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mywrittingwonderland · 4 months ago

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5. Everything means nothing if I don’t have you

Some more fluffiness of my favorite couple.

Is someone even reading this? LOL!

Have fun! And I apologize for the mistakes in advance.

- - - -

June

Sophia hadn’t really left Shawn’s house much since they became official. They were unofficially living together, after the first week she had her own key, her own drawer and even her own working spot close to him. The first time they were apart was when Shawn had to go on a day trip for press, and neither of them were able to sleep that well that night. He was so used to her using him as her own personal pillow that he missed the way her head would always be laying on his chest, right above his heart. No matter how they would go to sleep without fail that’s how they would wake up. He felt unease and regret for not catching the 1a.m. flight after the red carpet and getting back to her sooner, he thought about calling her but he also didn’t want to risk waking her up. Just when he was about to give up and go read a book instead of sleeping he felt his phone vibrating.

“Hi Baby, I thought you were in dreamland when we hanged up” He said, remembering how he stayed on the phone with her to make sure she would sleep.

“Shawn” Her voice sounded trembly and he did not like that for one second.

“What’s up, Honey?” he asked switching the call so he could see her and make sure she was okay.

“I miss you”

“I miss you too, I will be home later today”. He said bitting on his lip and wishing he could hug her out of whatever was bothering her. “Did something happen?”

“I had a nightmare”

“You had a nightmare? Oh, I am so sorry, Lovey. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You were coming back from the red carpet and someone shot you right before you entered the house. And then- then…”

“Hey, I am okay. No bullets, I promise.” He said trying to calm her down. He also looked up the next flight he could take, since he had no hopes of getting back to sleep. “Baby I am changing my flight, I will be home in 3hs”.

“Wait, no Shawn, you should get some sleep. I shouldn’t have called you.” She said instantly getting worried.

“No, Honey, I couldn’t get to sleep without you anyways, don’t worry. We can sleep the whole day together with no nightmares.” He said, texting Andrew to let him know he was going home sooner, and getting up to get dressed and leave.

- - - - - -

July

“So, are you officially living together or what?” Brian asked after crashing the couple’s breakfast for the 2nd time that week. Sophia had just left to go to the toilet so he jumped the question.

“Hm, I mean, no, not really”. Shawn replied, sounding a bit unsure. They hadn’t really discussed much about their living situation, although Sophia was not going to her house that much. Brian looked at him silently asking if he was sure about that. “She has her place with Connor remember?”

“Do you remember?” He asked.

“Oh shut up”.

“Shawn, seriously, are you sure you two are not going way too fast? Don’t get me wrong, I know you haven’t been this happy since I have known you, but tour stats in a few months and I am just worried you might lose your sense of personal space or something”

“Brian what are you talking about?”. He asked, really not understanding what Brian was up to.

“All I am saying is, it might be harder for you when you go away. I just don’t want you to have one more thing to be anxious over, that’s all.” He said, but before Shawn could think of a reply on how crazy Brian was sounding Sophia got back to the table and they dropped the topic.

Sophia half heard the conversation and got a little self conscious, she thought she might be imposing her presence too much in Shawn’s space and she got worried about what Brian was saying. If he got back to touring and he was more anxious because of her she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself, so she made a personal note to go sleep home that night. Once Shawn was gone for the studio she made him a fresh batch of cookies, because he happened to mention he was craving cookies that morning, and then she got her book in the nightstand and her working equipment before driving for her house.

“Hellooo”. She said as soon as she got inside, expecting Connor to be there. But then she remembered he would definitely be with Shawn in the studio, so she just ended up in her kitchen making herself some tea and getting back to writing.

Shawn on the other hand finally got to finish his talk with Brian, this time with Connor also present while they were on their lunch break with takeout pizza, since Shawn didn’t wanna leave the studio and find a restaurant without paps.

“Connor, do you also think Sophia and Shawn are just going too fast?”. Brian blunted out making Shawn drop his pizza slice and look at him as of saying: not this again.

“As long as he has no intentions of breaking by best friend’s heart I think they are doing okay, you tell us Shawn”.

“I think Brian is way too invested in my love life all of a sudden”. Shawn said, getting a bit annoyed.

“Bro, I am honestly just worried about you”. He said putting up his arms in surrender.

