back on the counter. Your legs spread involuntarily, already aching to have him again.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he murmurs, his pinky sliding through your folds, light enough to feel but nowhere near steady enough to sate the hunger inside you. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen. I could have my mouth on it all day.”

You shiver as he leans forward. For a moment, you think he’s going to do just that, eat you out until you’re crying, but then he spits directly onto your clit.

“Shit,” you gasp.

Ashton pulls back, eyes dark. “Who was it?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you reach down between your thighs, spreading yourself open for him. “Thought you were gonna make me beg for it?”

He slaps your pussy, a sharp smack that makes your thighs tremble. “Oh, baby,” he shakes his head. “I’m gonna make you cry about it.”

Ashton wraps his hand around his cock and runs it through your folds again, letting it catch on your clit. You whimper, watching with rapt attention as he only dips the head in.

It’s just enough of a stretch to feel, and you watch as he slowly presses in a little more before pulling back out. He’s teasing you, driving you insane.

“God, I can feel you sucking me in already,” he mutters. “You want it all, baby? You want all of my cock?”

You bite your lip, whimpering. There’s no point hiding it, so you nod. Words won’t come, but Ashton sees the desperation well enough.

“I should leave you like this,” he growls. “All needy, begging to be stuffed full of me. You gonna talk now?”

You clench around him deliberately, smug. His breath hitches, and before you can blink, he’s sinking back inside you. Ashton may think he has the upper hand, but at the end of the day, he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him.

“Fuck,” he groans, thrusting forward, his forehead dropping to the crook of your neck. “You’re so fucking bratty.”

You arch, hooking your leg to pull him closer. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, blending with the growing cacophony of moans.

His hand finds your clit again, picking up right where he left off, circling until your eyes roll back and soft sounds spill from your lips.

“Who was it?” he repeats, jealousy dripping from his voice now, no longer bothering to hide it. “Why do you always do this?”

You freeze for half a second, but you don’t linger on the words. Your orgasm is already building, so intense that the edges of your vision begin to go dark.

“Y/N,” he moans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You cry out, hands gripping his biceps until your nails bite into his skin. He doesn’t let go.

“I’m close,” you sob. “Please don’t stop, Ash. Don’t fucking stop.”

He pistons his hips into yours, driving so hard you slide up the counter with each thrust. His hands hold your thighs open, and you can see perfectly where he slides in and out of you, your slick clinging to his length.

“Did you fuck him?” he grunts. “Did you fuck Luke?”

You’re smiling, grinning ear to ear, watching his composure fracture the second Luke’s name leaves his mouth. Fear shines bright in his eyes, even as he keeps fucking you with feverish intensity.

A sick kind of satisfaction unfurls in your stomach. “That would hurt you, wouldn’t it?” you whisper, leaning forward to grab his face, pulling his lips down to yours.

He kisses you angrily, but his mouth moves with hunger. You moan into him, and with one final thrust, stars burst across your vision.

You come with a cry, riding out waves of pleasure that shake your body, unraveling you from the inside out. Your eyes squeeze shut, and all you feel is the weight of Ashton against you.

He’s panting, moaning, hips growing sloppy with every thrust. He’s close. You know it.

“Admit it, Ash,” you whisper. “Admit you love me.”

He pulls away, his cock slipping free easily. His hand wraps around himself, jerking over the edge with the most intoxicating little whimpers.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he cries, spilling across your stomach, the sound rumbling low in his throat. White ribbons cling to your skin, painting you with the evidence of his desire.

You’re both panting, bodies still pressed together as the sweat on your skin slowly begins to cool.

You reach out, grabbing a paper towel and wiping the mess from your stomach. It’s a lot, enough to make you feel smug.

“Did you fuck him?” Ashton repeats, his voice hoarse from all the moaning. The fight he carried earlier is gone, replaced with something smaller, more dangerous, enough to make you stop in your tracks.

He cares. He really does fucking care.

“Do you love me?” you snap back, sliding off the counter. When your feet hit the floor, you lose your balance, catching yourself on the edge of the marble.

Ashton doesn’t move to help. He looks frozen in place. “Don’t start,” he warns.

Then you see red.

You snatch the robe off the floor, sliding it over your arms and wrapping it tight around your waist. “Fuck you,” you shout. “It’s always the same bullshit with you. Why does it cost you so much just to be honest?”

“You’re not answering the one question I’m asking,” he snaps back, jaw clenched. “You always play these fucking games with me, but you still expect me to be transparent.”

