#h's graduation celebration blurb weekend

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

If you're still taking requests, could you do one where the reader is Michael's fuck buddy and a fan records them on a date hanging out and someone recognizes the reader and basically get exposed and idk make it angsty where Michael accuses the reader of purposely exposing them or soemething and they end things and there's a time jump and idk I'm just in a angsty mood lmao

Written for Graduation Blurb Weekend. Today, May 8th 2022, is the last day to request. 

Gender Neutral Reader Insert. CW: 18+ Content (Smut/Smut Adjacent).  Read more is higher up for this reason! 

Down We Fall

__________

You kiss at Michael’s jaw, lips scratched just a little by the beard he’s been growing over the last few weeks. You invite the feeling, the slight burn because behind that is the warmth in your gut as his hips rut into you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he gapes into your skin. His breath is hot, his own body tingling and succumbing to the pleasure your body is giving his. 

A small whine leaves your throat. “Please,” you whisper. The edge of release is teasing you with Michael’s painfully slow but hard thrust. You know he wants you there, begging him. He loves it. You wonder if he loves it because it makes him feel wanted. But you are happy to give into him, happy to make him feel euphoric even if it’s only for these fleeting moments. 

“Please what?” Michael grunts pulling out of you. 

“Please use me.” Your begging is punctuated by a thrust. “Yes, use me.”

Michael watches your mouth hanging open, head tilting back. Your throat looks back at him, the hickeys he planted there earlier are starting to blossom. His stomach flutters at the darkening skin. You are utterly gone beneath him. You are nothing but your desires, nothing but the heat in your gut, and the heat that you two share and Michael adores watching you like this. 

Your release crashes through you. Watching you squirm, body tensing and relaxing in his arms. spurs Michael to finish soon behind you. His weight falls to the side of you after a moment of the haze starting to clear. You lay there for a minute longer and when the bed dips, you sit up, running your hands over your face. You’re trying to come back to yourself, trying to blink away the last few edges of ecstasy. 

There’s still the whole afternoon. The errands you need to run--dropping off mail, groceries, stopping by your parents house to the family dinner that you said you’d attend since you dipped out last month. You weren’t looking forward to that part, but you had agreed and knew backing up the day of would surely have your father calling to gently urge you to at least call your mother. 

Those are all the things that enter your mind that make it easier to peel yourself out of Michael’s bed. Not that you needed much prompting. The arrangement between the two of you was well understood even if it was understated. You hung out with Michael, slept with him, but never really pushed for more. He hung out with you. He slept with you, but also didn’t ask for more. Post his breakup, Michael had approached you one night. You wish you could say it was a mostly sober thing. Both of you were high, having ducked some of the guys to sit on Michael’s back porch and blew smoke into the seemingly starless night. 

“You hungry?” Michael asks as the two of you pass each other. Him on his way out of the bathroom and you on your way into it. 

“The usual?” you return over your shoulder. 

“Of course. My treat.” Michael watches you as you walk through the threshold. 

“Oh, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were taking me out on a date.” Your voice floats out from the bathroom. 

He smiles a little and catches the flutter in his chest. Did he want to take you out on a date? Could what the two of you have even lead to something more? “Don’t tempt me. All I need is the word,” he returns. 

“Of course.” You return from the bathroom a few minutes later to Michael halfway dressed. You watch the muscles of his back as he buttons up the pants. You should not be trying to savor this moment, and yet you are. You quickly find your clothes and redress yourself. There’s no time for feelings here. No time. 

You follow behind Michael through the streets. You need your car because once the two of you are done eating you’ve got to get your day rolling. Normally, you might’ve gotten all your errands done earlier, but you’d been with Michael last night too. And by the time you got home, you had another time from him, asking you to come back again today. There was no way you were going to say no. 

The restaurant doesn’t seem busy just yet, but you know that the lunch rush will be coming in the next half hour. So you and Michael order quickly and take your food to a table near the back to eat. Something you noticed Michael choosing to do a lot with you lately. But again, you know given his life and the fans, anything they could get their noses into the fans would. So you settle for the back table. 

“Looking forward you family dinner?” Michael asks and he smiles a little already knowing the answer. 

You scoff, dipping your fries into the ketchup. “So ready.” Sarcasm drips from the words and Michael snickers. 

“You could always lie,” he offers. “Your neck isn’t looking so hot from this angle.”

You’d seen the hickeys and already figured you’d have to find a collared shirt or dig out something else to hide them as you were cleaning up earlier. “Yeah, and I wonder who put them there,” you counter, watching Michael duck his head a little. But you catch the rosy tint to his cheeks at your jest. 

“What’s on your agenda for today?”

“Soak up the last few days of paradise. Tour rehearsals start next week.”

You nod. “UK and Europe is first, right?”

“Yeah, after that, the Americas and…” he trails off for a moment, trying to recall what’s next after the South American and North American legs. But his memory is failing him. You look behind him, back into the sea of the place and notice a group of girls huddled closely together. For a moment, you think they might just be friends huddling to gossip together, but a phone moves in closer in the direction of you and Michael and the whole group looks up at you. 

You smile in return and they quickly look away, but you return your attention back to Michael. He’s still going on about all the places for tour but you quietly interrupt. “Don’t look now but your six, my twelve, are definitely some fans.”

A small sigh escapes Michael. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would recognize us.”

You shrug. “It’s your world Michael. I’m not mad. They don’t seem to be moving in. Just recording I think.”

It still causes Michael a small moment of discomfort. He was used to being recorded, knowingly and unknowingly. While the latter situation wasn’t okay, he’d just gotten used to it. But the thing he didn’t want was for you to fall victim to it either. 

“Do you want to grab some boxes and then jet? I don’t--I don’t know how you feel about being filmed?”

You shrug, taking a bite of the sandwich. The action alone answers his question and the two of you stay seated and finish your meal. As you leave, Michael behind you, you in front, you spot the girls and give them one last smile to hopefully ease any tensions. They nod in return and then fall back into each other. 

Michael watches the exchange only in passing and gives a smile too to the group. He’ll stop if they stop him, but if they don’t, he’ll keep going as to not put you in anymore awkward situations. He walks you to your car, his leftovers in his hand. “Don’t burn down your parents house alright?”

You lean up against the driver side door. “No promises.”

“I expect nothing less.”

__________________________________

Two days before Michael leaves for tour, he calls you late into the night. You know by the pant and whine in his voice what he is calling you for. You pause your work on your dishes and lean into the counter. “Take one hand and drag it up to your nipples, baby,” you whisper into the phone. 

You listen for the exhale to crackle through the phone to let you know that Michael’s following the command. “It’s not the same,” he whines out a few minutes later, cock in his fist. “God, you’ve spoiled me.”

“I’m a ruiner. Now take your free hand and move down to your sac.”

Michael groans into the phone; he sounds a little muffled and you think he might be wearing his bluetooth headphones to have both hands free. But you listen for the harsh exhales and the curses Michael breathes out. 

“Good-be good for me,” you command. 

“I will. I am,” he returns. 

You talk Michael through his orgasms and you clench at the sound of his haggard grunts and moans at his climax. “Wish I was there with you.”

“You could be,” he counters. Part of him wants you to be here, wants you to see him off. But feelings aren’t supposed to be a part of this.

“If you have tomorrow, I can be,” you offer. 

“I’ll always have time for you,” Michael whispers. 

____________________

You show up to Michael’s place the next day not too bright in the morning and when Michael answers the door, there’s a bit of sweat on his forehead. “Perfect timing,” he laughs. “Just got back from dog’s walk.”

You nod, adjusting the strap of your bag up onto your shoulder and step through the door as Michael steps to the side. “It’s like I’m a God,” you tease. 

The late morning and early afternoon are spent buried in each other. From shower, to bedroom, to kitchen, Michael takes everything he can from you and you happily give it. You take what you can from Michael too. As the late afternoon turns into early evening, Michael suggests going out for dinner. He’s eaten through most of what’s in his house and what he knows will go back in his time away. Though he has friends checking up on the house in shifts, Michael made strides not to leave anything that would spoil. You happily agree to the dinner and refresh quickly. 

The two of you barely get your drinks that you ordered before you spy someone holding out their phone. You look more directly in the direction and the phone is quickly lowered, when it’s clear you’re watching. Michael noticing your distracted attention looks over his shoulder and sees a couple people ducking closer together. 

“Again?” he sighs. 

You shrug. “Appears so.”

He looks back to you and spies you on your phone. “How do they keep finding us?”

You give another disinterested shrug. You know that the universe has a funny way of working and you’re not necessarily in the mindset to figure out the way it works. Michael keeps watch and he wants to take your unconcern to mean that you’re okay. 

“I-I don’t want this to come across the wrong way,” Michael starts. 

You set your phone down, having texted your brother back that you’re not at home for him to come by. You don’t tell him where you are, but instead offer to pick him up on the weekend. Your eyebrow arches. “You do realize that whatever you’re about to say is now like 2 times more likely to come across wrong.” You punctuate the sentence with a small laugh and motion for Michael to continue on. 

“Do-do you know how we keep getting spotted?” He doesn’t want to believe you’re setting this up. But it’s starting to feel too much of a coincidence. The last thing he needs are rumors even before he’s ready to admit anything. 

You blink, shaking your head for a second. “Are you asking if I’m leaking where we are?” You keep your voice low but push each sentence out through your teeth. 

“I-I don’t--Look, I like hanging out with you and I like what we have. But if you want something or are trying to push for more, then I-I need to have an actual conversation. I don’t need leaks. And I don’t want this to sound like I’m accusing you. I mean coincidences do happen. But I-I just need to know you’re not doing this.”

You throw your phone at Michael and it hits the table with a harsh thud. The silverware shakes and clatters against each other. Michael tries to catch the device to soften the blow it’ll endure on the table. You’ve given him the passcode on a few occasions. “Check. Fucking check to see if I’m doing anything nefarious. We’ve been doing whatever this is, fucking and hanging out for months now. And yes, maybe I’m not sure if more is being built but the thing I would never do is out you and your location. As much as your fans are supportive, some are entitled. That puts you in danger. The last thing I want is to put you in harm’s way.”

Your hands shake a little in your lap. How could Michael come to any sort of thought that you’d be selfish enough to want your face connected to him by such manipulation and trickery? 

“I’m-I’m sorry. I just, I had to ask. Please I believe you, okay. I’m sorry.” He places your phone down on your side of the table. Your eyes are narrowed in on him and he can see the tension in your jaw. The way you’re pushing out each exhale through your nostrils. 

You wish now you’d driven here yourself. You rode with Michael, but sitting across from him is making your blood boil. “No, I want you to fucking check.” You unlock your phone and it takes all your strength not to chuck it at his chest. You hold it out and Michael shakily accepts the device. “Start with my latest text message. See who it was too.”

Michael taps on the Messages icon and then he sees your brother as your top thread. “It’s your brother.”

“Click on his name. Open up to make sure  it’s his number.”

Michael does as instructed and verifies that it is the same number he has in his phone. “It’s his number.”