“I thought about what you said this morning, and perhaps it was my mistake to not ask her to move in already. I know it might seem like we are going too fast, but I just really love her so much, and I wanna spend every single minute I can with her before we actually have to be apart for tour.” He explained. “And Connor I have no intention of breaking my soulmate’s heart, ever.”

The boys continued to talk for a little bit before Shawn had to get back to rehearsals. Shawn was relieved when his day was over, he missed Sophia, and she hadn’t texted him the entire day, which was making him worry something was up. When he entered the house he immediately felt the smell of cookies in the air, it looked like she had just pulled them out of the over some minutes ago.

“Babyyy, where are you? These are so good.” He said grabbing a cookie and going searching for her around the condo. He quickly noticed she wasn’t in any of her spots and her book and computer were also not in the house, so he grabbed the phone and called her.

Sophia completely forgot about her phone, she used to do that a lot whenever she would get lost in a book.

“Wait Shawn, I literally just got home. Phi, are you home?” Connor asked giggling between his keys, phone and camera bag. She wasn’t in the kitchen anymore, Connor went to look at her tiny library and found her very deep into reading. “Yeah she is here. Okay sure, I will let her know”

“Oh hey Con, I swear I didn’t see you there”

“Yeah I noticed. Shawn is coming over by the way.” Connor said making his way to sit beside his friend. “He was super worried when he got home and your cookies were there but you weren’t”

“Oh, that wasn’t my intention, I mean he did want cookies this morning, but I didn’t want to make him worried, I just thought I might give him some space today. Just in case. I have been over his house way too much”. She said, sounding a bit insecure.

“I personally don’t think he minds, but you can talk once he gets here”. He said giving her a kiss on the forehead and leaving her to get back to reading. Shawn was there in less than 15 minutes, and Connor opened up for him.

“She is reading”

Shawn walked inside and went straight to her library, he leaned on the door for a bit observing how focused she was in her book. Until she notice his presence and smiled at him making him instantly smiling back and getting close to her for a kiss.

“You got me worried, Missy” He said waiting for her to mark up her book before engulfing her in a tight hug.

“I am sorry, I just thought I might be way too much in your space, I don’t want to suffocate you”. She said making him frown. “I head a bit of what Brian was saying this morning.” She explained making him understand where she was coming from.

“I am totally killing Brian tomorrow” He said making her laugh. “Baby you don’t suffocate me”.

“Are you sure? I mean I have been over a lot, and I know it’s not my house, and I don’t-” He interrupted her rambling by kissing her gently.

“I am sure. You could never suffocate me. And about that, I wanted to ask you something”. He said and she waited for him to continue. “Do you wanna just stay over indefinitely? Because, it’s no longer home without you.”

“Really?”

“Mhm, oh and you can change whatever you want, let’s make it ours?” He said with a big smile on.

“Okay I think I would love that”

- - - - - -

August

“Sweetie, I am sure my parents will love you, in fact I am sure they already love you.” Shawn said trying to reassure his girlfriend.

“Still, Shawn we have to make sure to welcome them properly, so please help me out with what I should cook for them”. She said, half ignoring what he was saying and coming back into what Connor would call the wonder hostess mode.

“Phi, are you sure you don’t want to just order take out? I don’t want you to stress too much about this.” He said, worried that she was overdoing it.

“No, that would make me a very bad hostess. I am not having that. You know that.” She said looking up from the list she was making to make sure he understood what she was saying.

“Okay, fine. I think that your Ravioli al Pesto will make everyone happy”. He gave in, receiving a smile back from her.

“How about Tiramisu for dessert?”

“That’s perfect, Love.” He kissed her forehead. “My only condition is that you let me help you cook, it will make me feel better”

“But Shawn, you don’t really know how to cook”

“Teach me, please?”

And teach him she would, over the months Shawn learned probable more about cooking than he had his entire life, and he really was up to making the extra effort because she was constantly making him small things, brownies because he seemed sad, blue cookies because she was re-reading Percy Jackson, and many other instances in which she would learn his favorite treats and home made them. He wanted to be able to do the same for her, so he took it very serious.

There was something he was right about though, his family loved her, in fact he thought they might love her even more than he loved her, if that was even possible.

“Phi, you have to come to my Hockey game on Friday, I wanna talk more to you before my brother’s birthday when we have to be with everyone.” Aaliyah said by end of dinner, while helping Sophia with getting dessert.