You choke out a laugh, disbelieving and heartbroken. “God, why do you always do this to me?” you say breathlessly, pressing a hand to your forehead in a desperate attempt to ward off the headache building there.

“I love you!” You pivot on your heel, eyes blazing. “You know I do, but you always push me away. What’s stopping you now, Ashton? When are you finally gonna stop lying to yourself?”

He shakes his head, not listening. You can tell. His eyes are wide, his mind probably spiraling with a thousand questions. You know him too well.

“Did you fuck him?” he roars. “That’s all I want to know, but you can’t even look me in the eye long enough to tell me.”

Your mouth snaps shut. The memory of that night is still fresh. The intense blue eyes. The desperation barely hidden in his voice.

For one night, you actually felt wanted.

For one night, Ashton wasn’t on your mind. It was Luke. 

For one night, Ashton wasn’t on your mind. It was Luke.

“No,” you lie, keeping your voice steady. “I did not.”

Ashton looks at you in silence, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Your heart pounds dangerously fast in your chest, and you don’t even know what you’re hoping for.

An end to the cycle, maybe.

“I gotta go,” he mutters, running a hand through his dark curls before turning toward the door.

You stay rooted to the floor, watching him walk away in a familiar dance you’ve grown sick of. It’s always the same. And God, the pain never stops.

“You coward!” you scream. “You’re gonna regret ever walking away, Ashton Irwin. I’ll make sure of it. You’re gonna hate ever having met me.”

—

Ashton grips the steering wheel with one hand, the other rubbing at his jaw. There’s a tension he can’t seem to shake, a hovering thought he’d been sure an answer would be enough to quiet.

But now he has it. He got what he wanted, so why can’t he quell the nagging feeling that there’s still more?

Nights in Los Angeles are usually loud, but tonight the roads are empty. Everyone seems holed up in their homes, hidden away with their lovers as another day comes to an end.

All Ashton has waiting for him is a cold apartment and a few drinks.

He doesn’t know why he can’t bring himself to say it, why he can’t give you what you really want. There’s no explanation, if he’s being honest. Nothing that excuses the way his throat tightens whenever he tries to untangle the mess in his head.

He sighs, coming to a stop at a red light. He has no real reason to believe Luke would ever betray him like that. Suddenly, the paranoia that’s been circling his mind feels like a stupid overreaction.

Luke probably forgot to text him. Maybe he got too caught up in the drama that dealing with you usually brings. Ashton can’t exactly blame him. Your feelings can get… overwhelming.

I love you.

Ashton exhales, continuing his lonely drive home.

His phone buzzes in the cup holder, cutting through the suffocating silence. He almost ignores it, but then he catches your name out of the corner of his eye.

He picks up the phone, squinting at the screen.

Y/N — 11:20 PM

Message sent with invisible ink.

He’s still driving, but he’s never been a careful person. Unlocking the phone, he taps the notification.

Oops.

That’s all it says. Three images are attached.

Ashton taps the first one.

The knife drives deeper into Ashton’s chest as he realizes that he is, after all, a fucking idiot.

You’re sitting on top of someone, legs spread, the proof of your betrayal unmistakable. White slipping out of you. A hand spreading you open.

Luke’s hand. Ashton would recognize those tattoos anywhere. The Nirvana smiley face. The chipped red polish on his nails.

His ears ring, and he nearly swerves off the road. His hand shakes violently as he swipes through the other photos, one by one.

Next is your face. That beautiful fucking face Ashton has fallen asleep imagining, now painted with Luke’s come. It’s filthy, the look in your eyes. Wide. Intoxicating. Staring up at his best fucking friend.

Ashton barely manages to pull over, chest tightening as he gasps for air, ears still ringing. The betrayal cuts so deep he can barely think, barely see past the third photo.

You again. Your chest. Luke’s hands greedy on your breasts. His face nuzzled into your neck, that small, dopey smile Ashton wants to rip clean off with his bare hands.

He doesn’t think before dialing your number, breath coming in ragged pulls.

When you answer, there’s silence. Just for a moment.

“You lied,” Ashton croaks. “You fucking lied.”

You hum. “Now you decide to care?” you sneer. “Now that you’ve seen your best friend was inside me. Filled me up all fucking night.”

A beat.

“Guess what, Ashton?” you add softly. “He gave a shit.”

Words fail him for what feels like an eternity, his throat closing every time he opens his mouth, over and over again, but nothing could ever come close to describing the pain of this betrayal.