“Read my text to him.”

Michael goes back to the thread. “‘Not home tonight. But I can get you Saturday. Want a sibling ice cream date or is it bad at home?’” 

Your parents had started to get into more verbal fights since you left home. Your brother, at sixteen, was stuck there and did his best to get out of the house when he could. You had chosen Michael and it sucks to know that he’s at home listening to fights. But you’d always rescue him when you could. 

“Huh, sounds an awful like me being the big sibling here and wanting to save my brother from the fucking hellhole that our house has become for him. Find the next text thread. Go to my instagram. See who I’ve been DMing.”

Michael looks up to you, sees the fire in your eyes. “I believe you.”

“Check,” you return. 

He sighs, swipes and finds the IG app on the second page. It takes a moment to load and when it does, he hovers over the message tab. “I don’t want to do this. It was wrong of me to phrase it like that.”

“Check.”

The tears are stinging behind his eyes because he knows. He knows that he won’t find anything. He knows that you’re doing this because every ounce of you is burning. “I can’t. I know. I’m sorry.”

You push away from the table, the glasses and plates clatter. You stop at his side and tap onto the icon. Even if Michael wanted to look, he can’t make out much from the screen as his eyes fill with more tears. You tap through the threads. “College roommate--they just graduated with a Masters. Friend from high school. They just had a kid.” And down and down the threads you go. When you’ve exhausted the threads from the last few months, you go to your camera roll. You go to Twitter. You show him your likes, your DMs there too. 

With you standing in the middle of the back corner, you know you’re definitely causing a scene now. When you’ve exhausted every corner of your phone, Facebook, Snapchat, event the Camera Roll. You make sure to show even the deleted photos, the nudes you know too are on Michael’s phone, the silly memes you’ve needed to clear out for ages. You show him everything. All Michael does is mutter out his apologizes. 

You take your phone in return. “Finish your dinner. When you get home, I won’t be there. I hope the tour is amazing. I hope each show is fucking incredible; I think your fans deserve an amazing show. But I fucking hope you miss me with each show too. I fucking hope when you look at them, you think about what you accused me of.” 

You don’t wait for a rebuttal, only strut your way to the front and put in Michael’s address for the Uber. 

Michael stares down at the table and watches each teardrop fall. He doesn’t order anything. Just counts the seconds. He imagines you in the back of the Uber, storming into his house, Throwing your bag back together. He imagines how you probably do say goodbye to the dogs and when you’re done, hold onto the spare key. 

Half an hour later, Michael stands from the table, face pink and eyes full of tears that will spill soon. He makes sure to leave a large tip for the server and settles into his car. True to your word, when he returns, you are not there. He climbs the steps of his porch and tape to the door is a note. 

Plant pot. Michael tilts up the pot on the front steps and sees not just one but two spare keys. 

______________

You check your phone and notice the almost daily voicemail from Michael. Three weeks, 19 messages. Most of the early ones are apologies, Michael breathing heavily as he tries to keep back tears. You expect the same today. Though you never reply to him, never let him know you’ve got them, you listen to every single one of them. 

As you press play, you continue your pour of the cup of water. Your brother laughs in the background as the show continues on. “Hey. I think you’re sick of my apologies if you’re listening to these. So I’ll skip my blubbering session and get to the meat of it. I do miss you. Every show has been mind-bogglingly incredible. I’m happy to see the fans. They have such great energy. But I see you in the crowd every night. You are haunting each and every show we do. Because I want you to be there. I want you to witness it too. I don’t know what spell you’ve cast, but your face haunts every show. Your cheer echoes in their cheer. Your smile lingers behind their smiles. You are in everything and I should’ve-I should’ve given you more benefit of the doubt. I was paranoid. I kept wanting you more and more, and in less physically intimate way. I wanted to tell you about Moose’s funny face. I wanted to tell you about the new recipes I tried and nailed. I wanted to talk to you about your day and listen to every single word you spoke because I wanted you in the emotionally intimate sense. I wanted to lie next you at night and talk about where we’d be in 5 years, if we’d have kids together, what a wedding could look like for us. I wanted to bake banana bread with you and play video games with your brother to show him I cared about him too. I wanted to go to family dinners with you and shield you and your brother from your mother’s comments. I wanted so much with you and I was too fucking scared to say anything, to admit that. And so now the ghost of you buries every high moment because I’m not sharing it with the actual you. I hope you’re doing better out there.”

The message ends. You play it back, listening to Michael’s voice with your eyes closed. 

I hope you’re doing better out there. 

[rwoan]

    𝒉𝒊  𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆  !  oh  gosh  ,  i  am  so  excited  to  finally  be  posting  this  ?  ya  girl  has  been  ecstatic  about  this  group  for  the  past  few  days  and  just  wow  ,  thank  you  all  for  being  here  !  not  to  be  emo  ,  but  i  really  appreciate  your  interest  and  excitement  ,  i  truly  can’t  wait  to  meet  and  write  with  you  all  .  briefly  ,  my  name  is  lenny  (  22  ,  mst  ,  she  /  her  )  and  i’ve  been  freezing  my  ass  off  in  -  40  temperatures  all  week  #canada  .  i’m  a  huge  harry  potter  nerd  and  will  gladly  scream  with  you  about  ariana  grande  ,  harry  styles  ,  or  the  jonas  brothers  .  below  the  cut  is  all  that  you  need  to  know  about  my  dear  rowan  ,  one  of  my  favourite  muses  who  i’ve  developed  so  much  in  the  past  that  what  lies  below  is  a  novel  and  a  half  ,  so  i  apologize  in  advance  .  i  will  likely  be  messaging  you  all  through  discord  ,  so  keep  an  eye  on  your  dms  !  i’m  the  biggest  h*e  for  plots  ,  so  straight  up  just  throw  ‘em  all  at  me  —  angst  ,  drama  ,  fluff  ,  tension  ,  we  love  it  all  !  okay  shut  up  ,  lenny  ,  no  one  cares  —  mwah  ,  love  you  all  already  !

❛  ⋆  ․  i  totally  just  saw  𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒏  𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒔  walking  down  sunset  boulevard  ,  looking  so  much  like  𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆  𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒄𝒉  that  i  had  to  do  a  double  take  !  the  𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚  𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓  year  old  has  been  living  in  the  city  of  angels  for  𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓  𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔  now  and  has  made  quite  a  name  for  𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇  working  as  a  𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒅  𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒓  /  𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒃𝒆𝒓  .  i've  heard  they  can  be  quite  𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄  &  𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆  ,  but  at  least  they're  𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆  &  𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕  ,  hey  ?  they  remind  me  so  much  of  𝒂  𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒂  𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍  𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍  𝒐𝒇  𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒅  𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒔  ,  𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒅  𝒄𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒆  𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓  𝒂  𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒓𝒖𝒏  ,  𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏  𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔  𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒅  𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔  (  lenny  ,  22  ,  mst  ,  she / her  )

*  /  ♡  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒  .

full  name  :  rowan georgina collins

nicknames  :  row

age  /  dob  :  twenty4 / september 1 , 1995

gender  :  cis female ( she / her )

sexuality  :  openly bisexual

hometown  :  calabasas , california

label  :  the epicure ( a person who takes particular pleasure in fine food and drink )

*  /  ♡  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘  .

rowan comes from a fairly opulent background : her parents never married — in fact , her father came out as gay when she was young — but both were quite successful on their own independent ventures and raised row in a very happy , yet slightly spoiled , childhood

her mother is a big - time magazine editor and had sole custody of rowan in their lush calabasas home , but rowan has always remained incredibly close with her father , a celebrity chef , and often spent weekends and holidays in his long beach penthouse apartment .

because of her wealthy lifestyle ( and having a chef for a father ) rowan was exposed to fine cuisine at a young age . she had incredibly mature tastebuds — even at the age of like 6 she was munching on calamari and truffle oil . she honestly can’t remember a time she ever turned her nose up at trying something new , her father having instilled a deep curiosity and passion for all foods in her .

there honestly isn’t much else to say about her upbringing , there’s no big sob story or rising climax — rowan is incredibly grateful for the stable , happy , and comfortable life her parents blessed her with . she found going between homes quite exciting and looked forward to the double christmases and birthdays — which is a great symbol of how rowan looks at the world . while some may call it “ rose coloured glasses ” , rowan sees herself as an optimist and prefers to find the silver lining in most situations and considers dwelling on the negatives a waste of time .

alright , continuing on : when she was in her early teens , rowan started a food blog purely out of boredom and a general desire to share her passion for food . she started out by sharing low quality images of her meals and writing littles blurbs — nothing too fancy .

however , fast forward a couple years of ritualistic posting , her father discovered the blog one day and immediately shared it on his own social media ( because of course he had to brag about his little food connoisseur ) and row’s blog blew up from there . by the time she was 18 , rowan was getting paid to visit some nice ass restaurants around los angeles and write reviews on her blog , which was gaining interest with each post she wrote . 

high school graduation came and went , and row’s online influence grew bigger and bigger , and continued to grow even as she attended the university of california to major in communications , which she envisioned would only serve to aid her in her online endeavours .

during her college career , rowan started up her youtube channel . it started as a couple videos that she linked in blog posts , prompted by questions from her followers about how she juggled her busy calendar , what her favourite recipes were , and more . her videos opened her up to an entirely new audience , and thus rowan blew up even more . she has since become a popular youtube star , her channel a collection of daily vlogs , cooking videos , restaurant reviews , and more .

my main inspo for rowan’s youtube aesthetic was alisha marie , our queen , with her casual daily vlogs and fun challenge videos , but with a mix of madelaine herself and laurdiy ( i imagine row as the foodie version of lauren ) , and those sort of vlog queens !

rowan graduated uofc with her degree in communications 2 years ago , when she was 21 , and has since been able to fully dedicate herself to her online presence . for the last two years , she’s been mainly focused on consistent posting on both ( although she did get rid of having a set schedule about a year and a half ago in order to ease up her stress ) .