“Really? I would love to come!” She said getting excited while finishing to cut the tiramisu pieces.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, go for it”

“Is my Brother treating you right? Because I swear if he isn’t I will beat him up for you”. Sophia have out a loud laugh at that which made Shawn join the girls in the kitchen.

“What’s up?”

“I am just checking with her that you are being a gentlemen since she is just way too good, I won’t allow you to break her heart.” Sophia blushed at Aaliyah’s statement and all of a sudden she was a bit overwhelmed by the attention and love the new Mendes was giving her.

“Never, but I appreciate you also taking care of my Angel”. Shawn said grabbing Sophia’s hand for a kiss on her forehead. “Isn’t she cute?” He asked his sister while Sophia conveniently hid her red face in his chest for a second.

“Shawn she might just be my favorite sister, sorry”. Shawn smiled and hugged his girlfriend while still paying attention to Aaliyah.

“I am okay with that”. Shawn said looking at his girlfriend and noticing how her eyes were full of tears.

“You guys are making me cry”. Sophia said, not knowing how to handle the love she was getting. “Come here”. She said hugging Aaliyah. “Thank you, I also can’t wait to have a sister”.

- - - - - -

September

“So what’s your plan for today”. Connor asked Shawn, and he gave him a clueless look.

“Well, rehearsals? And probably call mom and dad tonight, why?”He questioned the blonde’s sudden interest for his day.

“Shawn you do know what day is today right?” Connor asked, and Shawn quickly revised his brain for something he might have missed, but nothing did come to mind.

“I have no idea what you are talking about Connor, where we supposed to do some external shooting for the doc and I am forgetting it?” Connor eyes widened in surprise for his answer.

“Dude, you are so screwed”

“What? What did I do?”

“Phi didn’t happen to mention today is her birthday, right? Why am I not surprised? She never loved her own birthdays.” He said tapping his friend’s back in comfort.

“Connor, are you serious? Please tell me this is a prank?”Shawn asked fully entering panic mode when he realised he actually never asked his girlfriend when was her birthday, and it happened to be conveniently exactly a month after his, September 8th.

“I would never, here I sent her happy birthday this morning”. He said showing Shawn the text and Sophia’s thank you response.

“Holy shit, I need to go”. Shawn said, quickly looking around and gathering his things and his keys. “Can you smooth things with Andrew for today? I will talk to him later, and thank you, you are the best friend ever” He quickly said running out of the studio and into his car.

He felt very bad, he never actually asked her when it was, and this week was very crazy with all the final preparations for the Global Citizen’s festival, and also Niall’s birthday coming up.

“Fuck me, all week talking to her about Niall’s birthday and the festival”. He said gripping on the wheel, he remembered what she did for him on his birthday, she actually organised all the tiny details and baked his cake, he didn’t want anything big, so they all went with his family and the crew to a small retreat in her family’s countryside in London. She also had an amazing gift for him.

“Well, I know that you are allergic to dogs, so I thought maybe I could get you some other kind of best friend, plus Pinky was a bit lonely.” He replayed her words in his head and this new horse that was currently being taken care by her grandparent’s in their farm, and of course he was Pinky’s best friend. He remembered that she also explained to him that she had done a lot of research on anxiety after she was diagnosed soem years ago, and that Pinky helped her a lot, and that she wanted Shawn to also have that new kind of support whenever he had a break and things got too much.

He quickly stopped at Sophia’s favorite flower shop on the way home. It was this very tiny shop owned by an Italian old lady, and he dropped by every week to pick her something, every time the previous flower was dying he would give her a new one. It was a nice tradition he started after hearing one of Sophia’s grandma story on how she fell in love with her grandpa because he would always bring her a flower, no matter if it was sunny or raining, everyday since they met he would give her a flower. He ended up getting a mixture of her favorites, little delicate white and purple daisies, scorpion grasses and lavender, wrapped with a classic white lace.

When he opened the door of their home it was already 17:00, so he was relieved to see music playing and the lights on. “Hi Baby, I am home”.

“In the kitchen”. She sounded happy, which was a bit of a relief to Shawn. He caught her finishing up the cake she had started the day before, lemon and rose flavoured, he remembered her saying when she asked him to test the filling. It didn’t crossed his mind that she was baking herself a cake, she was constantly baking so he really didn’t think anything different. “What do you think?” She asked, referring to her little cake, decorated with light pink frosting and some rose petals on the top.

