ok but imagine shawn braiding your hair when u don’t feel good 😭
Talk about timing on this - may be slightly self serving as I’m currently battling some awful nasty that’s taking residence in my system.
What you thought started out as just being overly tired and a scratchy throat from talking too much in too many meetings, became a full-blown late winter mess despite all your efforts to keep the crud at bay. You hole yourself up in the guest room, not wanting to spread this more than possible. You could work from home, take sick days if you had to. The last thing you want is to give any of this to your man. However, he has other plans. All Shawn wants to do is take care of you, the way you take care of him when he’s sick. The difference is, you can deal with the fallout if you get sick. He has obligations that require him to not be.
Please let me come in. I know how you get when you’re feeling shitty, baby. Just for a few minutes to cuddle you. I’ll wear one of those stupid face masks you bought the last time you were sick if it would make you feel better, or make you laugh. Combo of both? ;) Maybe I can find those scrubs I wore that one Halloween too…
“This boy I swear,” you roll your eyes and say out loud to the empty room you’re in.
I should send you to your parents for the rest of the week. You’ve got London in like what, 10 days? You cannot be ill for that. Andrew will kill me. Then the label people. Then Andrew again. Maybe the studio folks too. Don’t make me text your Mom.
You hear him laugh from down the hall.
You realize I can sick her on you too you know, she’d be the first one telling you to let me take care of you. And they wouldn’t kill you, I wouldn’t allow that to happen you know that. Kind of love you too much <3
“This mush I swear,” you mutter under your breath.
He knocks at the door, “Baby, I’m coming in.”
“I don’t wanna get you sick,” you whine, burying yourself further down in the stolen sweatshirt of his. “Go ‘way.”
“Come on sweetheart,” he says softly, lifting you up into his arms. “Shower’s running nice and warm, I’ve got the shower bomb set out, the eucalyptus wash and a new one of those sea sponges you only like to use when you’re sick. New pajamas, some of my stuff even that I know you’ll want to cozy down in. While you’re in there I’ll make some of that citrus defender tea with extra honey and lemon. Dig out the NyQuil. Change the sheets, even spray everything down with that new less toxic smelling Lysol you ordered off Amazon.”
“I can’t get you sick, you should go…” you begin before he cuts you off.
“None of that bullshit,” he replies, kissing your forehead. “You’d do this for me without a second thought, and you have, so many times. In sickness and in health remember? Oh yeah, you want us to have non-traditional vows, but same still applies, ok? Also, I’m taking your temp before you get in that water. Your forehead feels warmer than normal.”
You grumble as he places you down on the counter before rooting around for the thermometer. Once he’s found it, along with the rubbing alcohol and a cotton round, he sticks it in your ear while making funny faces at you waiting for the timer to beep off. You try your best to pout and frown at him but after one ridiculous face you didn’t expect, you can’t help but chuckle.
“There’s my girl,” he replies, kissing your forehead again as the thermometer chimes. “100.2, so a little one since I know you always run a little cooler than normal. NyQuil will help.”
He slides you off the counter and despite you trying to fight it, he pulls you into his chest. “I just want to help you feel better, that’s all, ok? Take your time in the shower, turn down the temp if it gets to be too warm and you start to feel foggy. I’ll leave the door open, so yell for me if you need.”
You nod against his sternum before pulling back. “‘M sorry I’m a cranky bitch when I’m sick,” you sigh.
“I’m probably twenty-eight times worse,” he quips, nudging you towards the shower.
After a good steam, soak and scrub, you’re starting to feel a bit more human, at least in the fact you can somewhat breathe better than you were before. Changing into the baseball tee and pajama pants he left you, you comb your hair out before spraying some product in and wrapping it up in a towel. He’s left you a purple post-it stuck to the bathroom mirror with a scribbled stick figures hugging, a smiley face and a heart. You can’t help but smile as you pull it down from the glass and slide it into the drawer with your makeup bag for safe keeping.
You wander back into the guest room where you find him in the last steps of remaking the bed. There’s a massive mug of steaming tea, a new box of tissues and a fresh bottle of water on the side table along with what looks to be a small, shallow bowl with pills and vitamins. At the foot of the bed is the soft cable-knit grey sweater he was wearing before, knowing you’d probably want to steal it from him.