*  /  ♡  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄  .

label(s)  :  the epicure , the icarian , the aesthete , the sybarite

epicure : the whole basis of rowan’s existence is food . like , it’s pretty much the whole basis of everyone’s existence , but rowan is extra in love with food . she’s both incredibly passionate about eating and cooking , although possibly more so about eating — it is her job after all .

icarian : curiosity , adventure , and spontaneity are likely the three words most commonly associated with rowan — aside from food of course .

aesthete : to be a popular food blogger / youtuber / instagrammer you kinda have to have a good aesthetic , but rowan’s is extraordinarily good . the girl is always on the look out for cute backdrops for selfies , decor for her home , and new clothes to fill her wardrobe .

sybarite : materialism is probably row’s biggest downfall . she can’t help but have a deep inner desire to own all things on trend .

traits  :  materialistic , creative , passionate , self - indulgent , obsessive , honest , expressive , confident , starry - eyed

aesthetics  :  a camera roll full of food photos , large red waves , hourly instagram stories , iced coffee after a morning run , a red kiss pressed onto a white napkin , golden rings decorating manicured fingers , keyboard clicks at midnight , chilled mimosas paired with laughter .

personality  :  rowan’s definitely very bubbly and charismatic , but can also come off as quite spoiled , materialistic , and bossy at times . she knows what she wants , how she wants it , and she’ll stop at next to nothing to get it .

she practically radiates bde and oozes confidence .

her friends are literally her everything and she’d likely do anything for them . she’s definitely that Rich Friend™ who will buy your lunch for you , take you shopping for the perfect outfit when you land the interview of a lifetime , and also buy the first ( and most ) of many rounds of shots at the bar .

her home has an open door to anyone she cares about . no point in letting two spare bedrooms sit empty , as she says , and she’ll always welcome you in with open arms when needed .

she’s a party girl , but is also the girl who will be texting the group chat at 9am after a night out asking when brunch is .

above all , she’s incredibly passionate about her work . she is a virgo after all , so she’s very organized , ambitious , and a bit of a perfectionist . she’s never afraid to stay up all night ensuring her latest video is perfect , or will re-read a new blog post at least twenty times to make sure she didn’t miss a thing . 

this ambition and perfectionism is both her saving grace and her downfall . it makes for incredibly cohesive , put - together , and strong content , but can also often drive her to the point of insanity of trying to make sure everything is just right .

*  /  ♡  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒  .

in order to keep this from becoming a novel ( too late ) , you can find some extra info about rowan by following the links below :

wanted plots .

headcanons .

pinterest .

playlist .

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

can i request reader x calum where reader got a haircut and calum's basically gushing over it even tho reader feels insecure but he doesn't say anything directly to them he just brings it up to other people and then it ends with cuddly fluff where calum's just playing with their hair and he finally says something, gender neutral is great but if reader could be latinx? thank u so much i love your stuff

Written for Graduation Blurb Weekend. Going until May 8th. 

See the Weekend Masterlist

Gender Neutral & Latinx Reader Insert. CW: There's ONE mention of an erection so 18+ Content (Smut Adjacent). Do not interact if you are underage, please!

Haircut Blues

___________

The hair had to go. There were no two ways about it. It simply had to go and though you were normally a bit more methodical in your plans, you walked into your usual salon and asked if you could get slotted in. To your disappointment, your usual stylist wasn't there. But there were plenty of other talented stylists in the shop, so you didn’t think twice about taking the slot that was available for the same day. 

The receptionist confirms there’s a 1:30 slot. It was 40 minutes away. Not enough time to go back home to drop off the errands you have done: food for Duke, cleaning supplies for the house, and new running shoes. You nod, and settle into one of the seats and scroll on your phone. About ten minutes from the appointment start, you figure that you need some sort of reference photo. You’re not even sure what you want, but you know you just need the length gone. It’s brushing against the back of your neck in ways that drive you up the wall every time the breeze picks up. 

As your name gets called, you look up and realize you’ve been scrolling with no success. But you’re not backing out of this. The cape falls around you, snapping close at the back of your neck. “So, what are we doing today?”

The moment freezes you. The words start to come, but they bump into each other. You try as best you can to articulate the cut and style you want. You watch the stylist nod along, they’re asking all the right questions that makes you think that this might turn out decent. You are clinging to that hope as the stylist washes your hair. There’s a conditioning treatment and then the scissors come. They glint in the noon sun that cuts through the glass of the storefront. 

You watch them, the scissors as they descend to your hair and you sign the cross on your chest. The prayers are soft and though you don’t pray often, this feels like a moment that maybe all the Hail Mary’s should’ve paid back debts and protect you from a disaster. 

You slowly get turned away from the mirror. For a moment there, things looked dicey but after the hair falls to the floor around you and you manage to get one last glance at yourself, it looks like it might not be that bad. So you watch the salon whirring around you, the people shuffled to and from the shampoo bowls and under hooded dryers. You watch young children cling to their mother’s as they are walked around the shop. You smile at them in passing hoping to ease any fears that they might have with your own situation, but in the back of your head you’re always worried. 

The blow dryer sounds around you, the heat hitting the back of your neck. It feels like the last line of defense before the chair is pushed back around. You’re slow to bring your gaze up to see yourself. As you do, you take it what is normal, what has always been there, the brown skin, the slight pout. And your gaze travels up and over your face, until you land on your hair. 

It’s not terrible, but it’s not quite that you thought it would be. The stylist stands behind you with a grin and you paint one on to match. You pay, not wanting to cause too much of a fuss and in your car, you try to shake out the cut, using your own fingers to get it to sit right. But it just doesn’t. You check your phone and see a text from Calum, How are errands?

You sigh for a moment before replying. Errands went fine. Got a spontaneous hair cut. 

Oh! Let me see, babes! I bet you look cute. 

You want to say, you don’t know how much you’d agree with that sentence. You know if you do, Calum will only refute you and pour more and more compliments onto you. You angle your face to capture the sun just right and give a small smile. Me in all my glory. Not sure how I feel just yet. 

You watch the picture lift and then settle and beneath it in small gray text you spot, Delivered. You’re focus at the moment is just getting home and starting dinner. At least those things will be normal even if you felt pretty underwhelmed by your haircut. You know that waiting for your stylist to come back from holiday would’ve been the smartest choice, but what’s done is done now. 

_________________

Calum holds his phone in anticipation. He hadn’t realized that you had wanted to cut your hair nor that you were going to do it today. “Cal, take a listen,” Michael calls out. Calum nods, settling into the seat next to him. 

The track starts up, even with the clicks, and Calum tilts his head to listen closely. His phone buzzes a couple seconds later and he starts to bob his head along as he swipes and enters his passcode. There, in the thread he left up, is a picture of you in the car, the sun kissing your brown skin. 

“Holy moly, I am one lucky man,” he whispers. 

“What was that?” Michael asks. 

Calum holds out his phone. “Look at them! They got a haircut and god!”

Michael laughs, glancing over the picture. His smile is soft and he nods. The cut does look good, but he’s more amused by Calum’s smiling face. “You’re fucking smitten man,” Michael teases. 

“So what? I love them. And they look hot as hell.” Michael’s laughter rings out again and Calum stares back down at your photo. God, the cut looks so good on you and Calum wants nothing more than to tell you. 

But right as his fingers start to draft a response, Michael interrupts. “I love that you love them. But seriously, I need your attention on this track. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that. But I won’t be happy about it.” After the track finishes out over the speakers, Calum manages to save the picture and set it as his new lockscreen. 

When Ashton and Luke return, Ashton takes a moment to watch over Calum’s face. “Oh, that’s a smiley boy,” he laughs. 

Calum spins to the voice and holds out his phone. “It’s because of them!”

Ashton manages to get a few solid seconds of the picture and he thinks your hair definitely looks different. “Is that new?”

Calum nods. “From today, apparently they got a spontaneous haircut.”

“And the man’s been simping ever since,” Michael retorts, not even looking up from the screens. 

“Calum’s been simping since they started dating,” Luke chimes in from the couch. “Let’s be real.”

“Maybe I have been. But you can fuck off, loverboy. You’re the one planning a wedding here soon,” Calum returns, taking his phone back from Ashton. Ashton only nods, and gently pats a hand on Calum’s knee before settling onto the couch next to Luke. 

“And you’ll be next. With the rate this is going,” Luke retorts, snorting out a laugh. 

_____________

When your phone doesn’t shake with a reply from Calum, you don’t even think too much of it. You’re too focused on getting Duke out to do his business and getting your bags settled down near the door too. Duke waddles up to you and happily flops to his side to accept a few belly rubs. Once he’s satisfied, he pushes up and then continues back further into the house. 

“Love you too, Duke.” 

Dinner--having already been settled thanks to the dry erase board you installed in the kitchen to plan out meals for the week--is easy to get started. Though, you are thankful for the ability to completely lose yourself in the simmering pots, the press of tortillas, and the snap of a knife into the wooden cutting board. 

You don’t even hear the front door open, but you do catch the way Duke’s head picks up from the spot he’s taken up resident at up against the kitchen island. “Calum?” you ask into the house. 

“Hi love,” he returns, peering around the corner. He stops for a moment to greet Duke and then comes up behind you and plants a kiss to your cheek. “How are you?”

You shrug, but turn to greet Calum with a kiss to his lips. “I’m alright.”

“Just alright, did something happen to day?”

“Eh, just a day, I guess.” You don’t even think to mention the haircut, not because you don’t want to tell Calum that you’re not sure if you love it but because you’re a bit too preoccupied with other things. You hadn’t been able to get to the tea shop before it closed so you felt a bit behind in your errands, knowing that one would roll over to the weekend. Tomorrow you’d have to go to work. 

Calum nods, hands rubbing up and down your arms. “I’m here now. Is there anything you want me to help with?” He’d already done his set of normal chores in the morning, taking the trash out, scrubbing the bathrooms. Washing the bedsheets is something you wanted to do today, but after a slow start to the morning, Calum agreed to tackle it in the morning before leaving for the studio. 

You nod in response to Calum’s offer. “I’ll let you know, babe.”

He hums, lips pursing together. He wants to say that he’d rather you assume him some sort of tasks, but he doesn’t want to push it with you. So he concedes. “Okay. Give me a minute I’ll just hang out in the kitchen with you okay?”

A small smile crosses your lips. “I’d appreciate that.”

Calum sets out of the kitchen, removing his shoes and jacket. He washes his hands and then slides up next  to the stove, leaning into the fridge. He takes in the squish of your cheeks and has to stop himself from pinching them. “Missed you today,” he confesses softly. “I greatly appreciated the selfie.”

“I wasn’t that far,” you laugh. “You can always call.”

“I know but it was your day off and I didn’t want to overstep.” Gingerly, he reaches out to play a little in your hair. “Also, the cut looks amazing.”

“You think so?” you ask, turning to Calum. 

His brows pull together at the shock in your voice. “Yes, you look so fucking good. What--What is this about? Do you not like it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. It wasn’t quite what I was expecting. My normal stylist wasn’t in so I went to someone else. But I--I don’t hate it.”

“Oh love.” Calum slides into your side, arms encasing your waist. You wind your right arm around his waist so you’re not pressing your shoulder into his sternum. His lips press into your temple. “You are so incredibly breathtaking. I showed all the guys your selfie. Even Luke called me a simp because of how much I was gushing to them about it.”

You snicker a little at the emphasis around Luke’s name. Your palm rubs at Calum’s back. “Not Luke.”

“Yeah, Luke.” Calum cups a cheek to get your full attention on him. When you turn, he kisses the end of your nose. “It’s a great look on you. But if you don’t like it, then I think you should text your stylist and book to get it corrected. Even if I think you look like the sexiest thing since sliced bread, the more important thing is that you’re confident about it.”

It’s sensible you know. But you’re always worried about having to go back and while the stylist that did do the cut watch your normal stylist go over their work. “Let me get a week. See if it grows on me.”

Calum kisses you, softly. “I know what’s growing on me,” his voice is low as he speaks and you catch just a hint of the weight in his crotch pressing into you. 

