ekceleste

[ekceleste]

[ekceleste]

this might rip my heart out but it’s worth it

The Fifth Member - Chapter Two

Pairing: Luke Hemmings x Reader Genre/Themes: Friends to Enemies to Lovers Warnings: Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Slow Burn Word count: 6.834K Author's Note: Very poorly revised again.

Synopsis: Y/N was always there. Before the sold-out arenas, the chart-topping albums, the global tours—she was there. A constant in the chaos, the fifth member who didn’t need a mic or a spotlight. She didn’t play an instrument, couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, but she was family. She was home.

To the fans, she was the girl in the background of every backstage photo, the laugh behind every chaotic livestream, the one who always seemed to be right where the band needed her. Until one day… she wasn’t.

No announcements. No explanations. Just gone.

Now, years later, the world sees the band rebuilding. But behind closed doors, there’s a name they still don’t say out loud. A silence heavier than any breakup song they’ve ever written. Because losing her wasn’t just a fallout—it was the unraveling of everything they used to be.

And for Y/N? Disappearing wasn’t the end of the story.

It was only the beginning.

2016

There was a time when I thought we would always be the same.

We met when we were barely more than kids—just a group of teenagers crammed into a tiny apartment, surviving off instant ramen and cheap beer, riding the high of the band’s first taste of success. Back then, it was all about the music. The late-night songwriting sessions, the dumb Twitter fights, the shared playlists, the endless road trips where we took turns sleeping on top of each other in the van.

They weren’t just my best friends. They were my family.

And I was theirs.

Even though I wasn’t part of the band, the fans called me the honorary fifth member. I didn’t write the songs, didn’t play an instrument, didn’t belong on stage—but I was always there. I was the one filming their behind-the-scenes chaos, the one making them coffee at 3 AM when they were too exhausted to function, the one yelling at them to clean the apartment when it got too disgusting to bear.

It was easy. It was home.

But home doesn’t stay the same forever.

At first, having my own apartment felt like a win.

I had spent a long time crammed into that tiny place with the boys, stepping over their dirty laundry, waking up to someone’s guitar riff at ungodly hours, and dealing with their collective inability to do basic chores. So when I finally got my own place, it felt like breathing fresh air.

And for a while, they still treated it like home.

They would show up unannounced, ignoring that now all of them were living in bigger separate houses, crashing on my couch like they used to, ordering takeout and making a mess of my kitchen. They missed the way things used to be just as much as I did. And for a little while, that gave me hope.

Hope that we wouldn’t change. That no matter how famous they got, no matter how wild their lives became, I would always be their person. The one they came back to when the cameras were off and the parties were over.

But hope is a funny thing. It sticks around long after it should’ve died.

The visits became less frequent.

At first, they’d cancel plans at the last minute—too tired, too busy, caught up in something “super important” but never important enough to explain. Then they stopped making plans altogether. The nights in my apartment turned into nights at exclusive parties, the inside jokes turned into things I wasn’t in on anymore, and the texts started feeling more like updates than conversations.

I wasn’t part of their world the way I used to be. And the truth was, I didn’t want to be.

I was working on my degree, spending hours buried in textbooks, running on energy drinks and stress. While they were out drinking and partying with celebrities, I was writing essays and studying for finals. Their world felt too loud, too fast, too full of people I didn’t care about.

I still supported them, of course. I listened to the music. I watched the interviews. But all the stupid sides of their fame? The rumors, the drama, the social media hysteria? I had no patience for it.

I was too busy building something for myself. Something that wasn’t tied to them.

And maybe that was the real problem.

Because when I started drifting away, none of them pulled me back.

It started slowly. Little things I barely noticed at first.

Ashton was drinking more. First at parties, then backstage, then in the middle of the day. Always with a grin, always saying he had it under control. He didn’t have time for our long conversations anymore. And now I felt older than him, older than all of them.

Calum was drifting. He used to be my person—the one who always noticed when I was off, the one who could read me without a single word. Now, he was always somewhere else. At a club. With a different girl every week. Acting like nothing mattered, like we didn’t matter.

Michael, once the awkward, loud one, now slipping into the same lifestyle—parties, expensive clubs, famous friends. He was dating now. Chelsea. She was actually cool, the kind of girl I might’ve been friends with. She even tried, reaching out, texting me little things, making an effort.

But me and the boys were already drifting apart.

And Luke…

He was the hardest to lose. Because Luke had always been everything.

I used to know him better than I knew myself.

I knew the way he scrunched his nose when he was concentrating, the way his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt when he was nervous. I knew that he still played the same old guitar he had since we were teenagers, the one with the chipped edges and fading stickers. I knew that he had this habit of looking at me when he laughed, like he wanted to make sure I was laughing too.

And I knew that I loved him.

Not that it mattered. I kept that to myself, buried it so deep even I could almost pretend it wasn’t there.

But now? Now, he barely looked at me at all.

He had a girlfriend. A real one, not just another random model he flirted with at parties. And she hated me.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. But then I started noticing the way she clung to him when I was around, the way she whispered things in his ear, the way she rolled her eyes when I spoke.

And Luke—my Luke—started changing.

He laughed too loud, but never with me. He went to places I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t recognize. He was reckless in a way that wasn’t fun anymore. And worst of all, he looked at me like I was a stranger.

I don’t know when it started.

One day, he was Luke, my best friend—the one who used to sneak into my room at three in the morning to show me a new song, the one who would steal my fries and claim they “tasted better” off my plate, the one who never needed an excuse to be around me.

And then, suddenly, he was Luke & Alyssa.

She was everything Hollywood loved—gorgeous, effortless, the kind of girl who looked perfect in candids and had that cool, untouchable aura. And Luke? He was obsessed.

I remember the first time I met her. It was at some afterparty, one of those industry events where I already felt out of place. The boys had dragged me there, insisting it would be fun, and I had barely walked in when Luke was pulling me over, hand gripping my wrist too tight, eyes practically shining.

"Y/N, this is Alyssa."

I had never seen him look at someone like that before.

She had been polite, even sweet in a distant kind of way. Complimented my dress, asked me about school. But the entire time, she had this look—like she was trying to figure me out, categorize me. And when Luke wasn’t looking, she would tilt her head, studying me, almost as if she already knew.

I didn’t belong in their world.

And maybe she was right, because the deeper Luke fell for her, the further he drifted from me.

At first, I tried to ignore it. I told myself it was normal—he was in love, caught up in something new. But then it became impossible to pretend. The parties got worse, the drinking became constant, and Luke started carrying himself like he had something to prove. He was always performing, even offstage, like he had to be someone bigger, louder, better just to keep up.

And Alyssa was right there beside him, wrapped around his arm, whispering in his ear.

I watched it all from the outside, biting my tongue until it bled. Because what was I supposed to say? That I hated the way she looked at me when Luke wasn’t paying attention? That I hated the way he looked at her like she had all the answers? That I hated—

That I hated her?

No.

I didn’t hate her.

I hated what she turned him into.

And I hated that he let her.

I tried not to be bitter about it.

About any of it.

People change. Friends grow apart. It’s just life.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

                                                                  ***

The moment I realized Alyssa wasn’t just some girlfriend Luke would eventually grow out of—the moment I knew she was going to ruin everything—happened at a party.

It was one of those events I never used to be invited to, but suddenly, I was. Whether that was because of the boys’ rising fame or because Luke still insisted on keeping me in his orbit, I didn’t know.

It was at some penthouse in the hills, a sea of industry people who all had the same effortless air of belonging. Everyone was someone, and the ones who weren’t spent the whole night trying to prove otherwise. I hated these parties. I hated the small talk, the way people’s eyes scanned the room while you were talking to them, always looking for someone more important.

And I hated the way Luke was in these places.

He wasn’t the boy who used to scribble lyrics on napkins with me in the diner. He wasn’t the boy who once stayed up until sunrise because I was having a bad night.

No.

Here, he was Luke Hemmings. The one with his arm slung lazily around Alyssa’s waist, drinking from a bottle of expensive liquor straight from the source, grinning at people I had never seen before.

And I?

I was just trying not to throw my drink in someone’s face.

"Y/N, there you are!" Alyssa’s voice rang out like I had been summoned. I turned from where I had been lingering near the bar, gripping my glass too tightly.

She approached with that perfect, lazy confidence that came naturally to girls like her—girls who knew they had the power in any room they walked into. She was draped in something sleek and black, her makeup flawless, her manicured fingers wrapped around a martini glass like it was an extension of her hand.

Luke followed just a step behind, his expression relaxed, eyes flicking between the two of us like he was oblivious to the tension curling in my stomach.

"I was starting to think you bailed," Alyssa said smoothly, taking a slow sip from her drink.

I raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t realize my attendance was so crucial."

She let out a light laugh, almost like she was amused by me. "Oh, of course it is. You’re basically part of the band, aren’t you?" She glanced at Luke as she said it, her hand running down his arm like she was reminding him of something.

I stared at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then, with a tilt of her head and a saccharine smile, she added, "I mean, I can’t imagine what it’s like, watching them grow so much, change so much. It must be… strange. I bet you never expected things to get this big, right?"

I heard it for what it was.

A reminder.

I wasn’t one of them.

I was the friend who had tagged along from the beginning, but now? Now they were famous, and I was just me.

Luke laughed lightly, like he didn’t notice the venom laced beneath her words. "Come on, Alyssa, don’t be weird," he said, though his tone was affectionate, like she had simply made an awkward joke.

Not like she had just stuck a knife between my ribs.

I forced a smile, swallowing back the sudden lump in my throat. "Yeah," I said, my voice too even. "It is strange."

And with that, I downed the rest of my drink, ignoring the way my hands shook.

But it didn’t stop there.

Later that night, I was outside on the balcony, needing air, needing space, when I overheard them.

Alyssa, leaning into Luke’s side, her voice a perfect mix of sweetness and concern.

"She just seems different lately. Don’t you think?"

Luke hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"I don’t know…" Alyssa trailed off, like she was reluctant to say it. Like it was hard for her to be so considerate. "She’s just… distant. Cold, even. Maybe she just doesn’t relate to us anymore."

Us.

Luke hummed, thoughtful. And then?

Then he said, "I mean… yeah. Maybe."

Like he agreed.

Like he didn’t even fucking question it.

And that was when I knew.

She didn’t just hate me.

She was making sure he did too.

                                                                  ***

I should’ve known this was a bad idea.

The second I step inside, I can tell this isn’t my kind of party. Everything is too loud, too polished, too not us. Expensive perfume clings to the air, mixing with alcohol and smoke, and the whole place is filled with the kind of people who look like they belong in a magazine. Everyone is effortlessly cool—perfect outfits, perfect hair, perfect vibe.

I used to feel at home at these things. Back when it was just us, when the parties were chaotic and stupid and fun. But now?

Now, I don’t know where I’m supposed to stand.

I spot the boys easily. Ashton is already halfway through a drink, laughing too loudly at something a stranger is saying. Calum is leaning against a wall, some girl draped over him, barely acknowledging her. Michael is off with Chelsea, and honestly, they’re the only ones who seem remotely normal.

And then there’s Luke.

He’s standing with Alyssa and a group of people I don’t recognize. He looks good—the kind of good that makes my stomach twist because I know he doesn’t even have to try. 

He’s not the boy I met all those years ago. His hair is darker now, his fringe pushed to the side. The stubble on his jaw has grown into a beard he no longer bothers to shave. His clothes are different, too—dark, sleek, carefully put together in a way that looks careless. He wears boots now instead of Vans or Converse, standing taller, sharper, like the world has molded him into something unrecognizable. A perfect fuckboy. A perfect match for Alyssa, who is practically attached to his side, leaning in to whisper something in his ear that makes him laugh.

And then his eyes flicker up and land on me. For a second, I think—maybe—I’ll get something. A smile, a word, some sign that I still exist in his world.

Instead, he gives me a small nod. Just that—a nod, like I’m a stranger he barely remembers.