“Hey, there she is. Color’s better. How are you feeling?” he asks, rounding to the doorway where you’re hovering.
“A step up from garbage maybe?” you reply, flopping cross-legged onto the bed.
“Tea, NyQuil, the plethora of vitamins, Emergen-C and herbal things you like to take when you’re not feeling you. Take all those, then let’s get you out of this towel and tucked in, ok?” he says, handing you the mug and the little bowl before sliding behind you on the bed.
Once you’ve drained a good deal of the tea and put the mug back down, he’s winding your hair our of the towel and tossing it around his shoulders.
“What are you up to there, Shawn?” you question, his hands winding through your damp strands.
“Lemme braid this for you?” he responds, massaging against the base of your skull lightly with his thumbs. “Your crazy pineapple bun is going to pull too much if your sinuses are driving you crazy, and I know you you’re still going to want it out of your face. Mum taught me one summer when Aaliyah was little, since she wouldn’t stop bouncing around me wanting to play hair salon or Barbies or Barbie hair salon maybe. But whatever, I still learned how. Nothing fancy, nothing more than a basic braid.”
You nod, sliding the hair tie off your wrist and placing it on his knee behind you. He was careful, combing out pieces with his fingers to make sure there weren’t any tangles before separating them into three sections. He takes his time, not pulling too hard but making sure there’s enough tension to keep the braid together. He hums something, it sounds familiar enough, but you can’t place it. It’s soothing, the combination of his hands in your hair and the warm reverb of his voice. Your eyes start to slip closed.
“Think this should do it,” he murmurs as he twists the end up with the black tie. “Come on pretty girl, time to get you settled in. Bet that NyQuil is just about to knock you out.”He shifts you so he can get you tucked under the fresh sheets. “There we go, snug as a bug in a rug. You just sleep, ok? Thank you for letting me help, sweetheart. I love you. I just want to make sure you’re taken care of. I don’t like not being able to help you.”
“No sleeping here for you. Too risky. Despite cuddles being good medicine. Go disinfect yourself,” you whisper, half asleep. “And thank you for being here, taking care of my cranky self. I love you too, Shawn. Lots and lots.”
6. “of course I will, i’ll do anything for you” 7. “i like playing with your hair 13. “sorry I was late again, will this make up for it?”
So I’m doing two blurbs with these my dear - I hope you don’t mind! It’s grouping two prompts in one and the other as a stand alone.
Prompts: 6. “of course I will, I’ll do anything for you” AND 13. “sorry I was late again, will this make up for it?”
You know how he gets when he’s backed up against a deadline. You’ve learned quickly and carefully how to deal with his quirks and nuances when it comes to this. He’s past the point of locking himself in the studio in the condo, he’s past the point of chewing down on lollipops, which you’re grateful for because you’re not stepping on random sticky remnants or finding wrappers strewn about everywhere anymore. No, no now he’s gone full cranky pants; tired, moody and sullen. He’s taking to a studio somewhere randomly downtown for all hours of the day, and the night. He’s slipping into bed at stupid o’clock most mornings, almost close to the time your alarm was going off for the day. He’s moving into being late for things like calls with the team, lunch with his dad; all not like him whatsoever, but the stress is fully taking over. The track, a last-minute new addition and decision to drop ahead of the album as a teaser to new music to come, has been giving him utter fits. They want it, along with the whole first cut and concept of the album by the end of the month. He’s pushed back, but the label won’t budge.
Tonight, it’s another one of those nights. You haven’t heard from him since early this morning when he couldn’t find where his new journal was and that was the last from him. You came home to a hastily scribbled post-it note on the back of the door: Off to get this shit done. Back later – S
Which means you can take a pretty good bet on that he forgot about the dinner plans you made weeks ago, the reservations that took forever to get because you absolutely refused to be that person and name drop him. You should text him, but he’s a grown man. You know it’s in his phone, you’re just wondering if he’ll pay attention to it. Taking a deep breath and flicking your hand through your hair, you decide to say screw it and get ready anyway. The cute new sweater dress you bought deserves a twirl, even if it ends up being just you at dinner.