“Alright, mister. Keep it together,” you laugh. 

“A man simply cannot keep it together when their hot significant other is standing in front of him. Okay, you cannot ask something like that of a man,” he giggles. He seals another kiss to your lips but then moves half a step back to his original stance. “But since my loving partner has asked, I will do my best.”

You laugh at his antics, kissing his cheek and then turn back to the stove. “Maybe I like this haircut a smidgen more than before.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Maybe an angst fic based on the song Better Version by Sabrina Claudio with Luke or Calum

Written for Graduation Celebration Blurb Weekend. Requests now closed. 

Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

Mirage

___________

There’s a moment, and you think everyone has it, where the work, the tears just becomes a burden. You are fighting and still getting nowhere. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. You meet Calum Hood. He had it--the shy smile, the toned body, the kind eyes. He had that, but still behind that was a wall. And behind that wall you knew the kind of man Calum could be--caring, and genuine. But it was covered in a thick layer of pain. 

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, staring down at the plate of food in front of you. You wanted Calum so badly, but you weren’t sure he wanted himself. He was content with barely getting along. He didn’t talk much. When you asked how his day was, he’d say fine. When you asked him what he wanted, he said he was just going to see where things took him. And he was so content to be taken by currents. 

The sex that made it feel smoothed over. He was tender, alert, and communicative in that space. You had his undivided attention as you stripped out of clothes. But at bars, at comedy shows, in the backyard Calum always seemed a million miles away. 

“Is it burnt?” Calum had attempted to make rolls but didn’t set the timer properly. 

You shake your head. “The rolls are fine.” When you look up, you watch the confusion descend onto Calum’s face. 

“Well, what’s the matter? I didn’t use too much garlic, did I?”

Another sigh escapes you and you bury your face in your hands. You really shouldn’t be doing this over dinner. You should wait. “No, Calum, the food’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s all fine!”  It is always fine. It is never better, never brighter, never open. Things are always fine. 

“Hey, okay. That last fine didn’t sound fine.”

Calum has almost everything you could want. But he won’t actually give himself. It is still only ever a version. You fell in love with a mirage. You see how he is around the guys, how open and silly he is. But when he leaves, when it’s just the two of you, there is too much silence. Even now, with your scrubbing over your face, you know Calum is watching. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t pry. He pauses and lets the silence fall. 

“Maybe it’s better for the morning,” you start. Maybe it’ll give you time to sort your head. Was this just the bad day at work talking or had you finally broken the surface? Were you drowning in stress or inhaling realization?

“If you say so.”

Your arm twitches. You snap your head up and Calum goes back to his plate. His fork clinks against the ceramic and he brings a forkful of string beans to his mouth. He takes another twirl of spaghetti. He keeps his head down for a moment and you think here is his best angle--where you can’t see the vacancy in his eyes. 

You stand from the table, plate in hand and dump it into the trash. It’s mostly full and Calum watches you go. The sink runs and you wash the plate and the utensils. The only sound once the plate is on the drying rack is that of your feet shuffling over the hardwood floors. He watches you go down the hallway and then the bedroom door shuts. 

There is no sound from the bedroom, Calum finishes his food, washes his own plate. He takes Duke out one more time. He goes to work on music for another hour or so and in all of that time, the bedroom remains silent. 

In bed, you hear the door creak open. You see Calum shuffle past the bed to the shower. It runs for a while and then Calum returns. His side of the bed dips. You’re praying for one of his arms to snake around your waist. You’re praying that his lips will press into your shoulder. You’re praying he will ask you what’s wrong. But he says nothing. 

You don’t sleep much that night. The silence is  somehow the loudest thing you’ve had to be in and it drives you mad. You are listening to Calum’s snores. The way his body has given in to sleep so easy and you know. You know that whatever version of Calum you’ve conjured up in your head is doing you no favors. 

The blink of the sun greets you from the kitchen window sill. Calum shuffles from the bedroom to the kitchen and finds you perched near the window, a steaming mug in hand. He pauses for a moment to take in the sight of your tired eyes, the way your lips are turned down into almost a permanent pout that normally is not there. 

“Is everything alright?” Calum asks. 

You don’t face him, only shake your head. “It’s not working for us. You don’t talk to me. How am I supposed to be in a relationship with someone that I don’t even really know.” 

Calum drops his head. “If--I’m sorry,” he says. “I-I don’t know why. I do like you. I swear to it. I think I’m scared. Like I could be so open with you. But what if I get hurt?”

And as sad as it is, as much as your heart aches for Calum to trust again, you know that you can’t keep hitting a wall that you don’t see cracking. “There’ll be someone,” you return. “Someone will crack you open. But you’re going to have to want it. You’re going to have to want the hurt and the pain so that you can have the love.” Another bout of silence falls between you too. “I’ll be moving out by the end of the week.”

“Where-where are you going to go? You can stay here,” Calum states, figuring your old apartment is definitely rented out by now to someone new. 

You shake your head. “Don’t worry.”

________________________________________

The move’s painless, or at least as painless as a move can be. The thing that hurts more is not being able to get the picture, the version of Calum you had made of him, out of your head. The man that smiled so brightly; who laughed deeply even at the silliest jokes. There was that better version of Calum that did exist but he only came out in waves and you deserve better than just the glimpses. 

As the months pass on, you find yourself settling in nicely. You meet someone else, they ask you about your day and listen. They’re sweet and open doors for you. They send you flowers on random occasions. Most often than not, they’re not your favorite flowers. Like Calum used to do at the start of the relationship. And when you look at them, you are waiting for Calum’s laughter. 

When you are lying in bed next to them, you are waiting for Calum’s snores. You are waiting for his arm to settle around your waist. You are waiting for Calum’s raspy voice to fill your ears. And you think that it’s so fucking cruel to have known that he couldn’t give what you wanted, but he’s tainted everyone after him. 

Calum is the footstep in the wet sands of your heart. He will always be the comparison--no matter how unfair it is. No matter how much you felt alone in that relationship. Calum is the door you will always want to open again. 

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

You did it again! Loved “Across the Bar”. Thank you, thank you, thank you! 😝 I didn’t actually have another request ready, but I needed to think up at least one more after reading that. 😌

Another Shawn. (For me it’s always Shawn; it’s pathetic really.) I read something recently that had such good back and forth banter between the couple in the story. So, I guess I’m just looking for something fun and flirty in an established relationship. Maybe throw in some dirty/sexy innuendos, but it doesn’t have to lead to smut since you just did one of those for me. LOL Feel free to get him (or her) all flustered/worked up though. There can always a be denial in the follow through (or a future promise). 😆 Some quips or ribbing, some playful teasing, a little competitiveness? Maybe during something mundane or everyday, like she goads him into doing yoga with her or something. (Just an example- the first I thought up; it can be whatever you might like it to be.)

Idk. What do you think?

I kept this one a little shorter, only wanted to the banter to be focal point.

Written for Graduation Blurb Weekend. Today, May 8th, 2022, is the last day to submit a request. 

Female Reader Insert. CW: 18+ Content (Smut Adjacent)

Cleaning Day

_____________

Saturdays and Sundays are cleaning days. There’s no way around this. There's no avoiding the fates. There is only ever joining in, or at the very least, not interrupting the flow. Shawn, after the bed shakes for a moment, listens. You brush your teeth, get dressed, and then shuffle out the room. Though Shawn knows he’s not going back to sleep, he continues to lay in bed, cradling the pillow to his chest. A speaker beeps to life. 

It’s going to happen. It’s all going to happen and then a moment later, Shawn hears the crooning of Mary J. Blige. There it goes. Shawn pushes up from the mattress a little and listens to the cabinets opening and closing. He tries to remember what part of the house you’re supposed to be tackling today. Last weekend you deep cleaned the bathrooms and prepped dinner. Shawn thinks that maybe you’re going to tackle the kitchen. 

And if you are going to deep clean the kitchen, that means he needs to get up because you’re definitely going to go for washing walls and deep cleaning the stove. Which means he needs to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Shawn makes quick work of brushing his teeth and throws on pants, but forgoes a t-shirt. Mostly because the one he was going to wear isn’t on the back of the chair and he assumes you’ve snagged it. 

Stepping out of the door, Shawn immediately spots you on your step stool. You’re pulling the stuff from off the top of the fridge and he walks over, hands resting gently on your waist. “Hey, hot stuff,” you grin, turning to look at him. 

“Good morning to you too,” he laughs, pinching your ass. “Also that’s my shirt and you know it!”

“Guess you’ll have to take it off me.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Love me to undress you?”

You laugh for a moment before you can return. “You love it too. Don’t even lie.”

He laughs, but stays behind you to ensure you don’t get wobbly trying to clear off the top of the fridge. He’d offer to do the job himself, but you’d refuse having already started it and he doesn’t mind the facefull of your panty cladded backside. When you start to shift, Shawn takes a step back and lets you set all the boxes and tins onto the counter. 

“Are you going to deep clean out the fridge too?” Shawn asks, pulling out your gloves and buckets. Inside of them already are the sponges and cleaners you’ve designated for the kitchen. 

“We probably should see what has expired and what’s still good.”

Shawn hums, filling one bucket with some warm water. “So clean appliances, walls, counters and then we deep dive into the fridge.”

“Sounds like a man with a plan,” you return, sliding up behind Shawn. You playfully tap his ass before kissing the back of his bicep. 

“Hey, missy. What’s going on here?”

“Oh, come off it. You love it when I play with your ass.” You give your thanks and take the bucket from Shawn. He squawks, watching you go back to the step stool to begin the cleansing. He does, but that’s not the thing he expected from you first thing in the morning. He laughs and fills the second bucket to start on wiping down the walls of the kitchen. This deep of a clean is a two person job and slowly over the months, Shawn has picked up on all your little intricacies. You like to clean the appliance first and the walls. Then you clean counters. 

And when it’s not cleaning, Shawn has learned the small things about you too. Like the way you do a two-step to almost any song that you love. You love having more time in the morning to do things than the mornings so you wake early out of dedication to keeping a schedule. Your prefer cooler showers if you’re showering in the morning and warmer showers at night. And it’s all the small things, but it’s those things that matter the most between the two of you. 

Another song comes up on the shuffle and both you and Shawn start to belt out the lyrics. He spins to watch you and you turn from the wiping down the fridge handles to sing to each other. He’s the singer, obviously, at how flawlessly he hits the higher notes, but you love to join in with him. Laughter and giggles fall from you two after the note passes and the two of you resume your assigned work. 

As the morning progresses, the two of you keep passing teasing touches. Shawn’s hand on your ass. You trail your nails over his stomach. It’s intimate, gives both of you a fluster, but is clearly not taking precedent. Shawn steps away to the restroom, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay. Don’t fall in,” you call out behind him. 

Shawn laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

The music continues to filter around the kitchen and you scrub at the oven floor after letting the cleaner sit for the last hour. A couple minutes later, Shawn returns back to the kitchen and as he passes, he cups the back of your neck and tilts your head back. 