His fucking brother. And the person he’s in love with.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he spits, heart hammering so hard against his ribs he swears it’s about to rip clean through his chest. “What the fuck is genuinely wrong with your head, you fucking psycho?”

Your breath hitches. “How dare you call me that,” you snap. “How dare you even get mad at me. You know exactly why I did this.”

A choked sound tears out of him, not quite a sob, not quite a scream, but ugly and raw all the same. The realization settles in, heavy and suffocating.

“Fuck,” he whispers helplessly. “You let me go down on you. You sick fuck, you had me over the next morning. You did it on purpose.”

You stay silent, and that only fuels him.

“You wanted me to love you, Y/N?” he snarls. “You think I’m ever gonna feel anything for you other than hatred?”

Ashton squeezes his eyes shut. They burn as tears well despite his efforts to stop them. He sees Luke. The gentle smiles. Every hour spent holding his hand in a hospital room. Every visit to rehab. Every excuse he ever made for him.

All of it was in vain. Every fucking bit of it.

A voice echoes in the back of his mind, one he knows too well, one of the many casualties of Luke’s selfishness.

I hope he doesn’t fuck you over again. That he gets over himself. That maybe one day he’ll do half the shit for you that you do for him.

“You want an answer?” he gasps, a wet chuckle tumbling out of him. “I loved you. I really fucking loved you. I was trying to figure it out. Trying to figure out how to let myself love again. But you just couldn’t wait, could you?”

Anger. That’s all he feels.

Hot tears stream down his face, and he stubbornly wipes them away with the back of his hand. You used him. You used Luke. And he was stupid enough to fall for it.

Painfully fucking stupid. But Ashton can’t say much about that. He fell for you first. He fell for you knowing. He always fucking knew.

“You’re so fucked up for this,” he shakes his head, like maybe he can dislodge the anger, like maybe he can ignore the way his heart feels like it’s being pierced by a million daggers. “You know this is revenge porn, right? God. Do you even know if he was sober?”

“Fuck you,” you spit, your voice wavering for the first time. “You can’t just cling to the moral high ground with your fucking teeth. You used me, Ashton. Used me to bury your heartbreaks, your shame, your own fucking trauma. I love Luke. I would never—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Ashton sobs. “Shut the fuck up. You’re selfish, you’re fucked in the goddamn head, and I never want to see you again.”

Your breath hitches, a sob filling the silence. “Ashton,” you gasp. “Wait, just—”

“I don’t want to hear you,” he snaps. “I don’t want to hear whatever shitty excuse you’re gonna come up with. You’re fucking evil, Y/N. I hate you.”

His throat tightens, but he can’t stop. “You— you fucked him,” he stutters. “You fucked him and you lied to my face about it. Then you sent me pictures like it was some kind of goddamn joke. Like you don’t already know I was on my knees for you.”

You’re crying. That much is clear. Your voice trembles when you speak. “You fucked so many people,” you argue weakly. “And I just let it happen.”

“Not recently,” Ashton hisses. “God. Not for months. Not when you were all I thought about.”

He’s shaking, streetlights blurring as he stares at them, like maybe they’ll make everything disappear. Like maybe, if he wishes hard enough, he can erase the entire night from existence.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he whispers, his voice breaking despite his best efforts. “I’m such a fucking idiot. Oh my god.”

“Ashton—”

He shakes his head, even though he knows you can’t see him. Bile crawls up his throat, and the longer he listens to you, the more his chest burns.

Ashton hangs up without hesitation, cutting you off mid-sentence. He barely manages to get his car door open before he’s leaning out and emptying his stomach onto the street.

He retches again, throwing up nothing but bile, and still it’s the least painful thing happening to him. He slumps back against the seat, breathing hard.

Cars pass by, every single one oblivious to the state of his mind, to the way his body shakes with sobs he can barely keep contained.

With unsteady hands, Ashton closes the door and grips the steering wheel. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But he’s pulling back onto the road before he can talk himself out of it.

He knows Luke’s address by heart. Every light on his street. Every crack in the pavement. He could get there blindfolded.

Or heartbroken. Eyesight wrecked by tears.

His phone buzzes beside him. Again. And again. And again. There’s nothing you could say that would fix this. Nothing that could ever make it better.

All that’s left is to look into the eyes of the person Ashton loves most in the world and scream.

God knows he’s going to do a lot more than that. And his heart isn’t ready for the kind of devastation waiting for him inside Luke’s apartment.

Ashton Irwin is a fucking idiot.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

if you love me go read bite the apple on wattpad thanks.