5 Seconds Of Summer Preferences and Imagines

Story (Ashton Oneshot #8)

i've had this idea for ages and only just gotten round to writing it. i hope it's good.

You sit with your legs crossed and a notebook lay on your lap. You're an author and artist and you're working on your latest novella. It's a short story about love and what love means to your character (you). Before you type any piece, you like to scribe it all the way through in a notebook which explains the countless full notebooks that live in your study.

Every so often, you peer out of the window, watching as the sun creeps through the trees, desperately searching for a metaphor hidden beneath them. You take a lot of photos so you can draw them later on and find yourself stuck.

You twirl your black pen around in your fingertips and lean on your sweater covered hand. You grab a hair bobble from the table next to you and pull your hair into a limp bun to get it out of your face. Despite your attempts, your h/c fringe jumps free from its restraints and falls into your face.

Tediously, you reread the last few paragraphs of your work repeatedly and find yourself stumped. You are currently suffering from writers block and the pressure from your publishing company is becoming too much.

"Hey," Ashton says, "How's it going?"

"Dreary. I'm lacking in inspiration." You reply with a sigh.

"Well, what's the book about?" He asks.

"Love." You comment.

He scrunches up his nose, "How can you be lacking in inspiration for a book about love? You've got me."

You smile as Ashton sits next to you on the floor. You're sat on a footrest near the window so he sits on the ground beside you.

He looks up at you with his hazel eyes and you press your lips to his forehead.

"It's hard to write about something you feel so passionately about." You say.

"I could write about you all day long." He says.

"It would be pure waffle Ashton. I mean something good." You say.

"I'll have you know I'm a lyricist! I can write about love all day long." He says stubbornly.

"But you aren't a writer." You respond, looking back out the window as the sun runs across the grassy yard, chasing the dark shadows cast by the trees away.

It's almost silent for a moment. The soft, rhythmic tapping of your pen on the book is quiet and the vocal birds outside are just audible as they sing their songs.

"Come on," Ashton says suddenly, pushing himself up from off the floor and holding his arms out for you, "We're going out."

"No Ash, I can't. I'm sorry." You say.

He rolls his eyes, "Up, now. Bring your book and drawing stuff. I'm going to help you."

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion but take his arms in yours and allow him to pull you up.

"Hurry up, you've got two minutes." He says before pressing his lips against yours powerfully.

"I love you." He says.

"I love you too." You reply.

Hurriedly, you run upstairs, grab two spare pens, grab your case of art supplies and your sketch pad.

Once you get back downstairs, the front door is open and you can hear the steady hum of Ashton's car engine outside.

Quickly, you meet him out there and smile as you place all of your things on the backseat.