You look at your watch, dressed and ready to go, with no sign of him. You wrap yourself up in your long coat, you’re still not used to these Toronto winters, and head out. The maître d was kind, understanding that your plus one may be late, or may not be at all, giving you a lovely table tucked away near the fireplace. You refuse to spend the night on or glued to your phone, giving your attention to the wine list in front of you instead.
“Madame,” the waiter says, placing a lovely glass of what looks to be a jammy Petit Verdot in front of you. “Your date rang and requested we bring this to you as he’s been slightly delayed but wants to reassure you, he is joining you tonight.”
“Thank you,” you reply, swirling the deep berry liquid carefully in its glass.
It’s nearly 30 minutes and another glass of wine later, before he arrives. You can tell he’s been home before coming to you, freshly showered, curls a damp mess still and he’s in your favorite button down and vest of his. His eyes are less fogged, you can see that his shoulders aren’t locked up around his ears.
“Hi sweetheart,” he leans down to kiss you softly before sliding down into the chair across from you. “I know. I’m an ass and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was late. Late again. Nothing justifies how much of a mess I’ve been the last few weeks, and how I’ve been behaving, especially to you.”
You look at him carefully over the top of your wine glass as you take a small sip. He slips two small drawstring pouches out of his pocket and slides them across the table to you.
“Go ‘head,” he replies, waiting to watch your reaction.
The first pouch holds a thumb drive, but not one like you’d get at Staples or Target. This is heavy, stainless steel, etched with an intricate treble clef interwoven with leaves and vines on both sides. It looks exactly like the design you’ve talked to him about if you’d ever decide to get a tattoo. You quirk your eyebrow, twirling the drive between your fingers.
“You my dear, are the first and only one to have a complete or what I hope is complete for now, version of studio album number 4. Including thoughts on art, vibe and 16 tracks. Plus, the bonus single and a cover that I may have done to release at some point in promo, as a bit of a love letter to you, to us,” he explains, snagging your free hand to hold in his.
Your eyes grow wide, jaw dropping slightly and he nods. “No one is hearing this or getting their hands on the full thing before you do, baby. You’re my muse and she deserves to listen to this before anyone else does. Go head, open the other one.”
The other is a much lighter pouch, you carefully slide out a hand painted glass charm of the same treble clef. It’s small, delicate and exactly what you envisioned when you talked to him about it.
“Shawn,” you utter quietly. “It’s beautiful.”
“I know you’re back and forth on if you want one, but I figured, this way you’ve got it with you in some way always. It may or may not have helped inspire some of the art for this too,” he replies, stealing a sip from your wine glass.
You shift out of your seat to stand next to him, dusting your lips against his ever so carefully.
“I have one request though. Can you play this for me when we get back home? Not off the drive, just you first?” you ask. “After that I’ll listen to the production and the full version, but can I just have the you and your guitar in our bed singing to me version first?”
“Of course, I will. I’ll do anything for you.”
Prompt: 7. “I like playing with your hair
Shawn is so tactile in showing his feelings and his love for you. Holding your hand, an arm around your waist, kissing you, pulling you in for a hug. It’s always been a huge piece of his love language. What you didn’t realize until a few weeks into your relationship, is as much as he loves when you play with his curls, he absolutely loves running his fingers through yours.
“It’s so soft, like liquid silk,” he marvels one night, nudging your head into his lap as you cuddle on the couch. “And it always smells really good, like the gardens after it rains in the spring.”
He twirls strands around his fingers watching your hair slide through and around them before massaging at your scalp carefully. He’s got you practically purring.
“Like that, sweetheart?” he murmurs, drawing his fingers through in a soothing pattern.
“Mmmm,” you reply, nuzzling into his thigh. “Now I know why you like it so much. Feels good.”
He leans down to drop a kiss to the tip of your nose. “I like playing with your hair, I like making you feel good.”
hey for ur prompt thing I think I'm gonna do “stop being so dramatic.” with the friends/enemies to lovers trope!! my weakness smh. excited to see how this challenge turns out for everybody ♡
WOO, love this choice! and is it fair to assume that it’s for shawn? :)