No warmth. No Luke.

I force myself to walk deeper into the party, trying to shake the feeling that I shouldn’t have come. Chelsea invited me. She wanted me here. That has to mean something, right?

I pass a small group of girls, and that’s when I hear it.

"What is she even wearing?" one of them whispers.

"I don’t know," another giggles. "It’s kind of… I don’t know. Basic?"

"Yeah, doesn’t really fit the vibe."

They laugh. Just a quiet, meaningless little giggle. Probably nothing to them. Just a passing comment, forgotten in seconds.

But to me? It’s everything.

Because when did my friends become like this?

When did they start surrounding themselves with people who talk like that? Who judge someone based on something as stupid as clothes?

When did I become someone who doesn’t fit?

I don’t say anything. I don’t even turn around to see if they’re still looking at me. I just stand there, swallowing hard, gripping my drink so tight my fingers hurt.

And then, without thinking, I move.

I walk out without saying goodbye. I slip through the crowd unnoticed. Maybe—just for a second—I hope someone will notice. That someone will call after me, ask me to stay.

But no one does.

                                                               ***

I stare at the shelves, my eyes scanning over the different bags of chips, but my mind is somewhere else.

It’s been a while since Calum made plans with me.

Not just a casual “Let’s catch up” text that never actually leads to anything, but real plans. Last night, he called out of nowhere, his voice warm and familiar, just like it used to be.

"Miss you, we should hang out. Just us. Like before."

It was stupid how much that simple sentence made me smile. How much hope it gave me.

So here I am, standing in the snack aisle, debating between sour candy and chocolate, trying to ignore the stupid warmth in my chest at the thought of having him back, even just for a night.

And then I see him.

A few aisles down, near the liquor section.

His cart is full—several bottles of expensive whiskey, vodka, and tequila stacked on top of each other. He’s leaning against it, phone pressed to his ear, a lazy smirk on his face.

"Yeah, man, I’ll bring enough for everyone. It’s gonna be insane. Tell them to come through."

My fingers tighten around the bag of chips in my hands.

He doesn’t see me. He just keeps talking, laughing about something, completely oblivious.

For a second, I just stand there, watching.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe some part of me actually believed that this time, he meant it. That he really missed me. That tonight would be different. That it wouldn’t be like all the other times—plans that fell apart, promises that didn’t mean anything.

But it’s not different.

It’s the same as it’s always been.

The hope I had last night feels stupid now, and I hate that I let myself have it in the first place.

I stay there until he pays and walks out, never once looking in my direction.

Then I put the snacks back on the shelf and leave too.

                                                      ***

Ashton stumbled into my apartment that night, barely managing to stay upright. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, suffocating and sharp, making my chest tighten. His eyes were glassy, distant—like he wasn’t even here. Not really.

I barely had time to react before he collapsed onto the couch, exhaling a breath that was more like a groan.

"Hey," I said carefully, trying to keep my voice steady. But the worry was already there, curling in the pit of my stomach. "What are you doing here, Ash? You’re drunk."

He didn’t respond at first, just sat there, staring at nothing.

"Ash," I tried again, stepping closer, searching for something in his expression. "What’s going on with you?"

His head rolled slightly to the side, his lips parting as if he had something to say, but nothing coherent came out.

"I—I don’t know," he finally mumbled, his voice thick and slurred. "I just... I don’t feel... like myself."

The words hit harder than I expected. A deep, bitter truth I wasn’t prepared to hear. I used to know him better than anyone. I used to fix things when he was hurting. But this? This was a stranger sitting in front of me.

"Ash, talk to me," I pressed, kneeling in front of him. "What happened?"

His eyes flickered, unfocused, like he was trying to grasp onto a thought too far away. He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping under the weight of whatever was clawing at him.

"You’re different," he whispered, barely audible. "Still hot, but different."

I blinked. "Hot?"

"Yeah. Like... super beautiful and stuff." His words were clumsy, hazy, but honest.

I scoffed. "I thought you were like my older brother, Ash."

"I am," he said, then grinned lazily. "Not blind, though."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head, but it faded when I saw the sudden shift in his expression. His eyes welled up with tears, his breath hitching like something had just cracked open inside him.

"Ashton," I said, my voice softer now. "What happened to you?"

He didn’t answer. He just slouched further, mumbling things I couldn’t understand.

I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of him in this state. So I did the only thing I could do. I helped him. I pulled him up and guided him toward the bathroom, turning on the shower and making sure the water was cold enough to jolt him back to reality.

I sat outside the bathroom door while he showered, listening to the steady stream of water and the occasional shuddered breath. It felt like forever before I saw a hint of clarity in his face.

Later, he sat on the edge of my bed, his wet hair dripping onto his shirt, his hands clasped together as if trying to steady himself. His eyes were clearer, but there was still something there—something lost.

"I miss you," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

I blinked, caught off guard. The words were simple, but they carried so much weight, like they had been held in for too long.

"I miss you too," I admitted. But as I said it, I knew it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the same. And the realization of that was crushing me.

I stayed beside him while he drifted off to sleep, his body curled into the blankets like they were the only comfort he had left. I tried to sleep, too, but my mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

The apartment was eerily quiet when I woke up. For a second, I thought he had left. But when I got up, I found him still in bed, turned away from me, his breathing deep and steady.

I sighed and nudged his shoulder. "Ash, wake up."

He groaned, burying his face into the pillow.

"You need to call one of the guys," I told him. "Someone needs to pick you up."

He mumbled something under his breath before reaching for his phone. A few minutes later, he muttered, "Calum’s coming."

I made coffee while he sat at the kitchen table, rubbing his temples like the night before was just a bad dream. Neither of us spoke much.

When Calum finally knocked on the door, Michael was with him. They both looked at Ashton, then at me, and I could tell they wanted to say something, but they didn’t.

"You guys want pancakes?" I asked instead, forcing some normalcy into the moment.

Michael’s face lit up. "Hell yeah, we do."

And just like that, we were sitting around my kitchen table, eating pancakes like we had done so many times before at diners in the middle of nowhere. The tension eased, laughter slipping into the conversation like it belonged there.

At some point, I smirked and looked at Ashton. "You called me hot and then passed out."

He groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "Oh, God."

Calum and Michael burst out laughing.

When they finally left, I stood by the door, watching them walk down the hall. Something inside me felt different—lighter.

Maybe… maybe there was still something left to salvage.

                                                   ***

Luke had adopted a dog. Petunia was big and gentle—just like him. She followed him everywhere, her wide, adoring eyes always looking up at him like he hung the damn moon. And Luke? He was obsessed with her. Always gushing about how he finally had a pet now that he lived alone.

Well… with Alyssa.

I never said anything, but the way he phrased it—now that he lived alone—always made something bitter settle in my chest. Like he was rewriting the past, erasing the years where we were all practically inseparable. But I bit my tongue, just like I always did.

Then one day, he called, voice breezy, like he was asking me for the smallest favor in the world.

"Hey, can you watch Petunia for a couple of days?"

He and Alyssa were going somewhere—I didn’t bother listening to where. Before I could even argue, he was already at my door, flashing me that same easy smile that used to make me cave every time.

"Thanks, you're the best," he said, handing me the leash before turning to Petunia. "Be good, Piggy. I’ll be back before you know it."

And just like that, he was gone.

Except he wasn’t back before I knew it.

Two days turned into four. Four turned into a week. No calls. No texts. Just silence.

I wasn’t even mad about taking care of Petunia—I loved her. But the longer he stayed gone, the more the anger curled in my gut. It wasn’t about the dog. It was about him.

Where the hell was he? Why was it always like this now? Like I was just some afterthought—someone he could dump his responsibilities on and forget about until it was convenient for him?

By the time he finally showed up, standing at my door with that same fucking grin, like nothing was wrong, something inside me snapped.

The second Petunia heard his voice, she barreled out of my room, paws skidding against the floor as she launched herself straight into his arms.

Luke barely had time to kneel before she crashed into him, her tail wagging so hard it shook her whole body. He laughed, burying his face in her fur, scratching behind her ears the way he knew she loved.

"Piggy! I missed you so much," he murmured, his voice dripping with affection.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe, watching him pour all that love and warmth into her—like he hadn’t just fucking disappeared for a week.

"Wow," I said, my voice sharp enough to cut. "Must be nice to finally remember you have a dog."

He looked up, still grinning, like this was just some casual catch-up and not the first time he’d bothered to show his face in seven goddamn days.

"Oh, come on," he said, shaking his head. "You know she was in good hands."

I scoffed. The audacity.

"That’s not the fucking point, Luke."

His smile faltered just a little before he sighed and stood up, rubbing a hand over his face. "Alright, I’m sorry. We got caught up in—"

"In what?" I cut in, my voice sharp and unrelenting. "Alyssa? Whatever trip you two were on? You were supposed to pick her up days ago, Luke. Do you even care how that made me feel?"

His jaw clenched. The easygoing mask he always wore flickered for a moment, but I caught it.

"Of course, I care," he said, his voice tighter now.

"Do you?" I shot back. "Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. You didn’t even check in. You just fucking vanished. That’s what you do now, isn’t it? Disappear whenever it’s convenient for you."

His eyes darkened, a storm rolling in behind them. "That’s not fair."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "Isn’t it?"

The air between us felt suffocating now, the tension so thick I could barely breathe through it. This wasn’t just about Petunia anymore. It was about us.

"You’ve changed, Luke. And not in a good way."

His nostrils flared as he raked a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling just under the surface.

"I’m still the same person," he argued, his voice quieter now, but firm, like he was daring me to contradict him.

I didn’t even hesitate. "No, you’re not. The Luke I knew wouldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t have treated me like some fucking afterthought."

Something in his expression cracked, but he covered it up just as fast.

"And what about you?" he challenged, his voice sharpening to match mine. "You act like nothing’s changed, like we’re still the same kids, but we’re not. We don’t live in each other’s pockets anymore. I have a life. You have a life. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you."

I scoffed, the words stinging more than they should have.

"It feels like you don’t," I snapped.

Luke exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face, his patience unraveling at the seams.

"Jesus, why are you acting like this?"

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. "Because I’m sick of your bullshit, Luke. You only care about yourself. Calum only gives a fuck about where he puts his dick, Michael’s too busy sucking up to his celebrity friends to give a shit about anyone else, and Ashton—" I let out a humorless laugh. "Ashton is a goddamn drunk, and no one’s doing a fucking thing about it."

Luke’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. But I wasn’t done.

"And you—" I jabbed a finger at his chest, fury pouring out of me in waves. "You’re too busy playing house with your fucking pick-me-girl to notice anything!"

Luke let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head like I was being ridiculous.

"Oh, fuck off," he spat. "Just say what you really mean. You’re jealous, aren’t you? You can’t stand that I’m with Alyssa. That I don’t drop everything for you anymore."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes, but he wasn’t finished.

"You know what? Alyssa told me." His voice was cutting now, colder than I’d ever heard it. "She said you had a thing for me. And I ignored it—I told her she was wrong, that we were just friends. But now?" He let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair. "Now, I think she must be right. I mean, come on, Y/N. I don’t even remember seeing you with anyone in all the years we’ve known each other.”

My breath caught in my throat.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

And then I laughed. A dark, empty sound that echoed through the space between us.

"You really believe that?" I stepped closer, my voice shaking with fury. "You think I’m mad because I want you? You really fucking think I’m jealous?"

His lips parted slightly, like he expected me to deny it, to shrink back, but I didn’t.

Instead, I laughed harder. "You think that just because you never saw me hook up with someone, that means I never did? What, should I have filmed it for you? Sent you proof?"

His face flickered with something—anger, regret, maybe even shame—but I didn’t let him speak.

"I have goals, Luke," I spat. "An actual fucking life outside of you. Unlike you, I didn’t let a relationship completely derail me."

I tilted my head, my glare cutting straight through him. "Let me make something very clear, Luke. I’m not stupid enough to be in love with you."