“It’s very cute”. He said making his way to her and giving her a kiss.

“Are these for me?” She asked noticing the bouquet with her favorite flowers on his hand.

“Yes”. He smiled back at her still amazed by the fact that she didn’t seem even the slightest mad at him.

“They are so pretty, thank you.” She hugged him and went to her vase to change her flowers.

“Your welcome, Baby.” He replied observing her untangling the flowers from the lace, taking the old ones, choosing a dying flower and putting inside her book, and then throwing the rest of them out. Without failure she would do that every week.

“Why did you get so many today?” She asked, noticing he got her way more flowers than he usually does. And he looked at her thinking that it wouldn’t surprise him if she forgot her own birthday, she was so worried about everything around her sometimes every so often she would need reminders that she was also important.

“Connor might have let it slip that today is someone’s birthday”. He said getting close to her and pulling the string of hair that escaped her braid out of her face.

“Oh”. She looked guilty back at him.

“Yeah”. He smiled and gave her a slow kiss followed by a peck on her nose.

“I promise I was gonna tell you.” He giggled and hugged her.

“Happy Birthday, Baby. I love you.” He said kissing her one more time. “What happened that you didn’t tell me?” He asked softly keeping his hands on her back and his forehead on hers.

“After we came back from London, things were just so crazy, there was the iHeartRadio MuchMusic Video Awards, and then and you were so anxious about having to fly to Ireland and doing the festival in New York in a very short span of time, and also the finishing things for tour that have to be settled this until next month. I just didn’t want to bring up one more thing to make it even crazier.” She said explaining the reasoning behind her actions. Shawn immediately felt like she had somehow made him fall even more in love with her. “Also I am not the biggest on my birthdays, I much prefer other’s birthdays”. She bit her lip, nervously looking at him. “I am sorry”. She said, making his heart melt.

“I love you, you know that?” He said, giving her a big smile. “You truly are the kindest person I know”. He kissed her one more time. “Baby, none of these things are even a tiny fraction more important than you… -”

“Shawn… -”

“Wait, let me finish please?” She nodded. “I know things sometimes do get crazy in my life, and I really do appreciate every single thing you have done to support me these past weeks, I don’t think I could have done it without you. In fact I am sure I wouldn’t have managed it, at least not sanely.” He chuckled. “But I really don’t want you to think that you don’t have space to also share your important things, because I want to hear all of them, and I want to also help you get through all of them. You are as much important as I am in this relationship. And honestly, all of this, everything, it means nothing if I don’t have you. All of you.”

- - - - - -

Taglists: Shawn x Sophia Taglist: @shawn-youth General Taglist: @arypesanchez @turtoix @ivegotparticulartaste @lanallaa @pammyloumendkens

Message me if you wanna be added to the Taglists :)

#shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn x sophia #shawn x oc #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn imagine #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes blurb #mendes army

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shawn-is-my-giant-jellybean · 2 years ago

Note

"Tell me how do you like it?"

"You like it rough? intense?"

"Yes." She breathed down his neck.

Lost in Ecstasy

(Blurb)

I'm back!! I'm so sorry anon for taking so so long to write this. It's probably been over a year. I was going through a lot and wasn't in the headspace to write at all. But I'll try being consistent now. I took the liberty to modify the ask a little bit. Hope you like it.

Warnings : smut, age-gap, early 30s!reader × late 20s!Shawn

Soft, dim lighting casts a sensual glow throughout the room, illuminating the figures of Shawn and Y/N. Their bodies are intertwined, their breaths heavy with desire.

Y/N, her voice low and filled with anticipation, whispers into Shawn's ear, sending shivers down his spine.

"Tell me, Shawn. How do you like it?"

Shawn's eyes meet Y/N's, his desire evident as he responds, his voice husky.

"I like it rough. Intense. I want to lose myself in the moment with you."

Y/N's lips trace a path along Shawn's neck, her touch igniting a fire within him.

"Mmm, yes." She bites gently at his earlobe, sending a surge of electricity through his body. Their bodies press closer together, their connection intensifying with each passing moment.

The room fills with the sounds of their mutual exploration, a symphony of pleasure and desire. Their movements become more urgent, a dance of ecstasy and fulfillment.

