#ashtonirwinxreader

The day started out almost like a cheesy rom com with Ashton waking you up with a rose in an effort to be ‘cutesy and romantic’ as Michael put it. He guided you—who was wrapped in the fuzzy blanket you slept with—to the dining area of the bus. It was here that you were greeted with a breakfast. The biggest breakfast he could fit on the miniscule table of the tour bus.

After you’d both taken time to eat and had fed some to the three other band members, who were complaining about being neglected, Ashton surprised you with the free time he had before rehearsal. So, you rushed off to get ready for a few hours of exploring the city you had arrived in for the day.

While you were waiting for Ashton to get out of the tiny bathroom you posted on Instagram about the surprise Ash had woken you up with. Any other time that wouldn’t have caused any issues, but you had accidentally tagged your location in it, and the bus was parked outside of the hotel you’d be spending the night in. Nevertheless, you had still managed to enjoy your day in the city, sightseeing, stopping in the park for a picnic, and Ashton buying you some jewellery you saw in a shop window—he’d also bought you a stuffed animal because your reaction to it was so adorable.

It was on your way back to the hotel that you both turned your phones from silent. This was a rule you and Ashton had adopted after your first date; both of you being distracted by every ping or flash of your screens. It was this moment you became aware of the shitstorm you had walked away from a few hours ago.

Ashton’s phone was full of missed calls from the band’s security manager and all three of the other band members. Your phone was full of texts from the other band girlfriends, and then phone calls, and the same from the guys themselves. After listening to their voicemails, you realised their intentions of warning you before your arrival. You checked your Instagram post, as they had instructed you to and realised your mistake. You removed your location tag instantly but the worse had already happened. As your beloved guided you around the street corner of your hotel, you saw the mass of paparazzi outside.

“Fuck, what have I done?”

“It wasn’t your fault, Y/N”.

“Ash, it was solely my fault. It was my Instagram post. It was me who tagged the hotel!”

“But you didn’t do it on purpose, and you didn’t know that this would happen.”

No matter how Ashton tried to calm you, you still retained the guilt of exposing the guys’ whereabouts. Not to mention the earache you were about to receive from management. Plus, the defending argument Ashton was already planning out in his head that he was not about to be talked down from. It was safe to say that this was not a situation you would ever like to be in. But you were in it, and you were about to walk right into the most chaotic storm of your life.

Ashton shielded you from the paparazzi swarming the doors. You silently wished he could do the same once you had both made it through the doors. The head of the management team was waiting for the both of you, backed by a wall of unimpressed security guards.

You spent a solid hour on the edge of tears while Ashton defended you to the band’s security team. Their shouts of blames targeting you and your social media post were relentless; there were at least ten voices booming around the room and the only comfort you could get was Ashton’s thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand in attempt to keep you present. Speaking of your drummer boyfriend, Ashton had managed to calm down the army in front of you, at least enough to lower their volume, and began disarming the bomb that would send you home from tour and miles away from him.

Finally, the team were convinced that the ordeal was entirely accidental and you were completely unaware there was a location tagged on your post. You were, however, given a warning about future social media posts and issued instructions involving Ashton checking and future posts from here on out. Ashton wasn’t too happy about that one, but you were just relieved to be able to stay with him for the remaining shows.

“I don’t want you to have to wait for me to check your posts before you post them! I trust you, you made the mistake once, you sure as hell won’t repeat it in a hurry, why can’t they understand that?”

Ashton’s rant started as soon as you got to your hotel room. It would humour you how passionate he was about the ‘injustice’ against you had you not still been fighting back the tears produced at the start of the meeting. Once met with your silence Ashton looked at you, dead in the eyes. Just the eye contact you held with each other was enough to break you.

Simultaneously, both you and the tears fell. Ashton’s arms supported you as you sobbed into his chest. You were fine with the results of the situation; you didn’t care if your social media posts had to be monitored –if anything you were comforted by that practice – but the stress of the past few hours and the constant yelling for half of that was an overload for you.