I watched as the words hit him like a slap.

"Even if I was," I continued, sharp as glass, "I would never act on it. Because your friendship—" I scoffed, shaking my head, "or whatever the fuck this is—was too important to me."

Silence.

Luke just stood there, staring at me like he didn’t recognize the person in front of him.

But I wasn’t done.

"But you? You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. You only care about drinking, going to parties, fucking Alyssa, and pretending like none of this is your fault."

His nostrils flared, but I pushed on, ruthless now.

"And Alyssa?" I let out a low, humorless laugh. "She’s not just a bitch, Luke. She’s a manipulative, self-obsessed, gold-digging, two-faced cunt who only wants you because she likes the attention. And you—" I shook my head, eyes burning, "you’re too fucking blind to see it."

I saw the flicker of anger in his expression, the way his shoulders tensed, but I didn’t care.

"You think she’s so in love with you?" I sneered. "You’re just another name to her. Another prize. And when she’s done playing house, she’ll leave you just like she’s left every other guy before you."

His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something, maybe defend her, maybe himself—but I wasn’t going to let him.

"And you know what?" I took another step forward, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "I pray she fucks you over so badly that by the time you finally realize I was right, it’s too late."

He flinched. Just a little. But I caught it.

I exhaled sharply, stepping back, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once. "Take your fucking dog, Luke. And don’t come back."

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then, without a word, he reached for Petunia’s leash, clipped it on, and walked out the door.

And just like that, he was gone.

                                                            ***

Months had passed since the fight with Luke. We hadn’t spoken since.

For weeks, I waited, hoping he’d show up with his tail between his legs, so we could finally talk—really talk—and fix things. But deep down, I knew our friendship was beyond repair.

I hadn’t heard from the other boys either. Even in our worst moments, they would still check in, send a text, a meme, something to remind me they were still there. But now? Nothing. It felt like they had chosen Luke’s side, or maybe they just didn’t care enough to reach out. I didn’t know if he told them what happened or if they just decided, on their own, that I wasn’t worth the effort anymore.

And that hurt. God, it hurt.

Because they were my family. The only family I had in this city. We had built something real, something that felt unshakable, but somewhere along the way, cracks had formed. I couldn't even pinpoint when it happened. Maybe it was after the endless midweek parties I couldn’t go to because of college. Or on one of the tours I had to sit out because I couldn’t drop everything and travel for months like they could. Maybe it was when they started surrounding themselves with the real LA crowd—the famous, the beautiful, the reckless.

Luke was right, in all our years of friendship, I never really dated. Never even tried. I knew Luke didn’t see me that way, but how could I think about anyone else when I had this giant, golden-haired idiot sleeping in my bed three or four nights a week, clinging to me like I was his anchor? I would have given up anything for his friendship.

And now, it felt like I was going through a breakup. A brutal, messy breakup—with four people at the same time.

A part of me had always believed we’d find our way back to each other. That no matter how much distance formed between us, there would always be something pulling us back. But now? Now I had to accept that Michael would never yell at me for yelling at him again. We’d never bleach our hair together or spend hours on my couch, him furiously mashing buttons on his controller while I pretended to care about his game.

I had to accept that I couldn’t go to Ashton anymore when my brain felt like a battlefield, when I needed someone who understood me in a way no one else ever had. I’d never hear his soft giggles again, or listen to his stupid deep thoughts at 2 AM, or see those green eyes looking at me like he saw right through me.

My nights would be spent tossing and turning, sleepless and alone, without Calum’s arms around me, grounding me. No more lazy conversations while I stress-baked cookies, no more of his teasing flirtation—flirting I only ever practiced with him, because I was too much of a coward to say those things to the person I actually wanted.

Someone like Luke.

Luke, with his blue eyes and hair that smelled like my shampoo. With his stupid, cocky grin and his tongue peeking between his teeth. But also—Luke, who held my hand when we watched horror movies. Luke, who rested his head on my lap while I read. Luke, who sang off-key to the radio as if he wasn’t literally a professional singer. The boy who shared my mornings, my jokes, my secrets. My best friend.

I couldn’t grieve all of that without losing my mind.

So I chose anger instead.

Why should I sit around, miserable and heartbroken, while they partied and moved on like I never existed? Why should I cry over people who threw me away like I was nothing? Who forgot about me so easily, after everything I had given them?

No.

If they were done with me, then I would be done with them too.

Luke’s words replayed in my head on an endless loop.

At first, I was furious. White-hot, all-consuming rage. Then, the sadness crept in, swallowing everything whole—just to circle back to anger again.

And God, I hated Alyssa. Hated her in ways I never thought myself capable of. Some nights, I wished I could wake up, check Twitter, and see the news that she’d been hit by a bus. Or better yet, dead.

Every time I watched an interview with the boys and saw the dark circles under Luke’s eyes—the way he looked hollow, like a soulless shell of himself—I wanted to rip those cheap hair extensions right off her head. Every time I saw paparazzi shots of them leaving a party, or her Instagram posts flaunting her famous boyfriend like some kind of trophy, I wanted to rip her apart piece by piece, starting with her perfectly manicured nails.

Fucking bitch.

How could I be the only one who saw what was happening? How could the others just stand by and let her sink her claws into him? Did they really not notice, or did they just not care?

I spent months like that. Cycling through every stage of grief, over and over again. Deleting my social media accounts wasn’t enough. I created new ones—private, anonymous, free of any connection to them, free of any trace of the life I used to have. No pictures of me, no followers who knew my name. I needed to disappear, to carve out a space where I wasn’t drowning in reminders of everything I had lost.

And then, in the middle of all that anger and hurt, I found a lifeline.

A scholarship. Boston.

It was my way out. My fresh start. A place where no one knew me as Luke’s best friend or as the girl who used to be part of their world. I could be someone else—someone whose life wasn’t defined by the absence of four people who didn’t even care enough to check in.

So I applied.

And for the first time in months, I felt something other than anger. Hope.

The moment I hit submit on the application, something shifted. It wasn’t instant relief—not even close—but it was the first step toward something that didn’t feel like suffocating. A small crack of light in the darkness.

I didn’t tell anyone. There was no one left to tell. But I carried that secret like a talisman, something just for me. If I got in, I was gone. Out of LA, out of this toxic cycle of grief and rage. Away from the reminders of them, of him.

Weeks passed. Then months. The pain dulled, but it never really left. I still saw them sometimes—flashes of their faces on my timeline when I forgot to filter my feed, echoes of our memories in places I couldn’t bring myself to visit. But I held onto that hope, onto the idea that soon, I’d be somewhere far away from all of it.

Then the email came.

Congratulations! We are pleased to offer you…

I didn’t even finish reading before the tears started. It was real. My way out was real.

I gave myself one night to grieve it all one last time. One night of crying so hard my ribs ached, of staring at the ceiling and wondering if any of them missed me, if they ever thought about calling. If Luke ever regretted the things he said.

Then, in the morning, I got to work.

Packing up my apartment felt surreal. Every item I shoved into a box felt like closing a chapter I hadn’t been ready to end. I sorted through everything, deciding what to take and what to leave behind. There was only one box that wasn’t mine—the one filled with the things the boys had left at my place over the years.

A few T-shirts, a hoodie that still smelled like cologne, some guitar picks, an old beanie I had stolen from Calum that he never bothered to take back. Stupid things, small things, but they felt heavier than anything else in my apartment.

I didn’t have it in me to throw them away, but I sure as hell wasn’t bringing them with me.

So I left the box with the doorman, told him it was for them, in case any of them ever came looking for their things.

Not that they would.

By the time I boarded my flight to Boston, I felt weightless. Not because I wasn’t hurting anymore, but because I was finally moving forward.

[ekceleste]

sorry second reblog but recently i have been living for fics with loser 5sos boys when they were in their early fetus days with like a “bad girl girlfriend” and it’s sooooo cute anyways this is amazing😋 scrumptious even

bad girl!reader takes care of loser!luke after a party words: 1.4k request fill: anon ask! tags: loser!luke, bad girl!reader tw: implied drinking, mentions of bullying, luke’s got low self-esteem :( author’s note: i’m hammered rn but i wanna write so !! also i have finals this week and they start  in a few hours but oh well! listen to: “jasey rae” covered by 5 seconds of summer (this goes double platinum in my bedroom)

“You’re so hot.. did you know that?...”

It’s not a secret to either of you that Luke’s parents, Liz and Andrew, aren’t exactly fond of your presence. You couldn’t blame them, though. If you raised your kid to avoid bad influences and they ended up dating a person with similar habits to you, you’d be upset as well.

But by far the thing that angers them the most about your relationship with him is the fact that you are rubbing off on their son.

Stumbling up the stairs, you guide Luke into the dim kitchen, who follows you with a slack-jawed smile. A few hours ago, he received a text from you while he was studying for his exams. You were a few blocks down from him at a friend’s party and wanted him to join you. It didn’t take much for you to convince him. If this were a few months prior, Luke would have shut down the idea almost immediately— but recently he’s been testing his own boundaries. 

It started with him being accidentally complicit with you stealing an energy drink from a gas station. In fact, he was the one holding it when you two exited the store. At first, you had to stop him from running back in to pay for it. But after the shock died down, he was left with the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the feeling was nothing short of addicting. From then on, Luke decided to keep an open mind about breaking the rules. Besides, he was a hallway monitor for his school— he deserved a break.

Leading him into the kitchen, you retrieve two glasses from the cabinet and fill them with water. You place one beside him on the counter, trying to ignore the room spinning around you. You might have drank more, but Luke didn’t have the tolerance you did— so it was up to you to take care of you both. “I’m glad you think I’m hot, Lucas. Now drink your water.” The blond begrudgingly raises his cup to his lips and swallows down the contents. 

“Why’d we have to leave the party? I was having fun towards the end..” His lower lip juts out in a soft pout, his tone whiny and disappointed. His grip falters a little on his empty glass, prompting you to swiftly remove it from his grasp and set it down on the marble countertop.

Cupping his face in your hands, you press a kiss to his lower lip. “I just wanna make sure you’re safe, you’re not exactly used to drinking this much.” A smile forms on your face as you notice his eyes trailing away from your own and down to your lips. “Whatcha lookin’ at, Lu?”

It takes a little longer for Luke to formulate a response. His mind is clouded from all of the beer he’s been drinking. “I wanna kiss you.” His lips turn up into a cheeky grin. 

“You can kiss me, it’s okay.” You’ve never seen him like this before, but you find the unexpected clinginess adorable nonetheless. Almost immediately after the words leave your lips, he stoops over to capture your lips in a kiss. It lasts a few seconds before he pulls back.

“I love you, I really do. Like— I really love you.” Luke slurs with a boyish smile. “Like, I think it’s a problem ‘cause I literally can’t stop thinking about you. Everything I do, I always think— is Y/N gonna find this cool? Does she think I’m cool? ‘Cause you’re so cool, y’know?”

“Shhh...” You place your hands on his shoulders to ground him. It’s past midnight and the last thing you want to happen is for his parents to be woken up by an intoxicated Luke.

“I know, I know, but lemme finish.” His volume drops dramatically to a whisper, albeit a very loud one. For a moment he’s silent before he breaks out into a fit of giggles, leaning against you.

You can’t believe it. You’ve never seen Luke quite this at ease. With a disbelieving chuckle, you wait for him to calm down a bit before you continue to speak with him. “How about we go up to your room and you can finish telling me, okay?” He nods as best as he can without getting too dizzy and follows behind you. You don’t miss the playful swat he gives your ass as you lead him up the stairs and into his bedroom. As soon as the door closes, you turn around to find him wiggling his eyebrows at you. “No way. You’re not getting anything tonight. We’re both drunk— you can wait ‘til tomorrow.” You murmur with a smile.

You watch him face-plant onto the bed with a groan. “My life is over!” He pauses for a few seconds before checking to see if you’re watching him. Sure enough, he sees you with your arms crossed standing beside the bed with an amused expression. “...Please?” He lets out another muffled whine into the mattress when you shake your head at him.