In the midst of their shared passion, they lose themselves in the moment, reveling in the raw intensity of their connection. Skin against skin, their bodies merge, fueled by a hunger that can only be sated by each other.

Breaths mingling, they push the boundaries, exploring the depths of their desires. Each touch, each whisper, brings them closer to the edge of bliss.

The room becomes a sanctuary for their unyielding passion, a place where inhibitions dissolve, and their deepest fantasies find expression.

Time seems to stand still as their bodies move in perfect harmony, seeking pleasure and surrender. In this intimate space, they find solace, fulfillment, and a profound connection that transcends the physical realm.

As their climax approaches, their cries of ecstasy fill the air, a testament to the intensity and satisfaction they find in each other's arms.

Finally spent, they collapse into a tangled embrace, their bodies still humming with the lingering echoes of their passion.

Breathing heavily, Y/N and Shawn lay in each other's arms, their bodies basking in the afterglow of their passionate encounter. Their eyes meet, a shared understanding passing between them.

In the silence of the room, they find solace in their connection, knowing that their desires are fulfilled and their souls entwined.

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #pretty bby #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #Shawn × y/n #shawn mendes smut #shawn smut #shawn icons #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes oneshot #lust

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kittluzbills · 2 years ago

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y’all

I’m looking at my old account where I used to write and it’s gas. I will repost most of it and start writing soon!! i love and miss it Imma add some tags just so y’all know where to find stuff that’s coming soon.

REQUESTS ARE OPENNNN (never written smut but i can try!)

who i write for:

all of 5sos

harry duh

joe burrow

jack harlow

shawn mendes

all of the cast of wednesday

and any one you request just might take longer to get to

any ladies :) (wlw)

tysm i love each and everyone of u even if ur not here yet :)

- xx naomi

#shawn mendes #5sos #harry styles #calum hood #1d #ashton irwin #ask #imagine #michael clifford #luke hemmings #oneshot #harry styles imagine #xavier thrope imagine #angst imagine #fluff imagine #ff

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marie-swriting · 2 years ago

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Superache - Conan Gray

Masterlist

Movies

People Watching

Disaster

Romantic Feelings, For Me ? - Robin Buckley

Sentiments Romantiques, Pour Moi ? - Robin Buckley

Best Friend

Astronomy

Find Each Other - Eddie Munson

Vous Retrouver - Eddie Munson

Yours

Jigsaw

Family Line

Summer Child

Footnote

Part Of Your Life - Kate Bishop

Partie De Ta Vie - Kate Bishop

Memories

The Memories Of Our Relationship - Shawn Mendes

Les Souvenirs De Notre Relation - Shawn Mendes

The Exit

Album One Shot Masterlist

Masterlist EN

Masterlist FR

#marie swriting in french #marie swriting in english #marie swriting with music #marie swriting with conan gray #marie swriting with superache #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes one shot #robin buckley one shot #robin buckley x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader

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homeofthelonelywriter · 9 months ago

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Celebs - Masterlist

Tom Hiddleston:

Series:

🌺 Take the Stage: While once again sneaking out of the Palace, you meet an actor...let’s just say there is something between you two. (Royal! Reader)

Romeo to my Juliet: You are a student and a teacher at a college in Lodon, which is the same place a very handsome acting professor is employed. Discontinued for now.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

🌺 New Beginning:

(Part 1) | Part 2 | Part 3

Headcanons:

HC - Tom Hiddleston x clumsy!Reader

HC - Tom helps Reader deal with anxiety and stress

HC - Tom loves Reader’s boobs

Oneshots:

Forgotten Fears - The Reader had some bad experiences with her ex-boyfriend when he was drunk and is still traumatised by that. What happens when Tom forgets about that fear of hers?

Kinky Surprise - pure smut

Application - When you loose a bet, you are forced to send an application for Loki’s love interest. Who would have thought that they actually want to meet you?

Jealousy - Tom is insecure because of your age gap. What will happen when he sees you with one of your co-workers who is about your age?

Hidden - As an artist, you find a way to tell Tom that you’re pregnant

Bun in the oven - Pregnany reveal and a proposal. What could go wrong?