“Yes, my dear?” you ask, batting your lashes up at him. 

“Oh, so innocent. But not later,” he teases, thumb teasing your lips. 

“Oh, later, I’ll never be innocent again,” you return, tongue flicking out against his thumb. Your heart is racing just a little in your chest and you’re cursing the way the wetness gathers between your legs, but it’s Shawn and he’ll always make it so easy for you. You’ll never resist him. 

A small punch of arousal hits Shawn’s gut and he squats down to capture your lips into a kiss. “Love you,” he whispers. 

“Love you too.” He stands and turns to the sink to wipe it down.

“Love your ass in those boxer briefs too,” you tack on. Shawn punctuates the sentence with a tiny wiggle and the sound of both of your later bounces over the lyrical flow of Lauryn Hill.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

I do have one more little Shawn request, if you want to do it before you close your requests till next time. But honestly, you don't have to. I’m perfectly content with what you've already given me. ☺️

I was thinking that maybe Shawn and the reader find their paths continuously crossing, just while they're out and about. Café/coffee shop, grocery store, walking their dogs through the park (whatever you can think of), and they always end up stopping and chatting for a while. There’s an obvious attraction/interest from the start, but they never actually end up trading contact information for some reason or another, until finally one of them asks the other out.

I just think that could be a cute story. 😋

Written for Graduation Celebration Blurb Weekend. Requests are now closed. 

Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

Happenstance

_______________

Coincidence is running into you at the grocery store, reaching for the same carton of eggs. Coincidence is funny, actually. You and Shawn giggle at each other. You offer to let him take the carton with a small joke that you’d devised this whole plan to gte the carton underneath, which is the one that you really want. It makes Shawn laugh harder and he knows it’s not that funny. But your eyes are bright, your smile lights up your whole face. Shawn wishes his heart didn’t flutter. 

You’re praying that your hands, which are shaking just a little, aren’t noticeable. The smile on Shawn’s face is going straight to your chest and you’re suddenly aware of how damp your pits are. The sharp angle of his jaw is almost breathtaking. 

“Now wouldn’t I just mess up your plans by letting you take the top carton?” Shawn returns. 

“You’d think. But I’ve planned for that too.”

“So preparedness is just one of your attributes, eh?”

You nod. “One could argue it’s the most important and the most annoying.”

Shawn goes to say something else, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He has half a mind to ignore it, but the phone keeps shaking. “I’m sorry. I need to check this.”

You shake your head, as if to say that it’s no issue. “Yeah, yeah of course. Be safe out there in the aisles.”

Shawn laughs again. “You too.” He watches you push your cart along, taking in the length of your back, the gait of your walk. For a brief moment, between Shawn pulling out his phone and him actually answering the call, he wonders if he’ll actually see you again or if the universe has just played a cruel trick on him. 

The thing about coincidence though is that it is as funny as it is, it does add up.

A few weeks after running into each other in the grocery store, Shawn pops by one of his favorite cafes to grab a drink before heading into the studio. It’s the one cafe that is pretty far out from the studio and requires Shawn to get up earlier than normal to make it at his usual time. But it was a good treat every now and then. 

The line, usually quite long, happens to be shorter this morning. Shawn’s not sure what it is. But he settles behind the two other people and pulls out his drink card. Face to face to the barista, Shawn gives his order and then moves down the pick up window. 

“Wow, fancy seeing you here.”

Shawn turns to the voice and finds you. “Holy moly. What are you doing here?”

You laugh a little. “Getting coffee. What about you? Are you more of a tea kind of guy?”

“I mean, tea’s never bad. But coffee too, for today at least. Who knows about tomorrow?” 

“Probably more coffee,” you tease. 

“How are things?” Shawn asks. 

You nod for a moment, like you’re thinking through what to say. “Things are decent. In the middle of a job shuffle, but it’s looking promising.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope it keeps going well.”

“Thanks. What’s on your agenda today?”

“Uh, some recording. I think we’re making good strides on one song.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Your smile is bright and Shawn’s heart feels like it’s squeezing in his chest. He tries to keep his attention on the question you’re asking but it gets interrupted by the shout of your name and order. You step forward and take the white cup into your hand. 

“I’d stay and chat some more, but I’ve got two interviews,” you state, already stepping towards the door. 

Shawn nods, “Best of luck.”

“Thanks. And good luck with your songs.” THe door gives into your weight and you’re gone. He watches as you go for a moment, then two. He starts out after you. He should at least get your number. And by the time he gets two steps in, his own order is called out. He tries to make it quick. By the time he turns back to the parking lot, he can’t see you, nor does he know the direction you went in either. 

“Fuck,” he huffs. 

And though the tallies of your presence are high Shawn’s kicking himself for not thinking quicker on his feet to get your number. He wonders how much of your rushed exit was nerves, and a time crunch. But still, when he spotted you he should’ve asked then. 

Shawn can’t help but feel like you’ve slipped through his fingers. There’s no way that the universe would give him another chance. When he gets to the studio, the lyrics are already burning his throat about how much he wishes that the coincidence can happen once more, so he can get the chance to get the interaction right. 

He tries the coffee shop again but has no luck. He tries the grocery store at the same time from what he could remember from the last time. You didn’t show up. And Shawn can’t fault you. When his friends text him about going out on Friday, he almost says no. He’d like to lament his missed opportunity. But something in his gut tells him to go. 

The bass rattles Shawn’s teeth. His body vibrates with every thump. One shot turns into two and then Shawn starts to evening sipping just on a beer. The fuzzy just starts to creep up and Shawn’s not even sure if it’s really a buzz at all due to the alcohol or just the feeling of being surrounded in a club by a sea of bodies that makes him feel comforted and familiar. 

The first ten minutes or so are spent hovering in the VIP section but when the selection changes and Shawn finds the beat irresistible, he makes moves for the dance floor. The sea absorbs him; he is only a blimp in the bodies around him. He laughs, stumbling just a little over someone but then settles. He bounces and sways. Shawn likes every thump float over him. 

“Well looky here!” Shawn laughs, spotting you. 

You spin around, trying to locate any familiar face. When your gaze lands on him, you smile. “Hey!”

“How’d the interviews go?”

“I got the job. Well one of them at least! How was the song?”

“Good. But congrats on the job! Out celebrating?”

You nod. “Yeah I am.”

“Can I celebrate with you?”

For a moment, you’re shocked. Of course you thought he was attractive. Though, you weren’t sure that the attraction was mutual at all. He was him--and you were you. The two of you felt like paths that shouldn’t have crossed and yet they had. Maybe coincidence was done being funny and was now actually doing work. 

You nod anyway. “Yeah of course.”

The two of you dance together, giggling into each other’s ears and trading off who’s paying for which round. Shaw’s hands slip to your waist and you’re leaning into his chest because the drinks have piled up. The two of you agree on taking a pause on the dancing,  and as you’re leaning into the bar, Shawn takes the chance to take one of your hands. “Before you disappear on me again, can I get your number?”

You nod, though your brows pull together. “Did I not give it to you before?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol. But Shawn takes a moment to scroll through his phone and when your name doesn’t show up, he shakes his head in response. “You scared me for a second.”

“Oh my god. I didn’t! I could’ve sworn I had. Or maybe I was meaning too! But the last two weeks were so crazy. I was running late so much.”

Shawn gives a small tuft of laughter. “Hey, no, it’s okay. I can get it now.”

You nod. There is the now, the present can be such a blessing. Right now, the present is Shawn, the drinks you’ve had, the new job you’ve landed. The now is looking pretty damn good. You rattle off your number. “Text me too, so I have yours.”

“Aye captain. Also, when can I take you out? Dinner? A movie? Whatever you want really.”

“I like mini golf.”

Shawn grins. “Oh, yes, let’s go to mini golf!” His excitement is palpable. “But until we get those details. You, me, and the dance floor?”

“Hell yeah.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

If you don’t become overwhelmed with requests, can you write for Shawn where he meets the reader for the first time and there’s a wild instant connection and attraction? I just want the stuff of fairytales. I would love something that makes me sigh and melt into giddiness. 😍 Thanks for considering my request. ☺️

Written for Graduation Blurb Weekend. Going until May 8th. 

Female Reader Insert. One mention of skin tone--brown. If you want an alternate gender, or no gender, please let me know and I’ll get right on it for you!

Red Carpet Romance

____________

The red carpet’s definitely a little bit smaller now. Shawn’s not even sure if that statement is accurate at all or not. But all he can do is keep watching the swish of the bright pink pants as they glide across the room. He sees every directional change. He watches from the corner of his eyes to see if the color is moving closer or farther away. It is always further away it seems. He listens for the sound of her voice above everyone else and watches the way her smile lights up her whole face. She stands at full attention across from the person holding the microphone. Her head nods signal that she is listening deeply and intently. It’s almost as if nothing else in the space matters to her, except for the person interviewing her. 

Shawn is sure, if he were to get close enough, that the feeling would be proven correct. 

He wants to get close. He can feel it buzzing in his fingertips, but there’s the decorum. There’s the song and dance of his own interviews and own progression down the red carpet. Shawn waits and he’s waiting for an opening, when he can walk over to her, when he can introduce himself. Her hair settles on the top of her head, in curls and waves. Long pearl earrings dazzle in the flash of the cameras. 

“Who are you wearing tonight? Let’s have a good look at this fit.” 

Shawn turns to the voice and gives a laugh. “The biggest question tonight, right?”

The interview nods, a smile breaking over their face. “We all want to know!”

He tries to answer about the designer and the intended vision. He tries to smile into the camera and talk about the golden studs in the coat jacket. He tries to talk through his jewelry selection. He tries to talk about the boots. But he is always watching out of the corner of his eye for her. 

Once Shawn thinks he can get free from that interview, he can slip inside and find her. But he gets stopped again. They gush about his music, the new singles. Shawn can’t say no. He’d never do it. But even as he talks and thanks them for listening, he can tell he’s distracted. A glimpse of her goes by, the pants swishing--or at least, he assumes they are--and he tries to keep an eye on the direction, but he has to turn his attention back to the person at hand. 

When he looks up from the conversation, she’s gone. He figured it would happen. So Shawn steps through the doors and surveys the room. He wishes he’d actually seen her top. He saw the pants, he saw her face, but he hardly had time to catch the rest. As the room sways around him, the motion of people moving up and down the length of it, Shawn shuffles through. If he does not go willingly the current of the room will take him prisoner. 

Behind him, Shawn catches the way his friends are gushing at all the other celebrities walking around. He catches up with them and together they form a strong enough pact to resist some currents in the room. They make their way to the drink table and the whole walk over is Shawn craning his neck to see those long pearl earrings. 

“You look like you’re looking for someone?” The jest comes with a few bouts of laughter, but Shawn doesn’t even care if he’s friends are ragging on him. 

He does want to find her. He is looking for someone. “She’s wearing these wide legged pink pants and has pearl earrings.” He gestures near his own ear to mimic the way they bounced and swayed with her walk. 

“My guy, this room is so fucking crowded. You want me to spot pants and earrings.”