“You gonna continue what you were saying downstairs, baby?” At the reminder, he flips onto his back, ruffling his hair.

Luke hesitates before he speaks, obviously debating whether or not to tell you more. “I pierced my lip for you.” His eyebrows furrow at the sound of a stifled laugh from your direction. “M’ serious, why aren’t you taking me seriously?...”

With a childish eye roll, you climb onto the bed beside him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please continue.” He recollects his thoughts before carrying on. “I did it because I thought— wow, this girl is so cool and she’s so far out of my league, I gotta do something to make her notice me. So I pierced my lip at Claire’s and cut holes in all my jeans.” His eyes wander down to the pair that he’s wearing now. “But when you actually did notice me, I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

He rolls onto his side and stares at you with glassy blue eyes. “I actually couldn’t believe it. Like— I’m a math tutor with three friends and this cool chick isn’t running away from me when I try to talk to her. She doesn’t think I’m a loser, she doesn’t make fun of my comic books or my music taste, she actually likes me.” Your heart breaks a little at the thought of his self-worth being so low. You aren’t oblivious to the fact that he isn’t a very popular kid in school. As a matter of fact, he’s been the target of bullying in the past and even now, he’s regarded as the nerdy boy at the back of the class. 

“Well, I don’t like you, Luke. I love you.” You push his black-framed glasses up, giving him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. “And I think you’re perfect no matter what. You don’t need to change yourself for me.” He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. Luke’s hand travels over the covers to intertwine with yours. “...Besides, I love dorks.” His eyes shoot over to you at the comment. 

“So… you like my comic books?” He waits for assurance from you. When you nod, he persists. “My action figures?” He receives another positive response. “My posters?”

“I like them all, Luke. I think they’re cool.” You watch the smile grow on his face the more you praise him for his interests. “To be honest, I’d still like you if you had a race car bed.”

Luke snickers in response. “Is it bad I had one as a kid?”

“Define kid.” You prod him for more information. With a soft exhale through his nose, he gives in.

“Okay, fine— is it bad that I had one last year?” Typically when people laugh around him, Luke gets an awful pit in his stomach. But the sound of your giggles beside him in bed makes him melt. He covers his face in embarrassment.

“No, it’s not bad you had one last year. I still love you. I’d still let you fuck me in it and I think that says a lot.” He snorts at the image in his head. Thank god he got rid of it. “The point is that I love you.” You murmur to him quietly.

“Really?” He leans in and grazes his lips against yours. 

“Mhm..” You lean forward to peck his lip. Following this, you lay back on his bed and close your eyes. The bed creaks as he scoots closer and rests his head on your chest, his arms lazily clinging to your torso. “Even if you are a sappy drunk.” 

[ekceleste]

bad girl!reader takes care of loser!luke after a party words: 1.4k request fill: anon ask! tags: loser!luke, bad girl!reader tw: implied drinking, mentions of bullying, luke’s got low self-esteem :( author’s note: i’m hammered rn but i wanna write so !! also i have finals this week and they start  in a few hours but oh well! listen to: “jasey rae” covered by 5 seconds of summer (this goes double platinum in my bedroom)

“You’re so hot.. did you know that?...”

It’s not a secret to either of you that Luke’s parents, Liz and Andrew, aren’t exactly fond of your presence. You couldn’t blame them, though. If you raised your kid to avoid bad influences and they ended up dating a person with similar habits to you, you’d be upset as well.

But by far the thing that angers them the most about your relationship with him is the fact that you are rubbing off on their son.

Stumbling up the stairs, you guide Luke into the dim kitchen, who follows you with a slack-jawed smile. A few hours ago, he received a text from you while he was studying for his exams. You were a few blocks down from him at a friend’s party and wanted him to join you. It didn’t take much for you to convince him. If this were a few months prior, Luke would have shut down the idea almost immediately— but recently he’s been testing his own boundaries. 

It started with him being accidentally complicit with you stealing an energy drink from a gas station. In fact, he was the one holding it when you two exited the store. At first, you had to stop him from running back in to pay for it. But after the shock died down, he was left with the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the feeling was nothing short of addicting. From then on, Luke decided to keep an open mind about breaking the rules. Besides, he was a hallway monitor for his school— he deserved a break.

Leading him into the kitchen, you retrieve two glasses from the cabinet and fill them with water. You place one beside him on the counter, trying to ignore the room spinning around you. You might have drank more, but Luke didn’t have the tolerance you did— so it was up to you to take care of you both. “I’m glad you think I’m hot, Lucas. Now drink your water.” The blond begrudgingly raises his cup to his lips and swallows down the contents. 

“Why’d we have to leave the party? I was having fun towards the end..” His lower lip juts out in a soft pout, his tone whiny and disappointed. His grip falters a little on his empty glass, prompting you to swiftly remove it from his grasp and set it down on the marble countertop.

Cupping his face in your hands, you press a kiss to his lower lip. “I just wanna make sure you’re safe, you’re not exactly used to drinking this much.” A smile forms on your face as you notice his eyes trailing away from your own and down to your lips. “Whatcha lookin’ at, Lu?”

It takes a little longer for Luke to formulate a response. His mind is clouded from all of the beer he’s been drinking. “I wanna kiss you.” His lips turn up into a cheeky grin. 

“You can kiss me, it’s okay.” You’ve never seen him like this before, but you find the unexpected clinginess adorable nonetheless. Almost immediately after the words leave your lips, he stoops over to capture your lips in a kiss. It lasts a few seconds before he pulls back.

“I love you, I really do. Like— I really love you.” Luke slurs with a boyish smile. “Like, I think it’s a problem ‘cause I literally can’t stop thinking about you. Everything I do, I always think— is Y/N gonna find this cool? Does she think I’m cool? ‘Cause you’re so cool, y’know?”

“Shhh...” You place your hands on his shoulders to ground him. It’s past midnight and the last thing you want to happen is for his parents to be woken up by an intoxicated Luke.

“I know, I know, but lemme finish.” His volume drops dramatically to a whisper, albeit a very loud one. For a moment he’s silent before he breaks out into a fit of giggles, leaning against you.

You can’t believe it. You’ve never seen Luke quite this at ease. With a disbelieving chuckle, you wait for him to calm down a bit before you continue to speak with him. “How about we go up to your room and you can finish telling me, okay?” He nods as best as he can without getting too dizzy and follows behind you. You don’t miss the playful swat he gives your ass as you lead him up the stairs and into his bedroom. As soon as the door closes, you turn around to find him wiggling his eyebrows at you. “No way. You’re not getting anything tonight. We’re both drunk— you can wait ‘til tomorrow.” You murmur with a smile.

You watch him face-plant onto the bed with a groan. “My life is over!” He pauses for a few seconds before checking to see if you’re watching him. Sure enough, he sees you with your arms crossed standing beside the bed with an amused expression. “...Please?” He lets out another muffled whine into the mattress when you shake your head at him.

“You gonna continue what you were saying downstairs, baby?” At the reminder, he flips onto his back, ruffling his hair.

Luke hesitates before he speaks, obviously debating whether or not to tell you more. “I pierced my lip for you.” His eyebrows furrow at the sound of a stifled laugh from your direction. “M’ serious, why aren’t you taking me seriously?...”

With a childish eye roll, you climb onto the bed beside him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please continue.” He recollects his thoughts before carrying on. “I did it because I thought— wow, this girl is so cool and she’s so far out of my league, I gotta do something to make her notice me. So I pierced my lip at Claire’s and cut holes in all my jeans.” His eyes wander down to the pair that he’s wearing now. “But when you actually did notice me, I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

He rolls onto his side and stares at you with glassy blue eyes. “I actually couldn’t believe it. Like— I’m a math tutor with three friends and this cool chick isn’t running away from me when I try to talk to her. She doesn’t think I’m a loser, she doesn’t make fun of my comic books or my music taste, she actually likes me.” Your heart breaks a little at the thought of his self-worth being so low. You aren’t oblivious to the fact that he isn’t a very popular kid in school. As a matter of fact, he’s been the target of bullying in the past and even now, he’s regarded as the nerdy boy at the back of the class. 

“Well, I don’t like you, Luke. I love you.” You push his black-framed glasses up, giving him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. “And I think you’re perfect no matter what. You don’t need to change yourself for me.” He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. Luke’s hand travels over the covers to intertwine with yours. “...Besides, I love dorks.” His eyes shoot over to you at the comment. 

“So… you like my comic books?” He waits for assurance from you. When you nod, he persists. “My action figures?” He receives another positive response. “My posters?”

“I like them all, Luke. I think they’re cool.” You watch the smile grow on his face the more you praise him for his interests. “To be honest, I’d still like you if you had a race car bed.”

Luke snickers in response. “Is it bad I had one as a kid?”

“Define kid.” You prod him for more information. With a soft exhale through his nose, he gives in.

“Okay, fine— is it bad that I had one last year?” Typically when people laugh around him, Luke gets an awful pit in his stomach. But the sound of your giggles beside him in bed makes him melt. He covers his face in embarrassment.

“No, it’s not bad you had one last year. I still love you. I’d still let you fuck me in it and I think that says a lot.” He snorts at the image in his head. Thank god he got rid of it. “The point is that I love you.” You murmur to him quietly.

“Really?” He leans in and grazes his lips against yours. 

“Mhm..” You lean forward to peck his lip. Following this, you lay back on his bed and close your eyes. The bed creaks as he scoots closer and rests his head on your chest, his arms lazily clinging to your torso. “Even if you are a sappy drunk.” 

[ekceleste]

tumblr stop recommending me unrebloggable posts. Do you know how sad I got cuz I realized I couldn't reblog this

[ekceleste]

[ekceleste]

i’m not even gonna lie to you i was contemplating opening the stream and saying “felix if you’re here hello”😭😭😭

MITCH READ MY COMMENT THE WEDDING IS 2MORROW

[ekceleste]

LMFAOOO

I have Rodrick heffley dressed as a butterfly tattooed on my leg now

[ekceleste]

michael introduces american!reader to his highschool words: 1.8k! request fill: anon ask! tags: classmate!michael, american!reader tw: none! author’s note: FINALLY UPDATING AFTER SO LONG I’M SORRY I’VE BEEN SUFFERING FROM THE FIC WRITER CURSE listen to: “teenage dirtbag” covered by 5 seconds of summer

It was hard to be considered the most popular guy in school when most of the time, you spent your days with your head down and earbuds blasting at high volumes. In fact, it was impossible, especially for Michael in Year 11. With chunky bracelets, side-swept fringe, and light pink spots on his cheeks— even he had accepted the “loser” title he had been given by the other students.

That’s why he sat in the back of the classroom. He didn’t have to be the most eager to answer a question nor did he have to sit in front of kids that he knew were teasing him behind his back. He had the luxury of doodling on his notebook and zoning out, maybe occasionally leaning over to talk with his friends, Calum and Luke. Even his teacher, Mr. Williams, had taken pity on the boy and stopped cold-calling him during class.

But just as Michael felt himself fading into the background of his own life, his teacher started off the class period in a way that Michael never would have expected.

“If I may have your attention,” Mr. Williams clears his throat once, standing beside the doorway of the classroom. The students in the room don’t bother to listen to him. The stocky man repeats the action louder, “Your attention, please.” The chatter in the room seems to die down momentarily. 

“For the past ten years, Norwest has not opened their doors to international exchange students due to lack of interest. However, this program— under the Dean’s instruction— has been reopened. Today, we welcome our newest addition to Norwest, straight from America, Ms. Y/N L/N.” Turning the knob on the door and pulling it open, he ushers you into the room. Twenty pairs of eyes follow your form carefully as you step to the front of the room. 