Drunken Start - After a night out with his buddies, Tom calls you, neither rembering you, nor how he got your number

Trick or Treat - Halloween Special

Best boyfriend in the world - You have trouble sleeping, so Tom decides to help you out

Dance with me - Reader and Tom slow-dance in Paris

Diary - Tom finds your diary while you’re moving and reads it

Drabbles:

Christmas Surprise - Christmas Drabble

Let it snow! - Christmas Drabble

Drabble #75

Drabble #3

Imagines:

Imagine while on vacation with your BFF you catch Tom Hiddleston during a photoshoot. Your BFF makes sure he remembers you.

Imagine tagging Tom Hiddleston in a meme and actually getting a reaction.

Benedict Cumberbatch:

Drabbles:

Drabble #69

Sebastian Stan:

Drabbles:

Drabble #46

Shawn Mendes:

Series:

🌺 Better that way: When Shawn’s girlfriend finds out that she is pregnant, she decides that she can’t burden the superstar with a child. She makes decisions which may seem stupid, but she knows that it’s Better that way.

🌺 Surprise: Walking a Victorias Secret show was an honour already, but being able to see your boyfriend while doing so? Pure bliss. Especially when he has a little surprise for you.

Part 1 | Part 2

🌺 Fan Mail: Writing to Shawn every so often paid off when he asked you to come to one of his shows.

Part 1 | Part 2

Oneshots:

When you’re ready - Inspired by his song

Guard my heart - You are a part of the security at one of Shawn’s shows and he notices you

Nervous - Inspired by his song

One more chance - Filming an explanation video why Shawn and you broke up, leads to some interesting realisations

In my Blood - Inspired by his song (Triggers)

Late Late Show - You are present during your boyfriend’s appearance on the Late Late Show with James Cordan. Let’s just say it was disgusting.

Sad song - Shawn finds out you can sing during a very sad occasion

Tom Holland:

Migraine - rl!friend has a Migraine and Tom wants and tries to comfort her

Back to the Master-Masterlist

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch fanfiction #shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #fanfiction masterlist