“Her hair is up,” he motions while spinning in a small circle to see if she’s anywhere in sight. But the lights are much too dim inside. “I could kick myself,” he mutters mostly to himself. 

“Here, take this. I’m sure she’ll show up eventually.’” Shawn spots the flute in his peripheral vision and takes it. He hopes his friends are right. 

The night starts to carry itself. Between the laughs, the photos, the drinks, Shawn lets himself all into the haze and disappointment that she’s just gone. That he spotted her too late, that he got stopped too many times for the universe to give him anything close to another shot. And it’s almost easy to forget her until someone’s flash goes off. Until the red dots in his vision circle for a moment and he swears he can see those bright pink pants again. 

“Oh my god, I was just talking the other day about that. I’d so love to get away soon,” Shawn laughs. It feels a little fake and a little forced and it’s mostly him trying to keep a level head, trying to work back against the creeping alcohol. 

The conversation diverts itself, someone complimenting someone else’s shoes and Shawn brings his gaze up. Passing by right behind his group of friends is hear. The pearl earrings swaying with her gait. “I gotta,” Shawn starts, trying to tap one of his buddies to get their attention.

 When they don’t turn, Shawn glances back up and spots her heading towards the food table. “Fuck it,” Shawn mutters to himself and he steps away from the group and makes a straight line for her. 

Here, as he closing in, Shawn takes in the bright pink, the way it accentuates her hips. And he follows the lines up to notice a soft green top, well fitted around her waist with white accents in the design. He thinks the pearls are maybe meant to mimic those accents. Closer than he’s ever been, Shawn starts to worry: what exactly is he going to say? How does it actually grab her attention? She seemed to be a woman happy to engage almost anyone, but he didn’t want to make a bland first impression. 

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t. He’d actually die if somehow all he did was just say ‘Hi’ or give her a compliment on her attire--it would all be bland. And as her skin dazzles even in the terrible lighting, he knows she is not a woman of anything bland. 

His boots click against the tile and the sound causes her to look up to and to her right, directly up at Shawn. Her smile is brick. Her glossed lips pulling back into a smile and somehow, even the white of her teeth against her brown skin, causes his heart to flutter. “Hi,” she says softly. 

“Hi,” Shawn returns. Her smile makes a smile on his own face appear. He gives an awkward wave and her gaze is steady. The moment falls, hanging between them now and heading for the tile floors of the hall. Shawn clears his throat. “Would you recommend anything?”

She laughs. “Have you been spying on the amount of laps I’ve taken around the room just to get back to this table?”

“No, no,” Shawn rushes out. “It’s my first time here. You looked--well, I don’t know. God, I’m totally fucking this whole thing up. I’m so sorry.”

Her laughter twinkles out again and she steps forward, hand resting gently on Shawn’s forearm, the one holding the champagne flute still. “I am only kidding. But if you are hungry, please go for the blueberry cupcakes. They are absolutely to die for. And oh! If you want something hardy, skip the cucumber finger sandwiches. There are some tapas that are utterly mouth watering. Are you allergic to seafood by chance? They are crab and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Shawn knows he should be paying attention to the words, and he is, but only partially. Her eyes drip with so much genuine concern and she’s closer now, a few inches away that he can smell her perfume. It’s a little heavy--like it might be a sandalwood base--but the top notes are vanilla, and warm. Everything about her is inviting him in. 

“No,” Shawn finally replies. “I’m not allergic.”

“Oh good,” her hand taps his forearm. She carries on, pointing over the table. “There are some really great meatballs too. And I think those are lemon bars. I’ve yet to try them yet, but they are next on my plate.” She laughs and holds her current arrangement out for Shawn to see. 

But all he’s focusing in on is the manicured nails, a soft neutral color with white, green, and pink designs. One her ring fingernail a couple small pearls sit. Shawn laughs, too, at the plate and finds himself sliding in closer to catch all her quips about the food she has tried. At some point, he’s not sure when, he swaps hands for the flute and his left arm snakes around her waist. She doesn’t waver, just sinks back into him, her back resting ever so gently into his bicep. 

“Oh goodness, I’m probably talking your ear off about all this food. Do tell me if you try something new if it’s any good. I know it’s poor taste, but I judge events on the food they serve,” she whispers. 

His gives another tuft of laughter, softer now than before as he watches one earring sway just a little. “I don’t think anyone would be upset by that. Least of all me. How are you making tonight? What’s your judgment?”

“So far, the food’s been pretty good. So I don’t think I’m too harsh a critic. What about you? How’s your night been?” She asks the question and does a turn, one leg resting into the table. Her waist has left the cradle of Shawn’s arm, but she stays in close, as if the two of them were sharing secrets. 

Maybe they are. 

She watches now, as her gaze remains on him, even though she does reach down for the supposed lemon bar. Shawn casts his gaze back up to her face. “Better now that I’ve managed to snag a moment with you.”

“Me?” she questions. “You cannot tell me in a room full of people like this, you have been waiting for me.”

“But I have. I saw you on the red carpet and I so desperately wanted to talk to you. Then I lost you--hazard of the job when you have to interview.”

“Oh,” she says, gaze finally casting down for the first time since she’s started to talk to him. 

“Please forgive me, if I crossed a line.”

“No, you didn’t.” She says it softly, finally looking back up to Shawn. “I was sure that I was just making things up. When I noticed you staring, I was sure it was just all in my head.”

Shawn shakes his head no. “Why would you think it’s all in your head?”

“You are you, Shawn. The Shawn Mendes, but no extra e, because you are not Megan Thee Stallion.” They both snicker. “But I always assume that people are interested in others.”

“You shouldn’t think that about yourself. You’re stunning. Do you see anyone else here in pink and green?” Shawn waves a hand to the crowd, the sea of folks around them. “And I’m sure if any of them tried, they’d fail to wear it as beautifully as you do.”

For the first time tonight, Shawn sees her speechless. She inhales sharply and tries to cover it by clearing her throat. But he caught it. He caught the way her chest lifted beneath the bodice of the green top and held in that position for a second too long. As if all her breath had somehow gotten caught. 

“Thank you.” It’s all she says for a moment, maybe two. Their gazes are locked and the room’s smaller now. It doesn’t matter where they are. It doesn’t matter who is around. All that matters is the other. 

“Would you spend the night with me?” It’s forward sounding Shawn knows. So he continues on, “I mean, here, of course. I don’t think I can go through the rest of the night without updates on if this whole thing is even worth it in the future if the food’s not good. And I’d like to chat more.”

“Chat?” she snickers. 

“You’re easy to talk to,” Shawn counters. So fucking easy to talk to, he thinks. “Like I’m sure if I asked, you’d tell me your most embarrassing story as a kid. Or if I wanted to know why pink and green, you’d answer that too.”

“For my mother,” she returns. “The pink and green is for my mother.”

“See.”

“I’d ask why black, but I fear the answer,” she jokes. “Either it’s some deeply philosophical choice or your stylist recommended it.”

“Hey, alright! My stylist is a great woman. I think I’m just…worried. But that’s neither here nor there.”

“Worried about what?”

It’s the right question and Shawn exhales deeply. He was right. She did pay attention. She did see and though, Shawn didn’t want her too, she had. “I’ve had a hard time coming into my own, I guess. So many speculate about things that I wish they wouldn’t. Black just feels more masculine.”

She nods, stepping just a hair closer. “So no Shawn Mendes in a pink suit anytime soon?”

“Only if you wear green next to me.”

She laughs, falling into Shawn just a little. Both melt into the tender touch. Shawns laughter gets interrupted by his own choked inhale at how her nails trail over my stomach lightly. “I think, should it need to be arranged, it can be.”

“I love the sound of that.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Me again, requesting for Shawn, again. LOL You invited me to request another if I wanted to, but it’s okay if you have other requests you’d rather complete or skip to or if you just don’t want to write for Shawn again. I don’t mean to be greedy. 😋 I simply appreciate the consideration!

So… You write really good smut. 🤤 There are rumors that Shawn spent some time with a “gorgeous brunette” at a Met Gala after (or after-after) party. A few kisses, and he asked her back to his hotel. She declined (props to her; I wouldn’t be able to say no). So, my request is that the reader is that girl, but in this instance she doesn’t say no. Up to you if you want to give them the sort of connection that makes him want to keep seeing her after they hook up or if it’s purely physical and he just wants to get off (keeping it a one night stand).

If I invite you to request more, you never have to apologize!

I hope this does justice to your vision.

Written for Graduation Blurb Weekend. Going until May 8th. 

Female Reader Insert. 

CW: 18+ Content (Smut). Do not interact with this if you are underage, thank you.

From Across the Bar

___________

Shawn loved the suit--it was more comfortable with the turtleneck than with a normal dress shirts. The suit felt like armor as he strutted up the red carpet. The Met Gala was dazzling. It always is, but the real fun is in the after parties. The real fun is always after the main event. But as the night progresses on Shawn peels out some of the armor off to dance and drink his night away. The confidence doesn’t shed though it does transform. 

With drink in hand, Shawn laughs with his friends and looks up towards the bar. There she is--hair tumbling down her shoulders and she laughs. Or Shawn assumes so because of the way her head falls back and the way her smile is taking up her whole face. “Holy shit,” Shawn says. 

“What?” There’s a small moment of silence and then a whistle cuts evn over the rattle of the bass and thump of the drum. “She’s…fuck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shawn agrees. He straightens up from his slouch against the railing. He smooths his hands over his pants for a moment to remove the condensation from this drink and to work up his nerve. She’s just a person right? Just a person. But the cut and cinch of her dress makes his heart race a little. “I look alright, yeah?”

The question’s to no one in particular but his group of friends are eager to respond with hype. Shawn nods, fist bumping a few friends before leaving his drink behind. He winds through the crowd, keeping his eyes trained on her. In passing a few, he gives a few people some glances and smiles. 

The distance gets shorter and shorter and almost like she knows, she looks up. Shawn smiles when her gaze lands on him and she returns it. He keeps eye contact even through the last two feet of the crowd. “Hey,” Shawn starts. 

“Hi,” she returns. “Enjoying the night?”

Shawn nods. “It’s a great night so far. What about you?”

“So far, I’ve been having a blast.”

“Can I make the night even better?” It’s forward. Shawn knows that. But he’s not quite in the business of hiding the things that he wants anymore. It had never served him to hide or run away from the pieces of himself and tonight would be no exception. 

“How so?” she challenges. 

“Spend the night with me and you’ll find out.”

She slides in a little closer to him. Shawn catches a hint of her perfume. “Is that so?”

“I’m a man of my word,” Shawn returns. “So what do you say?”

She laughs a little, hair falling off from her shoulder. Shawn watches her exposed throat, the way it shines somehow in the light. He knows it’s not really possible. It’s not really a thing that’s happening, but the lights strobe around them and the alcohol is sliding through his veins. He doesn’t care if it’s just an illusion. He wants her. Plain and simple. He wants her. 

“I say, challenge is on. Show a girl like me a great time.”