”Until graduation, she will be continuing her education here alongside the rest of you. I hope you will show her around and assist her with anything she needs.” Mr. Williams eyes the pupils with skepticism. The students assembled themselves into cliques before their freshman year had even started. Joining any friend group this late into school is near impossible. A few snickers sound from around the room and the man sighs, looking for a vacant seat for you. “Pay them no mind, Ms. L/N. How about you go take a seat next to Mr. Clifford in the back. Ehm— Michael?” Michael’s head shoots up as soon as his last name is mentioned. Really? Now was the time that Mr. Williams decided to call on him? Part of him felt betrayed by the man. The teacher knew that Michael wasn’t the biggest fan of being the center of attention and he respected that until now, at the worst possible moment. 

“Michael, will you make yourself known to the girl?...” Mr. Williams gives him an encouraging glance. Tentatively, he raises his hand a little for you to identify him. He doesn’t miss how some of his peers peek over at their friends with snide smiles. Meanwhile, all you can think about is getting out of the stuffy uniform you’re in and leaving the front of the classroom. Nothing makes you feel worse than a bunch of whispers you know are about you— well, besides the tag in the back of the collar of your shirt. The discomfort of the new uniform gives the situation a run for its money. Immediately, you nod and hurry off to the spare desk in the back.

The sound of Mr. Williams’ voice becomes a dull hum in the background of your mind as you settle into your seat. No padding on it, naturally. Placing your notebook on the desk in front of you and centering a pencil above it, you take a steadying breath. It being syllabus day, there wasn’t much for you to do besides get your bearings straight. Your eyes naturally wander over to the slumped figure beside you. In his left hand he hides his iPod, the wire of his earbud running up his sleeve and up to his ear as he rests his head against his hand. You have to admit, the set up is ingenious in its own way. You can see the little screen on it, though it’s hard to make out the song currently playing. Squinting, you eventually catch his attention.

“...What are you doing?”

The accusatory tone that the boy takes with you sends a wave of embarrassment down your spine. Taking a deep breath in, you nod down at the little device he’s holding. “Trying to see what you’re listening to.” 

“Music.” The blond responds sharply, awkwardly looking back down at his paper. 

His sass doesn’t impress you. With a light scoff, you roll your eyes. “Yeah— but like, the artist. I can see the album cover. It’s All Time Low. So what’s the song?” 

His mind doesn’t register that you recognized the album cover at first, but when he does, his head whips around. They weren’t an underground band by any means, but nobody at the school ever admitted to listening to angsty music like that. That type of music was for losers like him. After a few confused blinks, Michael nods a bit. “Yeah, it’s uhm… it’s ‘Paint Your Wings’... from their album—.”

“Don’t Panic.” You finish the sentence for him. “Yeah, I know. I have that CD at home!..” Michael’s posture relaxes subconsciously at your words. He shifts in his uncomfortable desk to face you. A hint of amusement creeps its way into his eyes.

“No iPod?” His eyebrow lifts ever so slightly.

Your head shakes softly in response. “Mine broke a little bit ago. It’s a shame, I would’ve brought it with me here.” 

A moment passes between you two, but Michael’s thoughts linger on your knowledge of the band. He had never really met a girl who was into the same music as he was, but the thought of you—an attractive girl nonetheless— having a similar taste to him was appealing in more ways than one. Testing the waters, he slides his chair over inconspicuously and nudges your foot with his own, placing an earbud in your palm. 

The action is a surprise to you, but not an unwelcome one. You do your best to conceal the white wire as you slip it into your ear. Under the table, you can see his foot tapping along to the rhythm. A smile grows on your face and you draw your attention to your notebook, doodling in a similar fashion to Michael as the next song on the album begins. 

The end of the lesson comes sooner than either of you expected and soon the bell pierces through the classroom. Chair legs scrape against the floor as students hurry out of them immediately. Following him out of the room, he pauses upon exiting and steps to the side to be out of the way of foot traffic.

“So, uhm… ” He steps up a bit and holds your gaze intently. “Do you have a guide?...” His tone, much like his body language, shows hesitance and the slightest bit of insecurity.

When you shake your head, he visibly relaxes. “No,” you laugh quietly. “They just gave me a schedule and told me to follow it.”

He takes a second to think it over before he makes an offer. “Yeah, no— they aren’t really the best with that... Well, uhm.. I don’t have many classes today. I could show you around if that sounds cool?” His thoughts chide him for his lack of social skills. If that sounds cool.. Michael, do you even hear yourself? You’re being so awkward about it, and you lied about your schedule too! You have a full schedule today! Michael cringes at himself and hopes you don’t notice. 

Before his mental battle can further progress, you sling your bag over your shoulder and respond. “Really? Oh my god, that would actually be great!” Your words come out a bit louder than you intended and a few straggling students give you an odd look as a result. 

Michael interrupts you before you can begin another sentence. “Yeah, yeah, it’s no problem! It’s just that.. things are a little different here, I guess. Like, we talk a bit quieter.” You get the hint and grimace in embarrassment. 

Ouch.

 “And we don’t usually button our uniforms all the way to the top..” His fingers find your collar and undo the top button for you slowly. The digits grace the skin underneath and subconsciously you suck in a sharp breath. “Sorry, ‘just thought you might need some help. You’ve got your hands full.”

Your eyes flicker down to your arms. You’re carrying your notebook in one hand and schedule tightly clenched in the other. God, I look like such a dork right now… “Thank you,” you begin breathlessly. His lips turn up at your praise and he pulls his hand back to fix his fringe. 

“No problem.” 

And then the bell rings. Passing period is over and now begins the next class period.

“Shit, am I late?” Your frantic eyes search the room for a clock and then shift back down to your schedule. English starts at 9:30. It’s currently 9:32. 

“Uhm…” Michael looks at the clock and rubs the back of his neck. With a guilty sigh, he nods at your question. “Yeah, you’re late. But I am too, so.. I don’t know…” He decides to shoot his shot, hoping to score some time alone with you. “Do you maybe wanna leave? I dunno if you’re into the whole skipping thing– especially on your first day— but.. We could go somewhere.” 

His nose crinkles at his lack of confidence. For a moment, your eyes remain trained to the clock on the wall. Going to class late would be a bad first impression on the teacher, but not showing up could be excusable. Maybe you got sick? First day nerves are killer, after all. Besides, this is an opportunity to make at least one good friend at a new school. After a bit of thinking, you eventually relent. “Anywhere in particular?”

His eyes widen a bit and he stands a little taller. You can tell by his reaction that he hadn’t expected you to accept the offer. “Yeah, uhm… we could go to the arcade in town. They’ve got a pretty wide variety of games and some killer french fries. Like, amazing.”

The giggle that falls from your lips reassures him that while subtle, the moves he’s making aren’t turning you away. “We could, but I’m warning you, I’m pretty good at games. I’ll probably beat you.” 

Holy shit, you’re perfect.

His heart nearly leaps out of his chest as he watches you carry your things towards the exit. He follows behind you quickly, a bashful smile beginning to grow on his face. “I think I’m okay with that.” 

[ekceleste]

How I feel after crying over a literal x reader fanfic

[ekceleste]

had a dream i met mitch marsico and i said “oh my god dude i love ur music and videos!!!” and he said “i know….i know 🙂‍↕️”

[ekceleste]

2 OF MY FRIENDS THAT I AUVE BEEN PRAYING TO GET TOGETHER FOR MONTHS ARE FINALLY GOING OUT SOON

[ekceleste]

The Fifth Member

Pairing: Luke Hemmings x Reader Genre/Themes: Friends to Enemies to Lovers Warnings: Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Slow Burn Word count: 7.628K Author's Note: Very poorly revised. It's my first time writing fanfiction, so I hope you all like it. It's also my first time posting on Tumblr, feeling like a 85 year old trying to understand technology. I'll get better with time.

Synopsis: Y/N was always there. Before the sold-out arenas, the chart-topping albums, the global tours—she was there. A constant in the chaos, the fifth member who didn’t need a mic or a spotlight. She didn’t play an instrument, couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, but she was family. She was home.

To the fans, she was the girl in the background of every backstage photo, the laugh behind every chaotic livestream, the one who always seemed to be right where the band needed her. Until one day… she wasn’t.

No announcements. No explanations. Just gone.

Now, years later, the world sees the band rebuilding. But behind closed doors, there’s a name they still don’t say out loud. A silence heavier than any breakup song they’ve ever written. Because losing her wasn’t just a fallout—it was the unraveling of everything they used to be.

And for Y/N? Disappearing wasn’t the end of the story.

It was only the beginning. 2014

The diner at 2 a.m. wasn’t much of a scene.

The neon sign outside flickered every few seconds, casting a dull red glow through the windows. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, broken only by the occasional scrape of a fork against a plate from the one other customer sitting at the far end. I was behind the counter, flipping through a battered magazine, pretending I wasn’t on the verge of passing out from sheer boredom.

And then the bell over the door jingled.

I barely looked up. The graveyard shift regulars were predictable—truck drivers looking for caffeine, insomniacs killing time, the occasional drunk stumbling in for something greasy to soak up the alcohol. Nothing new.

But this guy?

This guy was loud.

“God, it smells like heaven in here. Or grease. Same thing, really.”

His voice was way too enthusiastic for someone walking into a half-dead diner in the middle of the night. Messy red hair, black skinny jeans, a hoodie that looked two sizes too big. He had the kind of presence that made the room feel smaller, like he sucked up all the quiet the second he stepped inside.

I sighed, shutting my magazine and bracing myself.

“What can I get you?”

He slid onto one of the stools at the counter, drumming his fingers against the surface like he was thinking real hard about this decision.

“Alright, what’s your honest opinion—do I go for pancakes or a burger? I trust you. This is a big decision.”

I raised an eyebrow. “At 2 a.m.? Pancakes. Always pancakes.”

His grin widened like I’d just told him the meaning of life. “Great, that’s what I’m getting then.”

I scribbled the order down and passed it to the kitchen, stealing another glance at him as he looked around like this was the most fascinating place he’d ever been.

Who the hell is this guy?

A few minutes later, I set the plate of pancakes in front of him.

He devoured them. I had never seen someone eat so aggressively. And between bites, he talked—a lot. 

“So, serious question," he said, pointing his fork at me like he was about to make a groundbreaking statement. "If you had to give up either coffee or music for the rest of your life, which would you pick?"

I snorted despite myself. "I hate coffee. Easy choice."

He blinked at me like I’d just confessed to a crime. “You hate coffee?”

I nodded, leaning my elbows on the counter. “Can’t stand the stuff. Smells better than it tastes.”

He sat back like I’d physically stunned him. “That’s... genuinely tragic.”

I shrugged. “Guess I’m living life on hard mode.”

He laughed, a real one, not forced. It made the empty diner feel a little less hollow. "You don't know what you're missing," he said. "Coffee's the only reason half the world isn't dead on their feet."

"Or maybe it's why half the world is jittery and miserable," I offered.

He pointed at me, like I’d scored a point. "Okay, that’s fair."

He stabbed another piece of pancake and shook his head. “You’re lucky this place makes good pancakes. Otherwise, I might've walked right back out.”

I smirked. “Yeah, because you seem like a real harsh critic.”

“You have no idea.” He smiled, and there was something easy in it, like he was used to making people laugh and wasn’t trying too hard now. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

I hesitated a second, then said, “Nice to meet you, Michael.”

“No name?” he teased.

I gave a small shrug. "You’re the one who walked in here monologuing about the smell of grease. Gotta earn it."

He let out a low whistle. “Tough crowd.”

“Graveyard shift crowd,” I corrected. "We're built different."

He laughed again — quieter this time, almost to himself — and went back to demolishing his food.

After he finished, he wiped his hands on a napkin and pulled a crumpled wad of cash from his hoodie pocket. I rang him up, rattling off the total.

He slid the money across the counter with a grin. "Keep the change, mystery girl."

I glanced down and froze. It was way too much.

I looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

He shrugged, easygoing. “Best pancakes I've had in a long time. Best conversation, too.”

Before I could argue, he was already sliding off the stool, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.

"Thanks for the life advice. And the existential coffee debate," he said, backing toward the door.