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oldwritingm · 11 months ago

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💜- Headcanons

💙- Oneshots

🩵- Blurbs/drabbles

ALL

Ninjas (+ Pixal) Reacting to Your Outfit in Prime Empire - 💜

Elemental Masters' Rocky Relationship With a Little Sister - 💜

Making Breakfast for the Ninjas - 💜

The Ninjas When You Get Brainwashed - 💜

The Ninjas When You Get Mad - 💜

Unintentionally Becoming the Ninjas' Little Sibling - 💜

Being the Ninjas' Little Witch Sister - 💜

How the Ninjas Act When You Get Captured - 💜

Ninjas With an Older Brother Figure - 💜

Cuddling With the Ninjas (+ Pixal) - 💜

Ninjas When You (Their Little Sibling) Are Taken - 💜

Ninjas When You Have Cold Urticaria (Cold Allergy) - 💜

Ninjas Finding You in Their Clothes - 💜

Ninjas Having a Nightmare Where You Die - 💜

Ninjas When You're Being Protective -💜

Ninjas (+ Pixal) With an Artist s/o - 💜

Ninjas With a Touch-Starved Partner - 💜

Ninjas With an s/o Who Gets Flirted With a Lot - 💜

Ninjas With a Sensitive Little Sibling - 💜

Kai, Cole, and Jay With an s/o That Can Turn Invisible - 💜

Ninjas With a Portugese s/o - 💜

Their Favorite Place to Kiss You - 💜

Ninjas When Your Parent is Ex-Military - 💜

LLOYD

(Movie) Comforting (Transforming) Oni Lloyd - 💙

Cuddling With Oni Lloyd - 💙

Lloyd With a Good Oni Reader - 💙

Lloyd With a Serpentine Hybrid Princess Reader - 💙

Lloyd and the Dragon Princess at a Ball - 💙

Lloyd Comforting You During a Thunderstorm - 💙

Lloyd Finding Out You're a Dragon-Oni Hybrid - 💙

Arguing With Your Brother Lloyd - 💙

Your Wedding Day With Lloyd - 💙

Being Lloyd’s Best Friend (?) ;) - 💜/🩵

Soulmate AU With Oni Lloyd - 💙

Lloyd With a Tall Girlfriend - 💜

Being Lloyd's Younger Twin After the Tomorrow's Tea Incident - 💙

Being Lloyd's Younger Twin After the Tomorrow's Tea Incident Part II - 💙

Giving the Green Ninja Advice to Ask His Crush (You) Out - 💙

Cheering Up Lloyd After a Bad Day - 💙

Lloyd Proposes to You - 💙

"Come here. Let me hold you." and "Your hands are warm." With Lloyd - 💙

"Come here. Let me hold you." and "You're safe with me." With Lloyd - 💙

"You're Beautiful." and "You have no idea how cute you are." With Lloyd - 💙

"I'm yours. I'll always be yours." and "You're beautiful." With Lloyd - 💙

Lloyd With a Winged s/o - 💜/🩵

Lunch? - 💙

Mercy (Shawn Mendes songfic) - 💙

Daddy Issues (The Neighborhood songfic) - 💙

COLE

Cole Adopts a Mystery Baby (You) - 💙

Cole Adopts a Mystery Baby (You) Part II - 💙

Cole Loving the Colors of Your Voice - 💙

Dating Cole Brookstone - 💜

"Please don't go." and "You're safe with me." With Cole - 💙

Hold On (Chord Overstreet songfic) - 💙

JAY

Comforting Part-Serpentine Jay - 💙

Jay Comes Home to Find You Sick - 💙

Kissing Jay Under the Mistletoe - 💙

Jay Finds Your Scars - 💙

Dating Jay Walker - 💜

Best Friend (Rex Orange County songfic) - 💙

KAI

Falling for the Mysterious Red Ninja - 💙

Comforting Kai After Seabound - 💙

Lloyd Sets You Up With Kai - 💙

Kai Sees You Get Hurt - 💙

Kai With an s/o Who's Health-Anxious - 💙

ZANE

(Movie) Zane With a More Human-Like Nindroid - 💙

Zane Patches You Up - 💙

Zane Finding Out You Have a Birthmark - 💙

"Please don't go." and "Whatever happens, I'll be here." With Zane - 💙

"I don't know how much longer I can do this." and "Please don't go." With Zane - 💙

"I don't know what I'd do without you." and "Your hair looks so soft." With Zane - 💙

NYA

Nya With an Oni Spy - 💙

Nya's Upper Body Strength - 🩵

PIXAL

Dating Pixal - 💜

Reading With Pixal - 💙

MORRO

Waiting For Your Morro - 💙

Waiting For Your Morro Part II - 💙

GARMADON

Being Garmadon's Pupil Before and After He Was Evil - 💜

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #ninjago headcanons #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago masterlist

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viennakarma · 8 months ago

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hi, i'm rae

So, here are a few (fun?)facts about my writing, since you guys have dropped a couple of asks about it before.

- you guys always comment on my pace. i can write full, detailed stories, but since i write here mostly oneshots (or twoshots lol) i have a bunch of stuff i want to happen on the story, that's why most are pretty fast paced (like everything i wanted and mdfae that go through many years). but when i write multichapters, i usually go slower with the pace and deeper with the writing.

- in my first languague i'm currently writing a multichapter fanfic with lewis hamilton and an oc brazilian supermodel in a fake dating situation. this fanfic is part of a small universe that (in the future) include intertwined stories with two other drivers.

- I speak portuguese, english and spanish. I studied french for a year then dropped because i thought the sonority of the language was too hard for me (i'll try again someday tho). i'm currently studying italian (that's lewis mf hamilton's fault).

- i've been writing fanfics since around 2014, and i've been in a few fandoms like 1d, shawn mendes, mcu, reylo, nashuri, footballers and many others i won't be bringing up.

- my mom and dad are ayrton senna's super fans, they cried a lot when may 1st 1994 happened. so, naturally i grew up a senna fangirl too. (both my mom and my dad can can rant for hours about ayrton senna) (as a teen, my mom had a wall of posters of him and other famous men she liked back in the day)

- i've never felt comfortable writing in english until i started this blog to formula 1 (i've had three other oneshots i've written before this but i don't like them today). i really believe i've found my jam here.

- when i'm writing my fics, the drivers are fictional people in my brain.

- there are a few drivers on the grid that i don't like, but you won't ever catch me shit-talking them (publicly) because i don't engage in this hater energy.

thanks for coming to my ted talk.

#f1 fanfic #fic talk #f1 x reader #ask rae #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfiction

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heartbreakprincewille · 2 years ago

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Masterlist (because I am very forgetful)

Heya!

This is just a masterlist for all my edits and fics I've written so that I(and anyone else) can find them whenever they want to.

