not putting in shy cause we're only putting in good people am i right

  • Luke: "Babe, are you ready?", you heard Luke's voice on the other side of your bedroom door. In response, you huffed loudly, throwing yourself on your bed. "Can I come in?", he asked. Not even waiting for your 'no', Luke opened the door, stepping into your room. "Well, this is quite a sight to see," he smirked. "Get out, Luke," you said sadly, covering your half naked body with a sheet. "Oh, c'mon (Y/N). I've seen you wearing less than just underwear," he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch your knee. "Really, I'm not in a good mood, Luke," you tried again, reaching away from his touch. "What happened?", he asked. "Nothing looks good on me. My body is disgusting," you sighed, burying your face on a pillow. "Woah," he said, "That's absolutely not true." "Yes it is," you argued, "I'm not a model, my clothes just look bad on me." "Well, I disagree with that," Luke stood up, walking to your wardrobe, "In fact, I think this dress suits you like nothing else." He held your favorite dress, the one he had give you for your birthday, throwing it over your body on the bed. "It makes me look fat," you mumbled. "No it doesn't," he took your hand and the dress, putting it into your own hand, "It makes you look beautiful, just like you are." You gave up, sliding the dress into your body. "Zip it up?", you asked him, standing in front of a mirror. Slowly, he zipped your dress, starting to kiss you from your back to your neck. "You're beautiful," he whispered in your ear, chin on your shoulder and eyes on your reflection on the mirror, "Never forget that."
  • Ashton: "You know what? We're not going out anymore," you angrily said, putting all of your make up back on it's bag. "What? Why?", Ashton asked, walking into the bathroom. "'Cause I'm too tired for that," you lied. "(Y/N), just a second ago you told me how you weren't tired at all, what's gotten into you?". "Nothing, I just don't want to go out anymore," you lied again. "(Y/N)," he sternly said, like a father does do his child. "What?", you faked confusion. "Why don't you want to go out anymore?", he sighed, walking closer to you. "'Cause my skin looks terrible," you sighed, "And not even make up is covering it." For a moment, Ashton was quiet, just looking at your face. Suddenly, his quietness broke down into a fit of laughter. "What's so funny?!", you scoffed. "You can't seriously be telling me you don't want to go out because you think your skin doesn't look good," he said in between laughs. "Well, I am," you walked past him out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. "C'mon, babe," he followed you, "Your skin doesn't look bad. I don't know where all of this is coming from." "My skin doesn't look bad," you agreed, "It looks terrible." "No it doesn't, (Y/N)," he sat next to you on the bed, "I don't know why you think that." "'Cause I own a mirror," you angrily said. "Babe," he took your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks, "I think your skin looks perfect; I think you look perfect. Fuck it, I don't even think you should be putting make up on in the first place." "Stop it, Ashton," you blushed, avoiding his gaze. "No, really," he forced you to look at him, "You're going to get dressed, and we're going to go out because your skin doesn't look bad at all. It looks beautiful and I'm not going to let your insecurities get in the way of your happiness."
  • Michael: "Michael," you mumbled, playing with your fingers like a child. "Yeah, babe?", he asked. "Do you think I don't have a personality?", you said in a whisper. "What?", he asked, leaning his ear closer to you so he could hear you better. "Do you think I don't have a personality?", you said a little louder this time. "Why would you say something like that?", he asked dumbfounded. "Because, I don't know, some people say I don't have a personality and that I hide behind you," you kept your voice low. "Babe, come here," he pat the spot next to him on the couch. You walked swiftly, sitting down next to him carefully. Michael wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Now, who exactly said that to you?", he asked. "Just some people," you shrugged. "(Y/N), have you been getting hate again?", he asked you sternly. Your silence only confirmed Michael thoughts. "(Y/N), what had we talked about this?". "If I ever got hate again I was supposed to tell you immediately," you bit your lip, "But that's what I'm doing!", you added. "No, you were supposed to tell me the moment it began to happen again and, by the way you sound, it's not now that it has begun," he played with your hair. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I don't understand why you can't see how perfect you are to me," he said, "In fact, I sometimes think I'm the one hiding behind you. Your personality is so unique that it outshines other people many times." He kissed your cheek, turning your head so you were facing him. "Of course you're shy when in front of the cameras, but that's 'cause yo like to keep your image private - and that's absolutely okay. It's one of the reasons why I love you. Don't ever let what they say get to you, okay?". "I guess," you murmured. "Good," he said, "'Cause I don't want to ever again see my beautiful girlfriend sad."
  • Calum: Being Calum Hood's girlfriend had many benefits, and one of them was that he always wanted to make you laugh. And, well, it was cute and all, except for the fact that you hated your laugh. You could not stand it. "Is everything okay, (Y/N)?", he asked. "Yeah, why wouldn't it be?", you replied, smiling at him. "It's just that you haven't laughed at any of my jokes," he mumbled sadly. "Oh," you said, "It's not that they weren't funny," you began to explain. "Yeah, right. The boys warned me I wasn't funny," he shrugged. "No, it's not that, Cal," you said, "You're funny - hilarious, in fact -. It's just that, I don't really like my laugh." "What?", Calum asked. "I don't like my laugh," you said, shyer now. "Why?", he got confused. "'Cause it's annoying," you mumbled. "No it's not," Calum argued. "Yes it is," you replied, "And I look ugly when I laugh." "You've got to be kidding me," Calum smirked and you shook your head. "(Y/N), your laugh is one of the nicest laughs I've ever heard," he said, "And you look the cutest when you're laughing." "No I don't, I look weird," you whined. "No, you look happy and it's adorable," he stated. "Calum, really, you're never going to convince me of that. It's an insecurity I have for years," you sighed. For a moment, Calum didn't say anything. Oh, but he did something. His long fingers made their way up your body, going under your shirt and started tickling your stomach. "Calum, no!", you tried to say, "Stop it." "No," he replied, sitting up on the couch. You squirmed underneath him, your laughter filling the room. In the end, Calum end up sat on your stomach, both of you out of breath. "You're beautiful," he mumbled, leaning down to kiss you, "When you laugh, when you cry, when you're sad, when you smile..."