"You’re welcome... I guess?"

The bell over the door jingled as he stepped out into the night.

I watched him go, the diner suddenly too quiet again.

Some loud, overly friendly guy passing through, looking for late-night food and conversation.

But then…

He came back the next night.

"What's up, mystery girl?"

I looked up. It was him again — Michael. Same disheveled red hair, same oversized hoodie, but now he had a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"You're back," I said, raising an eyebrow. "Should I start charging you a cover fee?"

He flopped down onto the counter stool like he was right at home. "Only if I can get a VIP pass to the coffee-less club."

I couldn’t help it — I rolled my eyes. "You're a special kind of crazy, you know that?"

"Crazy? Pfft. I’m awesome," he said. “So, what's new with you?"

"Not much. Same old, same old. You know, working this exciting graveyard shift," I said, gesturing to the empty diner with a sweep of my arm. "You?"

He leaned back on the stool, drumming his fingers against the counter. "Band stuff. Same old, same old. We're playing small venues and trying to make noise wherever we can. The usual musician grind."

"A band?" I raised an eyebrow. "You're in a band?"

"Yup. You’ve probably never heard of us. We’re still working on getting some decent traction." He grinned, looking way too casual for someone who was in a band. "But we’re good, I swear. You might even like us if you gave us a chance."

"Why’d you get so offended about me preferring music if you’re a musician?" I asked, leaning on the counter with a smirk.

He looked at me like I’d just cracked the code to his whole existence. "I wasn’t offended," he said quickly, but I could hear the hint of defensiveness in his voice. "It’s just... well, coffee’s the fuel for music, you know?"

I raised an eyebrow. "The fuel?"

"Yeah, I mean, you can’t be a proper musician if you don’t survive on coffee and zero sleep. It’s a whole vibe, you know?"

I stared at him, trying not to laugh. "You’re really serious about this."

He nodded, looking deadpan. "Coffee is basically the air that musicians breathe."

I couldn’t help it. I snorted. "I think you might be overhyping the whole caffeine thing."

He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Okay, maybe it’s a little dramatic. But seriously, it’s part of the process. Like, how am I supposed to write music if I don’t have coffee running through my veins?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "So, if I told you I could survive just fine without it, you’d think I was crazy?"

"Honestly?" He paused for a second, his grin turning playful. "Yeah, I think I would. I mean, it’s just part of the ritual, you know?"

I leaned back, pretending to think about it. "I get it. Luckily, I don’t need to like coffee because my musical abilities are nonexistent. I’m happy just appreciating good songs."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "So, no secret talents? Not even a little bit of musical genius hiding under all that mystery?"

I chuckled. "If I have any secret talents, they definitely don’t involve playing instruments or singing."

"Well, that’s a shame," he said with mock disappointment, "because I was about to offer you a spot in our band. Guess you’ll have to settle for being our number one fan."

I grinned. "I can definitely handle being a fan. No coffee-induced breakdowns required."

He laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. "Fair enough. But hey, you might change your mind one day. You’ll hear one of our songs and think, "I need to be part of that."

I shook my head, smiling. "We’ll see about that.” “Okay, until then, I need more pancakes.”

Michael became a regular before I even had time to process it.

At first, it was just him—showing up at ungodly hours, ordering pancakes like they were the only food group that mattered, and talking my ear off about his band.

The guy never shut up.

But somehow, I didn’t mind.

I’d gotten used to customers who barely looked at me, let alone asked me anything about my life. But Michael? He talked to me like we’d known each other forever. Like I was actually interesting. It threw me off at first.

And then, he just disappeared.

One night he was there, rambling about some demo they were working on, leaving a tip that made my entire shift worth it. And then—nothing. No messy red hair walking through the door at 2 a.m., no overenthusiastic debates about pancakes versus burgers.

At first, I figured he was just busy. Maybe his band had finally booked a good gig. Maybe he’d found a new all-night diner to bother. But weeks passed. Then months.

And honestly? It kind of sucked.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d gotten used to him until he wasn’t there anymore. My shifts felt longer, the nights quieter.

So by the time I started letting go of the idea that I’d ever see him again, I wasn’t expecting much. People came and went all the time. Michael was just another one of them.

Until he wasn’t.

The bell over the diner door jingled, the same way it always did, but this time, when I glanced up, I froze.

Because standing there—grinning like he hadn’t just vanished for months—was Michael.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Mystery girl!” His voice rang through the diner like he’d never left. “Guess what? I brought company.”

I didn’t even have time to process my relief before my eyes landed on the guy next to him.

Tan skin, dark curls, a warm kind of confidence that didn’t come off as cocky—but still made it clear he knew who he was.

Michael clapped him on the back. “This is Calum. He plays bass. Also, he’s an idiot, but we keep him around.”

Calum rolled his eyes, sliding onto the stool next to Michael’s. “Ignore him. I’m actually the most talented one in the band.”

His voice was smooth, lighthearted, but there was something boyish underneath it—like he was still figuring himself out, even if he’d never admit it.

And even though he was confident, he didn’t look at me like he was waiting for a reaction. He just existed, comfortable in his own skin, but not trying to impress anyone.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and reached for my notepad. “Right. So, does the most talented one in the band also want pancakes, or…?”

Calum grinned. “Damn. She’s quick. I like her.”

Michael nudged him. “Dude. Back off. She’s our pancake dealer, not your next victim.”

I snorted, shaking my head as I wrote down their orders. Great. Now I had two of them to deal with.

But the truth?

I was just glad Michael was back.

Michael and Calum didn’t just stop by that night.

They kept coming back.

What started as a reunion turned into a routine. Every few nights, they’d stroll into the diner like they owned the place, throwing themselves into the same stools, talking about their band like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And the thing was?

I started to believe them.

Michael was all enthusiasm—loud, animated, eyes lighting up whenever he talked about the songs they were writing. And Calum? He was the balance. He didn’t ramble the way Michael did, but when he spoke, it mattered. He had this quiet confidence that made you want to lean in, like every word was worth something.

They were both just kids chasing something big.

And it was contagious.

"We’re opening for this huge boyband," Michael blurted one night, shoving another forkful of pancakes into his mouth. "You ever heard of One Direction?"

I blinked. “Uh, yeah? Pretty sure the entire planet has.”

Calum smirked, stretching his arms behind his head. "Well, they want us on their tour. Stadiums. Actual stadiums."

I stared at them, trying to wrap my head around it. Just a few months ago, Michael had been sitting right there, complaining about gigs in half-empty bars. Now they were talking about playing for thousands of people.

Michael leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "We leave in a few weeks. It’s gonna be insane."

And that’s when it hit me.

They were leaving.

I felt it like a shift in the air—this weird pang of something I didn’t want to name. It wasn’t like they’d been in my life forever, but somewhere along the way, I’d stopped seeing them as just customers.

They were friends.

And now they were about to take off into something bigger than I could even imagine.

I forced a small smile. "That’s… amazing. Seriously."

Michael’s grin softened. “You know you’re part of this, right? You called the pancake energy. That’s gotta be lucky or something.”

I laughed, shaking my head. "Yeah, I’m sure my late-night menu recommendations are the reason your band’s taking off."

But deep down? I felt it.

Like maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something bigger than any of us could understand yet.

“Don’t worry, mystery girl.” Calum said. “We’ll keep coming back until you reveal your name.”

I rolled my eyes. “You might just call me mystery girl for the rest of your life then.”

Michael and Calum disappeared again.

This time, I knew where they were.

Touring. Playing in front of thousands. Living a life so far removed from the one we’d shared in that tiny diner that I almost convinced myself it had all been a dream.

But then, out of nowhere, Calum came back.

Not Michael. Calum.

It was past midnight when the bell over the door jingled, and I looked up, expecting another tired trucker or a group of drunk college kids looking for greasy fries. Instead, it was him.

Same easy confidence, same dark eyes scanning the place like he owned it. But something was different.

He looked older. Not in a way you could pinpoint, but in the way he carried himself—like he’d seen more, done more, lived more in those months away.

"Hey, stranger," he said, sliding into his usual stool at the counter.

I blinked at him. "What are you doing here? Where’s Michael?"

Calum smirked, resting his elbows on the counter. "Miss me that much?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Shut up. Want your usual?"

"Yeah, and a milkshake."

"Fancy."

"I’ve been living off room service and gas station sandwiches for months. Let me have this."

I shook my head, turning to grab a glass. But I couldn’t deny it—I was happy to see him.

And that night? That was the first of many.

Calum started coming in alone more often. Some nights, he’d bring his guitar, strumming absentmindedly while I wiped down tables. Other times, he’d just talk—about tour life, about the crowds, about how weird it was to go from being just another kid with a dream to suddenly having thousands of people screaming his name.

"It’s insane," he said once, stirring his milkshake with his straw. "One day, we’re playing for like, twenty people at a bar. Next thing I know, I’m on stage, and all I can see is a sea of lights and faces. It’s like… I don’t know. Unreal."

I leaned against the counter, watching him. "Do you like it?"

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, he grinned. "Yeah. I love it."

But I caught that flicker of something in his eyes. Like maybe he wasn’t sure if it was all his yet.

Still, he carried himself with the kind of ease that made it clear he was used to being noticed. Girls probably threw themselves at him on tour, but he never acted like that guy. He was flirty, sure—he’d toss a wink my way, throw in some playful teasing—but it was never serious. Never like that.

And honestly? I liked it.

I liked him.

Not in a romantic way, not in a what if kind of way, but in the way where you meet someone and just know they’re going to be a part of your life.

And Calum Hood?

He was part of mine now.

At first, it was just Michael and Calum.

But then, like some unspoken plan had been set in motion, the others followed.

The first time I met Ashton and Luke, I was running on fumes. One of those nights where the diner felt like a liminal space—where time moved sideways and the world outside barely felt real. I was balancing a coffee pot in one hand and a plate in the other when the bell above the door jingled, and two more boys stepped inside.

One was tall and broad-shouldered, curls tucked under a bandana and dimples that made him look far too kind to be wandering into a diner at 2 a.m. The other? The other was Luke. And that was the problem.

Because Luke Hemmings was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. It was immediate—a short circuit in my brain, a weird pressure in my chest, like my body couldn’t quite decide whether to breathe or freeze. Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of everything—my tired eyes, my messy apron, the coffee stain on my sleeve. It was stupid.

I didn’t know him. But he was tall and stupidly pretty, with piercing blue eyes and messy blond hair that looked like he ran his hands through it a lot. He had the kind of face that made you feel ridiculous for staring too long. And I hated that I was staring.

“This is her, huh?” Ashton said, nudging Calum as they slid into a booth. “The famous mystery girl?”

Luke dropped into the seat across from Calum like he belonged there, stretching out with lazy confidence. I handed them menus, even though I knew they’d ignore them.

“Alright,” I said, pen in hand. “What are we thinking tonight?”

“Pancakes,” Calum said immediately.

“Shocker,” I muttered, scribbling it down.

Ashton grinned. “What’s good here, mystery girl?”

Before I could answer, Luke tilted his head at me, a lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Do you actually have a name? Or is ‘mystery girl’ just your whole brand?”

I smirked, wiping down the counter. “It’s Y/N.”

There was a beat of silence—just long enough for it to sink in—before Michael gasped from the other end of the counter.

“You told him?” he practically shouted.

I blinked. “What?”

Michael sat bolt upright, scandalized. “You told me to earn it! I’ve eaten, like, eighty pancakes in this establishment. What did he do to earn it?!”

Calum threw his hands up. “No, yeah. I second this betrayal. This is emotional damage.”

Luke, of course, just looked smug. Like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe I just have good energy.”

“You have main character energy,” Michael snapped. “It’s a curse. You walk in here once, and she gives you the name? We were gonna put it on a t-shirt!”

I laughed—actually laughed—as I poured another cup of coffee. “You two are so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Calum echoed. “I wrote a song about you, and I still don’t know your name!”