Shawn grins. “What are you drinking? What’s your poison of choice?”

“Manhattan,” she returns. 

Shawn flags down the bartender and orders a fresh drink for her. As they wait, he moves from the corner of the bar to beside her. Her touches are soft, almost as if she’s enticing him. The drink settles down onto the counter with a soft thud. 

With drink in hand the two slowly migrate from the bar to the dancefloor. But even the dancefloor feels much too crowded though they do dance to the songs as they come overhead. Over their glasses, they smile at each other. “So what brings you here?” Shawn asks. 

“Oh, just life, I guess. Sort of weird how things wind up to be honest,” she answers. 

Shawn nods, another sip of his drink slipping down the back of his throat. “Yeah life can get weird sometimes. I-Okay, don’t like behead me for this,” Shawn starts with a laugh, “but I felt it necessary to tell you that you’re absolutely gorgeous.” 

She laughs. “I don’t think I’d behead you for that. No. But what about you? What brings you here?”

Shawn tries to hold down the surprise, but he’s sure his face is slightly betraying him. “Oh, me, here, just…looking for a good time.”

Her laughter twinkles a little. “So, you just follow life where it takes you, yeah?”

“Sometimes, it’s the best option.” They shuffled closer over the short few moments since their departure from the dancefloor. But Shawn’s nose is invaded yet again by her perfume. It’s making his head spin in the best way possible. 

“And where is life taking you now?” she asks, looking up from her lashes. “Tell me what or where is next.”

“You,” Shawn breathes. He starts forward, head ducking down. “If that’s okay?”

She stretches up and captures his lips into a kiss. He melts a little into the kiss and gently holds onto her waist. He’s been forward most of the night, but this, this is something that needs to be light and sweet, and she has to want it too. It won’t happen at all if she doesn’t want it. 

But she pushes up, holds the cotton of his t-shirt in her fist and Shawn’s insides are melting. They pull away with giggles and Shawn keeps his hold on her waist as she ducks into his chest. 

The entire night is spent wrapped up in each other. There are more kisses, each one soft but followed with giggles. As the night starts to wind down, Shawn, one arm around her waist, leans into her, her shoulders pressing just a little into the wall behind them. “Do you want to come back with me? To my room? We can continue the night there.”

The question hangs for a moment, then two. She looks over his face, the soft brown eyes, the arch of his brows. “I’d like that,” she whispers against his lips. “I’d like that very much.”

In the car, the electricity sizzles between the two of them. Though there have been touches and kisses throughout the entire night, the car ride is marked by a distinct stillness. Shawn slides across the seat. “Afraid to touch me now?” He laughs as he says it, but it’s gentle.  

She shakes her head. “No, it’s--it’s just a thing. Let’s make it a game. Do you like games?” she asks. 

Shawn nods, arms slinging around her shoulders. “I like games.”

“I just want to watch you. And you can watch me.”

“So we’re just watching?”

She nods. “Just for now. I want to know you, mentally map you out.”

Shawn nods, bringing his arm back to his side. “And what’s the goal? What is little game meant to do?”

She stretches up, her lips are practically ghosting the shell of his ear and Shawn’s spine is tingling. “It makes the other that much more enticing.”

It’s a silly game, really, he knows just to watch. But he nods, gives his agreement and then scoots away. “You’re dangerous,” he laughs. 

She grins in return. “So are you.”  

She takes in the cut of his jaw, the way one curl always seems to fall right against his forehead and it almost hides one eye, but never quite makes it. He seems content in his seat, eyes flickering up and down her body. It’s a methodical gaze. He starts up the top of her head, traveling down her face, over her nose and lips, back up for a moment to stare into the depths of her irises and then continues on down to her neck and collarbone. He trails down and down over the swell of her breast. The car takes a bit of a rough bump and he watches them bounce for a moment. 

Shawn bites his bottom lip. This game is going to kill him. “Did you like that?” she asks. 

“What do I get if I answer honestly?” Shawn returns. 

She laughs, leaning back into the seat. “Maybe I’ll make all your dreams come true. But only if you answer honestly.”

The laughter falls from Shawn in bursts and he drops his head before he can think to answer. But he nods, and lifts his head in the end. No matter how embarrassing it is, he answers. “Yeah, I did like that.”

Her gaze falls from his face, down his chest. Shawn dies with one leg crossed over the other. “Hiding something?” she laughs. But her gaze never lifts from his crotch. 

It should be embarrassing. Shawn is even a smidge embarrassed by the boldness but he slowly uncrosses his legs. The dress pants are tight, but the bulge is still apparent. He’d normally try and hide this, readjust himself but the way she gazes, like it’s taking all her strength to stay seated, to stay just as an observer makes Shawn’s stomach tense. 

So he gives her a show. He scoots down even further into the seat, legs falling further apart. He gives her everything she could want, even if it’s just something to look at in the backseat of a car. 

The car stops and the two of them pile out quickly, heads ducked and in the elevator they keep a few inches of distance. Enough to still be together, but far enough apart to keep the tension from the car, to keep each other's stomachs lit with a fire. 

The moment the door clicks shuts Shawn exhales. Is it all really going to happen? Her hands slide around his waist. “Don’t tell me you forgot about me,” she whispers. 

Shawn turns in her hold, arms winding around her waist. “No, I could never.”

The kisses are slow at first, trying to keep a pace that allows each of them to slowly melt into the other. But one hand goes under the shirt; one hand goes for a breast and the dam breaks. Every ounce of any self control melts into the carpet beneath their feet. 

His shirt goes, the zipper of her dress peels down. Hands are caressing skin and the pants and moans of them bounce around the room. She wishes that every time Shawn grunts she could burn it into her skin, carrying the sound and touch of him everywhere. 

“God,” he breathes, slowly peeling her out the dress. “Divine,” he whispers into the swell of her breasts. Her body, in his hands, feels like heaven. It’s the only place he wants to be. He kisses down her sternum, over her stomach. She gasps above him and he thinks this here is no better church, no better stage, no better moment to be a part of, or bear witness too. 

Her nails are digging into his shoulders. He loves it, loves the way she sighs and pants. When he walks her to the bed, she falls easily. She lets herself go and the mattress captures her. Shawn, sans shirt, watches the exhales causing her chest to rise and fall deeply. 

The way he stands, at the foot of the bed between her legs, makes him seems somehow of another world. Though he pants, his grin is bright and his gaze though lustful holds her with such tenders. Her arousal punches her in the stomach. She sits up, kissing over his abdomen. Her nails trail lightly over his hips. Shawn shudders at the touch. 

She pulls the belt free from the loops of his pants. It falls heavily, but neither one breaks their concentration from the other. As Shawn goes to crawl up the bed, she crawls back. The sheets hold her gently but she holds onto Shawn tightly, letting him kiss eagerly over her neck. He goes down again, further and further down until his mouth connects with her core. 

Time loses its grip on reality. She is gone only ever wanting to feel or needing to feel the swipe of Shawn’s tongue, the grip of his fingers. She says his name like a prayer. Though, the things they’re doing is not going to save her soul. But she doesn’t care. The combination of his tongue and fingers working in and over her makes it impossible to be coherent. She wants to tell him that she could never want more, but she will happily take everything he wants to give to her. 

In the haze, in the moans, and the kisses, she finds herself on top. Shawn, head thrown back into the pillow, holds her hips in his hands. Her set rhythm set has him seeing stars. Her kisses against his skin are the tiniest fires. He hopes they engulf him. He prays for them to consume every inch of his flesh. Even though arousal, the sweat of their work, and the weight of their attraction is already blistering his skin, he wants more and only ever more. 

The crescendo crashes. His hips seizing, her walls clenching around him. And it is only ever a descent further and further down from their high. But the sheets collect every piece of them and Shawn traces her jaw with the tips of his fingers. She grins, stretching up for a moment to capture his lips. “You are a man of your word.”

“Told you I was.”

They only spend a few moments together, the arousal now fading into a tiredness that Shawn almost fully embraces. But the bed dips. He blinks to watch her slipping out of the sheets. “Hey, you can stay. In the morning, I can see you off.”

The bathroom door stays open and the light cuts through dimness. “It’s okay, really.”

“You sure?”

She pokes her head around the corner, smile dazzling. “Is this your way of asking me to stay?”

“If you stay, I can promise you an even better time,” he laughs. 

She gives a wiggle to her brow and Shawn’s laughter erupts from deep within his gut. “Oh multiple rounds? Well, maybe I’ll have to spend the night with you rockstar.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Getting Work Right

Office Romance + (Pinch of) Slow Burn + Luke

For @5-secondsofcolor

Written for Graduation Blurb Weekend. Going until May 8th. 

Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

__________________

The screen in front of your eyes feels like it’s taunting you. You’ve been staring at this report for the last half hour. You needed to somehow get together the performance reports to show your boss and his superiors the new changes to the machines and testing strategies are working, but somehow all the cursor seems to be doing is blinking…and blinking….and blinking. “For fuck sake.”

A soft chuckle comes from your right and you look over. The new hire, Luke, grins and looks up at you. “Everything okay over there?”

“I-I am alive,” you return. 

“Do you need some help?” he offers. 

“I need a new job,” you laugh. “It’s just there’s reports everywhere. I like have forgotten where half this shit is.”

Luke scoots behind from his desk a little. “I think I was CC’d on those biweekly reports. I can print them down if it’ll help. Maybe you just need a break from the screen for a bit. Which reports do you need?”

“The last four months. From when the new changes were implemented.”

Luke nods, and scoots back to his desk. You watch him for a moment longer. His screen fills with his emails. You know you’re staring, trying to trace the angle and cut of his jaw. He looks studious, sitting up in the office chair and scrolling. He’d been added on the team about six months ago and initially, the whole office was fawning over him. You’d seen it--his icy blue eyes, the way he squealed out his laughter, the broad muscles and the expanse of his shoulders.

You weren’t his direct supervisor, but you were one of the people that oversaw his training. He’s a quick learner, and liked getting pretty consistent feedback. There was something about that line of trainer and trainee that you really hadn’t wanted to cross. But now, as Luke scrolls through hundreds of emails possibly just to print down eight measly reports makes you question that divisive line. 

“It might take me a minute. But thankfully, they’re all titled the same thing. So I just need to separate out duplicates,” Luke mutters. 

You don’t know if it’s mostly for him or for you. “Don’t worry about it if it’s too much of a hassle. I probably just need a coffee for this midafternoon slump and I can get through it.”

“Oh no, it’s not too much of a hassle. I’m currently hiding from other things in my inbox. Help me be irresponsibly responsible.”

The two of you share a moment’s laughter. Luke taps at his keys and then resumes scrolling. “I have this months and last month’s printing. It might take me a minute or two longer on the other two.”

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Light. Admittedly, way too light,” Luke laughs. “Or I just take it black. Depends on the day really.”

“What kind of day is it today?”

“Black coffee kind of day, I think,” he returns, watching you stand from your desk. 

“I’ll return soon. Coffee and reports and all.”