“Wait—did you?” I looked at him, eyebrows raised.

He shrugged. “Well. Half a verse. Maybe like... a line and a half. But still.”

Michael dropped his head to the counter with a groan. “This is the worst day of my life.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Anyway,” I said, turning to Ashton with my pen poised again, “the only other option that won’t give you gastrointestinal regret is the burger and fries. That sound like your vibe?”

Ashton chuckled, completely unfazed. “Sold. Nothing like a little sodium to keep the heart pumping.”

“Living dangerously. I respect it.”

“I mean, I’ve survived worse,” he said, shooting a look at Michael. “Like the time someone made gas station sushi a group dinner.”

Michael raised his head from the counter just long enough to mutter, “It smelled fine.”

“Did it taste fine?” Luke asked.

“Define fine,” Michael said.

Calum made a face. “I’m literally eating, can we not?”

“You’re waiting to eat,” I corrected, scribbling the last order and tacking it up in the window. “Big difference.”

Luke leaned back in the booth again, eyes still trailing after me as I moved behind the counter. Not in a weird way—more like he was just cataloging the place. Or me. Like he was trying to get a read on something unspoken.

“You always work this shift?” Luke asked casually.

“Graveyard’s my kingdom,” I said. “Welcome to the palace of fluorescent lights and bad decisions.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “You took that straight out of Tumblr.”

“Well,” I said, smirking, “that’s the only thing I can do to pass time when these two aren’t here disturbing my shift.”

Michael threw his hands up in mock offense. “Excuse me? We’re a delight to be around.”

“You’re a nuisance,” I said without missing a beat.

Calum grinned. “Okay, but we’re your nuisance. You wouldn’t be able to function without us.”

He wasn’t wrong.

It didn’t take long before they became a fixture in my life.

At first, it was just Michael showing up like clockwork. Then it was Michael and Calum, always full of stories, always dragging me into their world. And now? Now it was all four of them.

They made my shift bearable.

Some nights, they piled into a booth and stayed for hours, cracking jokes, arguing about setlists, and making fun of each other in a way that only close friends could. Other nights, it was just one of them—Michael ranting about some new video game, Ashton asking me deep life questions at 3 a.m. like some sort of sleep-deprived philosopher, or Calum smirking at me from across the counter and saying things that would have made me blush if I didn’t know better.

Luke, though? Luke was different.

I wasn’t sure if he meant to be. But I felt different around him.

At first, I thought it was just nerves—just my brain playing tricks on me because he was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. But as time passed, I got used to the others.

Luke? Not so much.

It wasn’t like he did anything special. He was just… quieter than the others. A little more awkward, like he was still growing into himself. But there was something about him that made my stomach flip in ways I couldn’t explain.

He had this habit of watching people when they talked, really listening. When I spoke, he looked at me like he was paying attention, like what I was saying actually mattered. And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because the others? They teased me, pulled me into their chaos, made me feel like I had always been a part of their group.

But Luke made me feel seen.

And that? That was dangerous.

                                                                 ***

The idea wasn’t mine. I wasn’t looking for a change, and I definitely wasn’t expecting it.

It started as a joke—one of those throwaway comments Ashton made while sprawled out on my floor, his head resting on a pile of laundry I hadn’t gotten around to folding. The boys had crashed at my place more times than I could count by then. It was a small, ridiculous apartment, but they didn’t care. They sat on the floor, ate whatever leftovers I had, and made themselves at home in a way that somehow made it feel less lonely.

"You know," Ashton said, stretching his arms above his head. "You might as well just move in with us."

I laughed because obviously, he was kidding.

But then I saw Michael nodding like it wasn’t the dumbest idea in the world.

"Actually, yeah," Michael said, sitting up. "We’re barely home anyway, and you wouldn’t have to work at that stupid diner anymore. You could just—be with us. Help us not be complete disasters."

Calum, half-asleep on my couch, cracked one eye open. "And my cuddles are top-tier. Like, objectively. You’d be missing out."

Michael smirked. "And Ashton needs someone else to listen to his deep, philosophical bullshit because we physically cannot take it anymore."

Ashton sat up. "Hey! My thoughts are insightful."

"They are long, is what they are," Calum muttered, stretching.

Michael turned back to me. "And Luke needs someone to watch rom-coms with him. Also, to hold his hand when we watch horror movies."

I scoffed. "I hate horror movies. I get just as scared as he does!"

"Exactly!" Michael said, pointing at me like he had just proven a point. "You’ll suffer together. It’s perfect."

I shook my head, trying not to laugh. "You guys are ridiculous."

"You’re ridiculous," Michael shot back. "For not saying yes yet. Especially after all the huge tips I gave you when we were broke."

"You were weirdly generous with your non-existent money," I mused.

"See? You owe me." He grinned.

I rolled my eyes, but something in my chest tightened. The idea of leaving my tiny apartment, the one place I had scraped together for myself, should have felt impossible. But instead, I realized how easy it would be. I had no lease, no family to argue with me about it. Just a handful of belongings and a job I was already tired of.

Luke wasn’t there when they brought it up, which somehow made me even more nervous. Because if I said yes, I wasn’t sure how he would feel about it. It was stupid, I knew that—he had girlfriends, he wasn’t interested in me. But the idea of invading his space, of making it obvious just how tangled up in their lives I had become, felt like walking straight into something I wasn’t prepared for.

"You don’t have to decide right now," Ashton said, reading my hesitation. "Just think about it."

I did think about it. For days.

And then one night, as I lay awake in my too-quiet apartment, staring at the ceiling and realizing that I had no real reason to stay, I made my decision.

I packed a bag.

And I never looked back.

Michael showed up at my apartment the next evening with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a grin that told me he knew I’d cave.

"You ready?" he asked, leaning against my doorframe like he already knew the answer.

I hesitated for half a second before sighing. "Yeah."

"Nice." He stepped inside, eyes scanning my nearly packed-up space. "Damn. You work fast."

"There wasn’t much to pack," I admitted. A couple of bags, some clothes, a few things I had clung to out of habit more than necessity. That was the thing about not having roots—you didn’t accumulate much.

Michael picked up one of my bags and threw it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "You sentimental about this place?"

I looked around, taking in the tiny kitchen, the peeling wallpaper, the old couch I had dragged in from the street because I couldn’t afford a new one. The memories here were mostly just nights spent alone, waiting for the next shift at the diner, before the boys started showing up and making it feel less empty.

"Not really," I said honestly.

"Good," he said. "Because I’d rather die than carry a couch down those stairs."

I laughed, and just like that, the weight on my chest loosened.

The house wasn’t what I expected.

For some reason, I pictured a place that looked like a frat house—cluttered, chaotic, maybe a little disgusting. And while it wasn’t spotless, it was actually… kinda nice. Lived-in.

The guys had decorated it in a way that was pure them. Posters covered the walls, guitars were scattered in every corner, and the coffee table was covered in things like stray picks and takeout containers. There was a warmth to it that my apartment never had.

Luke was the one who opened the door when we got there.

His hair was damp, like he had just showered, and he was wearing a loose hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He blinked at me, confused for a second, before his eyes flickered to the bags slung over my shoulder.

"Wait—" His face lit up. "You’re actually moving in?"

I shifted awkwardly under his gaze. "Yeah."

A grin spread across his face, and before I could react, he grabbed one of my bags. "Hell yeah!" he called into the house. "She actually said yes!"

Ashton came around the corner, already nodding like he knew I would. "Took you long enough."

Calum strolled in behind him, arms crossed over his chest, his signature smirk firmly in place. "Told you my cuddles would win her over."

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling.

Michael dropped my bag onto the floor. "Alright, where’s she sleeping?"

Ashton gestured toward the hallway. "Spare room. It’s kinda a mess, but we cleaned it up a bit."

I peeked inside. It wasn’t big, but it was bigger than what I had before. A bed, a dresser, a small window that let in just enough moonlight to make the space feel real. Like this wasn’t just another temporary thing.

"Make yourself at home," Luke said, setting my bag inside.

I hesitated in the doorway, looking at all of them. I still wasn’t sure how I had ended up here—how a handful of late-night shifts at a diner turned into this. But they were watching me with so much ease, like I already belonged here.

Like maybe I had for a while now.

I took a deep breath, stepped inside, and let the door close behind me.

The first morning in the house was loud.

I woke up to the distant sound of someone playing the drums—badly. I groaned, burying my face into the pillow, hoping it would stop. It didn’t. Instead, it turned into a full-blown beat, like whoever was playing actually thought it was a good time for a practice session.

I rolled over, glaring at the ceiling. This is my life now.

After a few minutes of debating whether to just suffer through it or actually do something about it, I threw on a hoodie and trudged out of my room, following the noise.

The culprit? Ashton, of course.

He was in the living room, sticks spinning between his fingers, hitting the couch cushions like they were his drum set. He looked up when I entered, his face breaking into an easy smile.

"Morning, sunshine."

I glared. "It is not morning. It is a violation of peace."

Calum, who was sprawled across the other couch, snickered. "Welcome to the circus."

I sighed, dropping onto the armrest of the couch. "You guys do this every morning?"

Ashton shrugged. "Pretty much. Gotta stay sharp."

I groaned, already regretting everything.

That’s when Luke walked in, his hair a complete mess, his hoodie halfway falling off his shoulder. He yawned, rubbing his face. "Why are we all awake?"

"We are awake because Ashton has no respect for human decency," I muttered.

Michael strolled in behind Luke, coffee in hand, completely unbothered. "Oh, you’ll get used to it."

"Will I?" I deadpanned.

Luke flopped onto the couch, pulling his knees up like he was about to fall back asleep. "We should’ve warned you," he murmured, voice still groggy. "We don’t really do quiet mornings."

"Or quiet anytime," I pointed out.

"Exactly," Calum said, smirking. "But hey, at least we’re fun."

I rolled my eyes, but a part of me couldn’t argue.

It had only been one night, and already, it felt like I had stepped into a completely different world. The kind of world where mornings were filled with offbeat drum solos, sleep-deprived banter, and a level of chaos I wasn’t sure I could handle.

But at the same time… I kind of liked it.

                                                                       ***

Life with them wasn’t always crazy. It had its quiet moments too—the kind that made me realize just how much they had become my family.

Like how Michael would stay up all night playing video games, yelling at the screen like the characters could actually hear him. It drove me insane. More than once, I had to storm into his room at 3 a.m., eyes barely open, grumbling, "Michael, I swear to God, if you don’t shut up, I will unplug everything." He’d look up, grin, and go, "Five more minutes?"

"That’s what you said two hours ago."

Sometimes, I gave up and just sat on his bed, watching him play. Once, he tried to teach me, but I kept forgetting which button did what, and it ended with me accidentally making his character jump off a cliff. He was offended. "You just killed me!"

"I don’t even know what I pressed!"

"Get out of my room."

He never meant it, though. The next day, he’d drag me into the bathroom to dye his hair, convincing me to do mine too. And because I had no self-control, I did. That’s how we ended up making Calum bleach a random strand of his hair. Cal hated it at first, but the next day, he was acting like it was the coolest thing ever.

Speaking of Calum—he was different. Quieter, more grounded. On nights when my mind wouldn’t slow down, I’d slip into his room, curling into his side as he pulled the blanket over both of us. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He never had to. He just let me stay until I drifted off. Sometimes, he’d text first—you up?—and that was all it took for me to head straight to his bed.

On the nights when even that didn’t work, I’d be in the kitchen, aimlessly baking to calm myself down. Calum would sit on a stool, arms crossed, watching me. "You stress-baking again?"

"Maybe."

"You gonna share?"

"Maybe."

He’d smirk, waiting patiently until I finally caved.

Ashton was the one who kept me in check. If it weren’t for him, I’d live off of diner food and coffee. He made sure I ate properly, drank water, didn’t run myself into the ground. When I felt overwhelmed, he’d sit me down, talk me through things in that calm, reassuring way of his. He scolded me when I needed it, but never in a way that made me feel bad—just like an older brother who cared too much.

"You should try the drums," he said one day. "It helps with frustration."

"I don’t think smacking things with sticks will solve my problems, Ash."

"You’d be surprised."

And Luke… Luke was something else.

I knew I had a crush on him. I knew. But I also knew he needed a friend more than anything, so I swallowed it down and let myself just be that for him.

He was clingy in a way that wasn’t suffocating—just warm. Just Luke. He loved to use my shampoo, which I only noticed when I went to wash my hair and found the bottle empty. "Lucas Robert Hemmings," I yelled down the hall, holding up the bottle.

His door creaked open, his blond head peeking out. "I can explain—"

"No, you can’t!"

Still, every time I went to the store, I bought two bottles.

When he painted his nails black, he made me do it. When we watched horror movies, he’d reach for my hand, and I’d remind him I was just as scared as he was. "Yeah, but I need emotional support," he’d argue.

"You are my emotional support," I shot back, gripping his arm when something jumped out on the screen.

"See? Mutual support."

Some nights, he crashed in my room, curling up beside me like it was second nature. He was always the little spoon—except when I was on my period. Then, without me asking, he let me cling to him instead, wrapping his arms around me like he knew I needed it.

We talked about everything except love. His dreams, his insecurities, his fears—those were conversations that happened in the late hours, when the world was quiet. I told him about my plans for school, how I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have enough saved up to actually go. He hated hearing that.

"Then we’ll figure it out," he said. "We’ll cover stuff until you get a better job. No arguments."

I wanted to argue. But they weren’t handing me money—I wouldn’t have accepted that. They were just making sure I had the space to figure things out. And that? That was different.

It meant more than I could put into words.

                                                                ***

As their music took off, I was there for all of it. The first time I heard She Looks So Perfect, I lost my mind. "This is gonna blow up," I told them. And it did.

The fans loved them. Loved them. And somehow, they loved me too. They noticed when I helped them with gifts and letters, and when the guys posted pictures of things fans had sent them, the comments were always the same: Y/N definitely gave them that.

Interviews were full of casual mentions—"Y/N would hate that," "Y/N said it first," "We gotta ask Y/N." Like I was just as much a part of this as they were.                                              

Backstage had become second nature to me. I knew every inch of these dimly lit hallways, every creak of the dressing room doors, every frantic call over the crew’s radios. The air always felt thick with anticipation, electric with the energy of thousands of fans screaming just beyond the walls. It never really quieted, the distant roar a constant reminder of how big this had all become.

It was nothing like the nights we spent in my tiny apartment, sprawled out on the floor with takeout containers and inside jokes.

Now, their lives moved at a different speed—louder, faster, bigger. But in moments like this, behind the curtain, before the chaos, it still felt like us.

Michael was the first to notice me, as always. His face lit up when I walked through the dressing room door, and within seconds, he had me in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles against the top of my head like a sibling trying to assert dominance.

“She’s here! Everyone act cool,” he announced dramatically, grinning as he finally let me go.

I rolled my eyes, smoothing my hair. “Yeah, because that’s ever worked for you.”

Luke, who had been tuning his guitar, glanced up. He was sitting on one of the armchairs, legs spread wide, fingers moving over the strings with easy familiarity. His lip quirked slightly, just enough to show he was listening.

“We are cool,” he murmured, not looking up this time.

“Right. That’s why Ashton is pacing like a man possessed,” I shot back, crossing my arms.

“It’s called getting in the zone, Y/N.” Ashton didn’t even pause, just kept shaking out his hands like he was about to enter a boxing match.

Calum, lounging on the couch with his phone, finally glanced up. “Nah, she’s right, mate. You look stressed.”

“Back me up here, Hemmings,” Ashton called out.

Luke barely glanced up, still focused on his guitar. “She’s never wrong.”

His words were casual, effortless—like it was just fact. But for some reason, my stomach flipped the way it always did when Luke said things like that, the way he always made me feel like I was something constant.

I quickly shook it off, pushing past the feeling.

Instead, I went into backstage mode.

I handed Michael a water bottle because I knew he wouldn’t remember to grab one himself. I tossed a pack of throat lozenges at Calum, who caught them one-handed without looking. I nudged Ashton to stop pacing for two seconds, pressing a protein bar into his palm.

And then, without having to be asked, I turned to Luke.

“Fix my collar?”

It was part of our routine now.

His collar was always fine. It wasn’t about that.

He stood in front of me, close enough that I could feel the residual warmth from the stage lights he had been under during soundcheck. His usual pre-show jitters weren’t visible to most people, but I saw the way his fingers tapped against his thigh, the way his jaw clenched slightly.

I reached up, smoothing my hands over the fabric of his shirt. My fingers brushed against the side of his neck—warm, soft.

Luke’s breath hitched, just for a second.

Then he exhaled, slow and measured, and gave me a lopsided smile. "Gotta look good for the cameras, right?"

I rolled my eyes, stepping back. "Yeah, because that’s what people care about—you looking presentable and not, you know, actually playing a good show."

His lips twitched. "Can’t it be both?"

Michael groaned dramatically from the side. "Jesus Christ, just date already."

Heat crept up my neck. "Shut up, Clifford."

Luke laughed, but something in his expression lingered—something softer, something I couldn’t quite name.

Then, just like that, the moment was gone.

The crew knocked on the door, giving the five minutes to stage call. Ashton rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. Calum grabbed his bass. Michael bounced on his feet, hyping himself up.

Luke hesitated, his eyes flickering to mine for the briefest second before turning away.

And then, in a blur of movement, they were gone—disappearing under the glow of the stage lights, swallowed whole by the world that was slowly pulling them further and further away from me.

                                                            ***

Tour meant long nights, shitty food, and more time together than most people could probably stand.

But for me, it meant them.

It meant cramming into hotel rooms with takeout containers littering the floor. It meant late-night drives with music blasting so loud it rattled the van windows. It meant watching them play their hearts out in front of thousands of people, only to return to a dimly lit hotel room, stripped of all the chaos, just us again.

That night, the others had tapped out early. Ashton was sprawled across one of the beds, snoring softly, limbs flung in every direction. Calum had curled into the armchair, hoodie pulled low over his face, dead to the world. Michael had barely managed to mumble just resting my eyes before passing out half-off the couch, one arm dangling toward the floor.

And then there was Luke.

We sat on the floor of his hotel room, backs against the bed, the only light coming from the glow of the streetlamps outside. The distant hum of the city buzzed through the window, but in here, everything was quiet.

Luke rolled a water bottle between his palms, his fingers twitching slightly. He was always like this after shows—tired, thoughtful, quieter than usual.

“Would you ever get a tattoo?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

I blinked at him. “Random question.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Just curious.”

I tilted my head back against the mattress. “I don’t know. Maybe something small. Something meaningful. Something I won’t regret when I’m old or… when I need to hide it for important occasions.”

“Like what?”

I shrugged. “Like my wedding.”

His gaze flicked to me. “Your wedding?”

“If I ever get married,” I smirked. “Would you?”

“Get a tattoo? Someday.”

I shot him a teasing look. “Not willing to commit to anything bigger than a lip piercing?”

He groaned. “You’d cry if I ever took it out.”

I scoffed, nudging his knee with mine. “In your dreams, I would.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t fire back. Instead, he studied me for a beat, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “I still think you’d suit one.”

I raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice was softer now. “Something delicate. Maybe your favorite quote. Or a tiny star.”

His gaze drifted down, lingering on my fingers as if he were committing them to memory. His own twitched on his knee, inches from mine.

The air between us felt different.

Charged.

Like something unspoken had crept in, curling around us, daring me to acknowledge it.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay light. “You should get my name tattooed. Just in case you forget about me when you’re all rich and famous.”

He chuckled, low and raspy. “Like that could ever happen.”

Something in my chest twisted. The way he said it—so casual, like it was impossible for us to drift apart.

Like I would always be here.

His expression softened as he looked at me, lips parting slightly, like he was about to say something else—

Then his phone buzzed.

The moment shattered.

Luke barely glanced at the screen before unlocking it, and just like that, the smirk was back.

A text. Some girl he’d met after the show.

I turned my head away before he could see whatever was on my face.

“I should answer this,” he muttered, already pushing himself up.

I forced a smile. “Yeah. Go for it.”

And just like that, he was gone.

I stayed on the floor a little longer, staring at my hands, trying not to think about how, for a second, I almost let myself believe something was there.

[ekceleste]

wait oh my god this is about to be so peak holy shit

The Fifth Member - Masterlist

Pairing: Luke Hemmings x Reader Genre/Themes: Friends to Enemies to Lovers Warnings: Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Slow Burn

Synopsis: Y/N was always there. Before the sold-out arenas, the chart-topping albums, the global tours—she was there. A constant in the chaos, the fifth member who didn’t need a mic or a spotlight. She couldn’t play an instrument, couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, but she was family. She was home.

To the fans, she was the girl in the background of every backstage photo, the laugh behind every chaotic livestream, the one who always seemed to be right where the band needed her. Until one day… she wasn’t.

No announcement. No explanation. Just gone.

Now, years later, the world sees the band rebuilding. But behind closed doors, there’s a name they still don’t say out loud. A silence heavier than any breakup song they’ve ever written. Because losing her wasn’t just a fallout—it was the unraveling of everything they used to be.

And for Y/N? Disappearing wasn’t the end of the story.

It was only the beginning.

Chapters:

2014 — The beginning. The rise. The bond.

[ekceleste]

MITCH MARSICO??? I know him cause he makes weird ASMR on YouTube and I listen to his band cheese touch😭 OTHER PEOPLE KNOW HIM????? WHAT

UUGHHHH HE PMO 🤬🤬🤬

[ekceleste]

Delicious

you’re one of those girls that’s always batting your eyes at Harry. not cause he’s the chosen one, just cause he’s hot. he tells you Luna fixed his broken nose and you say somethin cute like “aww thank god, wouldn’t wanna mess up that face!!” and he gets all flustered and kinda stutters a little bit and then says “yeah.. uh yeah.. thanks? thanks.” you’re making his no-longer-broken nose a whole thing. you’re doting on him, dabbing blood off of his face with a cloth in the common room bathroom. you’re just really close to eachother’s faces on accident and the real mystery of the day is who kissed who first? doesn’t matter, y’all are kissing. his blood is on your face but it doesn’t slow either of you down. his hair is so soft when you tangle your fingers through it. whatever. you’re making out with Harry Potter while blood is dripping down his face and you’ve imagined kissing him sooo many times but it still manages to be better than you thought it would be, and he’s shocked it’s happening at all cause you’re so hot. when you guys pull away and he sees the little smear of blood across your lips and nose he’s profusely apologizing knowing damn well he’s just getting harder the longer he looks at you. he’d never tell you that, though

bonus, he’s lamenting to Ron later: “what the hell was i s’posed to say? aye, you look bloody hot with my blood all over your face? she’d think i was stark raving mad!” and Ron’s going “you never know what birds are into these days, mate” shaking his head and shrugging

[ekceleste]

Michael Clifford hair timeline

As some of you might know, this blog started from the frustration of missing certain things in the 5SOS fandom. I’m a 1D fan, I’m used to seeing masterposts about anything and everything. That’s very much not the case in the 5SOS fandom. So I figured, if it’s not here, I might as well go and do it myself. A while back I came to the conclusion there doesn’t seem to be a proper detailed timeline of Michael’s hair journey. So of course, I decided to make one. I heavily underestimated the amount of time this would cost, but I (mostly) had fun making this. So, now I would like to present you with the finished result. It should have every hair color ever in here, but if I somehow missed something or got something wrong, please let me know. I’ve tried my best to be as thorough as possible, but I only became a fan in 2020 and basically had to work my way through 5SOS history for this.

I used Michael’s instagram as a guide and filled in the gaps with interviews, tour diaries, etc. Thankfully he documented most of his hair changes on instagram, which made my job a little easier. So let’s get going!

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