He nods and for two or three moments too long, he watches you walk down towards the kitchen, which he knows you have to pass the printer. A small sigh escapes him. He wanted to ask you out. You also smiled so brightly at him. He liked catching up about his weekend activities with you and listening to your adventures too. Both of you like music and Luke was constantly trying to find new bands and artists to recommend to you. It made his heart swell when you’d report back that you’d listened to the artist and enjoyed them. He loved when you’d swap artist too. 

But it was slow. The two of you weren’t even sure if you were it was even a fire to dance around. You wanted to make Luke laugh, just to hear him laugh and the way he throws his head back when something really tickles him. But he was your coworker and you weren’t even sure if that was something the office would allow. So you stick to this, poorly flirting about coffee orders and music recommendations. 

The machine stops hissing, and the drips start to fall down into the glass container. You watch them fall drip by drip until the pot is full. You pour two mugs full. You stop by the printers, and grab the reports--six of the eight--and tuck them up under your arm before resuming carrying the drinks. The distance isn’t long, but you try not to stare at the way he looks at his desk and the way you know he’s doing more work that needs to be to help you. 

You settle down the mug for his cup. “One black coffee for my knight in paper armor,” you tease. The realization hits you and you quickly settle into your desk chair. Where in the fuck did that come from?

Luke laughs from next to you. “Thank you my liege. I’m still searching for the last two. They’re here. Just buried. I think that was like the month that I started being on my own, so things sort of exploded then.”

“No worries. I really appreciate you searching for it.” You want to say again that he really doesn’t need to waste the time, but he seems so adamant about it. He looks so cute, chewing his bottom lip in concentration. 

You know you’re staring when Luke turns his head a little. “Is-is there something?”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry.” You turn quickly back to your desk. When he prints down the last two reports, you give him a quick thanks and run to the printer. 

______________

The weeks speed by, the end of the year is also a massive push to get things sorted before Christmas break. Though, it never really felt like a break as the emails still trickled in from other clients and the to-do list never really shrunk, it only got pushed to the new year. Luke places a mug down onto your desk, his jacket still billowing behind him. 

“Oh, thank you.” It falls out in a whisper as you watch him settle down into the chair next to you. 

“How long have you been here?” The sun’s just starting to peek in through the curtains. 

You rub your eyes. “Way too long. I don’t think I really slept much because of this meeting with the executives. They’re impressed by the new training changes and such. But now they want SOPs before the new year once we hire again.”

“But how long have you been here?” Luke asks again. He doesn’t like the look of the bags forming of your eyes and the way your shoulders slump. 

“Uh, I left at five like usual. Got dinner and tried to sleep. Woke up at like 4:30 and just figured I’d come in.”

“It’s barely 8 now. And what--you’re just going to do a twelve hour shift? We’re barely paid for our overtime.”

“I’ll have the SOP’s for our department finished.” You shrug. 

 “What time did you get in?”

“5:20? I don’t really know. I saw the sun rise.” You turn back to your desk. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Luke watches you for a moment, your fingers taping over your keys. “Go home.”

“What? I can’t. I have--”

“You need sleep. At least take a nap or something. We still have the rest of the week for SOPs.”

“I’m tasked with editing two other departments. I need to get them done by today.”

“I can edit them,” Luke offers. “Something. You’re drowning over here.’

“I’ll be okay.” The first sip of the coffee slips down and you almost don’t taste it. It’s your second cup of the morning. It won’t be your last cup today so you pace yourself. 

Luke watches as you continue on, taking screenshots, adding them to the document. He watches you format the text to wrap around the photos. You seem to be speeding through it and Luke’s not sure how you manage it. He has to leave for a meeting but before he does, he drops a hand to your shoulder. “Take it easy while I’m gone.”

You nod at the comment, still buried into your screen. “I’ll try to.” But even as you say it, you know that you won’t be slowing down. You won’t be taking it easy. You can’t. The cursor on the screen starts to blur. Your eyes burn. You know you should probably call it quits. 

Luke returns, watching you blinking rapidly at the screen. He sighs, knowing he was supposed to work on transcribing those notes and getting them sent out ot the team. But his heart can’t bear watching you working yourself so hard. 

“Seriously. I said take it easy,” he says softly in jest, but also in seriousness. 

“No, I’m okay. I promise.”

“Yeah right,” he scoffs, setting his legal pad down. “C’mon.” He holds out his hands for yours. You shake your head, keeping your strained eyes trained on the screen. Luke sighs. “Save the document.”

You follow that direction, knowing that you should save it, since it’s been a moment. Once Luke sees the save taken, he pulls your chair away from the desk. “You’re going to take a nap.”

“Wait no--I need, the SOPs.” You reach for the desk, but Luke’s faster. He gets the chair completely out from the desk and spins the chair around. 

“The SOPs aren’t going anywhere. But you need rest. You’ve been here six hours. You need nap and some lunch and then you come back to this fresh. You’re lucky I’m not sending you home.”

“Hey,” you return, popping up from the seat. “You’re not my direct supervisor.”

“Yeah, but I care about you! So, go nap. Or something. You’ve saved your work. You’ve been here so long. Please take care of yourself.”

You fold your arms. “I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

“You’re just saying that so you leave me alone. But no, I will march you done to the lounge myself.”

“People are going to be in there. Lounging, like they should be able to do.”

Luke sighs. You’re right. But he’s also worried. The two of you stare each other down. You try not to take in just how impossibly long his lashes are, and the way his chest expands as he breathes in deeply. “You need rest.”

“I need to finish SOPs.”

Luke walks around the chair. “The SOPs aren’t going to run away.” Your face is worn down. “Please. Just an hour and a half. For me.”

He says it softly. You hate the way he looks so scared and worried. “Fine.”

“I’ll be sure to wake you.” 

You nod, one hand resting on his forearms. He watches you head down the hallways and out of the office space. His arm holds the ghost of the heat of you. Luke wants to hate it, hate the way his gut flips. But he holds the feeling, holds the memory of your touch and his stomach fluttering as close as he can while you’re gone. Luke watches over your desk. It holds the ghost of you. 

As his timer goes off, he pulls away from the desk. In the lounge, Luke finds it dark. Normally, there are plenty of people to be leaning, making coffee, chatting. But it is dark and quiet. You’re curled up on the corner of the couch. Your face is clear of worry lines. You look so at peace with your lips slightly agape. Luke almost feels like he can’t interrupt that. But he knows if he lets you sleep any longer, you’ll throw a fit. 

Luke gently shakes your shoulders as he settles into the squat. “Hey, it’s been an hour and a half,” he says softly. 

You turn your head. “Hmm, five more minutes.”

He laughs, watching you blink open your heads. “I mean, I’m willing to give it to you.” 

“SOPs--fuck!” And like a bolt of lightning,you sit up straight. 

“Hey, they’re still waiting on you. How do you feel after some rest?” His hands hover, wanting to trace the line of your jaw but knowing he can’t. 

“A little bit better,” you nod. You notice how close the two of you are. You can see every blink Luke takes. The way his lips turn up slightly into a tiny smile. You don’t want it to be any different. The moment of closeness lingers. The two of you watching the other, inhales becoming exhales and the two of you can’t pull away. Not at first. But you can hear someone’s heels clicking and you slide down the couch to stand up. 

“Better get back,” you start, throwing your thumb over your shoulder. 

Luke nods, standing up and smoothing his hands over his dress pants. “Yeah, yeah, we should.”

________________

The store feels way too crowded. You need the wrapping paper and a few house toiletries, but the thing you don’t need is the crowd. You curse yourself for not doing this sooner, but work got in the way. The wheel of your cart squeaks a little as you wind down the aisle. Someone cuts through the main aisle that you’re trying to get into and you have to pull back. “Sorry,” you call out and the figure turns. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you!”

“Luke?”

“Hey, hey! How are you?”

“I’m good. Just Christmas shopping, really. I decided to wait until the last minute. So you know, some repercussions,” you laugh. “What about you?”

“Same. I’m like so bad at remembering these sorts of things.” 

“Are you going home for the holidays?” you ask. 

“Uh, they’re coming to my place, actually. What about you?” Luke asks. 

“I’m going to my parent’s place for a few days.”

He nods. “When are you headed out?” 

“Two days. I’m normally so good about these things. But work’s been…well, you know!” you laugh. The two of you continue to talk, you mentioning that one of Luke’s favorite bands are going to be coming into town the week after New Year’s. 

Luke, who had been aware of the upcoming tour, blinks in surprise. “Uh, yeah, I was getting tickets actually. How did you know?”

You shrug, trying to hide the embarrassment. “I--I know they’re your favorite, so I kept tabs.”

“That’s really sweet,” Luke says. The air stills for a moment. Luke’s at the midpoint of your basket and you’re at the handles. He’s watching the way you slowly blink at his words. He can’t help it anymore. “Do you want to go to the concert with me?”

“What?” you ask. “Are you sure?”

Luke nods. “I’ve--” he clears his throat. Is he really going to confess? He’d read the office rules. It wouldn’t be against the rules. But he still. He couldn’t get a read. Maybe this would be the quickest way. 

Your heart races but you nod. “Yeah, I’d love to. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Beyond sure,” he exhales. 

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

H’s Graduation Celebration Blurb Weekend Masterlist

Dog Park Beauties

Michael is in love with his best friend. He’s never been able to make a move with you, unsure if your electricity is a sign of your own attraction or just a natural disposition. A small mishap, though, clears everything up. Female Reader Insert. 

Muses

Calum and you are both musicians you have been dating a while. A normal day of errands can still spark inspiration when you’re in love as much as these two. Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

Red Carpet Romance

Shawn spots her in the crowd, almost like she is a magnet made for him. And though, it is sudden, Shawn can’t help the way he feels. Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

Getting Work Right

Luke’s new to the office, but you’re the bright spot. He’s not sure if you’ll bite. Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

From Across the Bar

Shawn spots her across the bar and knows he’s got to have her. He just hopes she plays along. Female Reader Insert. CW: 18+ Content (Smut_

Haircut Blues

You get a haircut that you’re unsure about. But Calum is very sure about how good you look. Latinx!Gender Neutral Reader Insert. CW: 18+ Content (Smut Adjacent) 

Down We Fall

Michael and you have an agreement--it’s just you two, sometimes hanging out, but a lot more taking each other in the nights, and middle of the afternoons. That is until twice too many times you get spotted by fans. Gender Neutral Reader Insert. CW: 18+ Content (Smut)

Cleaning Day

Shawn knows all your rituals--cleaning and otherways. And there’s on better way to spend the weekend cleaning and flirting with your significant other. Female Reader Insert. CW: 18+ Content (Smut Adjacent)

Mirage

Being in a relationship in Calum feels like being in a relationship with the essense of someone, the potential of them, but never actually them. What are you to do when you realize things are just crumbling? Based on: “Better Version” by Sabrina Claudio. Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

Happenstance 

Shawn and you cross paths once. Then twice--and it almost feels like it’s going to be a missed opportunities until you finally cross paths one third and final time. Gender Neutral Reader Inserts