Wilmon edits:

Red- Taylor Swift

Kalank edit (Bollywood song)

I Think He Knows- Taylor Swift

I HATE EVERYBODY- Halsey

Hits Different- Taylor Swift

Mastermind- Taylor Swift

Always Been You- Shawn Mendes

Long Story Short- Taylor Swift

Everything Has Changed- Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran

Fics:

Let Me Sing You Into Eternity (oneshot)

Golden Dreams Were Shiny Days(oneshot)

Life feels like a lie(I need something to be true) (oneshot)

I'd Find You In Any World (oneshot)

It Still Hurts Underneath My Scars(From When They Pulled Me Apart) (oneshot)

Let Me Move You (multi-chapter)(to be continued from May)

Rose-Tinted Ache (multi-chapter) (this one as well)

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staticl0ve · 2 years ago

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Home - DBH Connor/AFAB!reader

Pairings: Connor/AFAB Reader (no pronouns used) Rating: Mature/Explicit/NSFW 18+ Link (AO3): Home (oneshot) Words: 4.9k Warnings: Established relationships (married), no gendered pronouns, oral sex (both receiving), mutual masturbation, PnV sex, very mild cock warming Summary: It’s Valentines! The day of being smothered in affection, cards, flowers. A day to be wined and dined. However, you’re on the other side of the globe. That doesn’t stop him from finding ways to enjoy your company. Although, you’ve got a little surprise for him. Notes: After writing a sad, sad fic, I present to you, a happy fluff one haha. Inspired by Dream (Shawn amended).

Since the winter storms had eased, parks have begun to draw more and more visitors as the days warmed up. Snow melted into watery pools. Birds lined the power lines and barren trees were beginning to show signs of fresh leaves.

With his eyes shut, Connor was basking in the glow of the sun. From sound alone, he could piece together all that was occurring around him. Someone was selling hotdogs, their jovial advertising occasionally reminding him of the low, low price of their goods. From what he gathered, the preserved meat wrapped in carbohydrates attracted quite a crowd.

Children squealed and giggled as they rushed past his seat on a park bench, followed by the distressed scolding of exhausted parents. Joggers added to the commotion, their padding feet startling his canine companion. A blue leash was wrapped around his hand, the firm material tugging slightly at his synthetic skin. Sitting up, he reached below his knee to scratch the ears of an excited Saint Bernard.

“Sumo,” he chuckled. “It’s okay boy.”

The dog whined in response and let out a playful bark.

Connor relaxed back onto the bench, turning his attention away from Sumo. Across the park’s lake was a familiar duo on their second lap around the water. Hank’s grayed hair billowed around his face he walked. A hilariously large smile pinned his cheeks in a permanent state of glee, making him appear like a smitten fool. Beside him, a woman named Rose matched his pace, wrapping a patterned shawl tightly around her frame. It was clear she was laughing at something Hank had said, his cheeks tinged bright red and growing redder when her hand met his arm.

They met sometime after the android revolution and found they shared a passion for android rights. One interest of hers was owning a small farm. While Hank did not have a green thumb, he enjoyed the tranquility of the sun rising over leafy crops. He also had the great fortune of trying the produce in her cooking. After having taken a long break from dating, the older gentleman was likely excited because today was their first Valentines.

Connor’s jaw clicked, LED flashing gold for a second. Ah. That was why he was asked to dogsit for the afternoon.

A sigh emptied from his chest. Irritatingly, as the android began scanning the park, he realized there were an awful lot of couples enjoying the lovely weather on a particularly romantic weekend. He nervously toyed with a ring on his left hand as he wondered how you were fairing on your work trip. One month was probably a record time for the longest either of you had gone without the other.

Seeking a distraction, Connor started scrolling through his notifications. Grids in blue lines flickered across his view of the park. His distress was apparent enough to warrant a soothing hand lick from Sumo, the dog moving to rest his fuzzy face on Connor’s lap.

“Thanks, boy.”

He let out another sigh. His inbox remained unchanged since the last message he received.

Love you.

Two simple words taunted him, reminding him of the physical distance between you. It didn’t help matters that your call last night ended abruptly.

“So,” you began with apprehension dripping in your voice. “There’s a chance I might be away a little longer than expected. The team really thinks one more meeting will get this deal closed. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, I swear if they try this again…I’m…”

You were losing steam, clearly too tired to think of anything clever, finishing your sentence by hanging your head back. Connor took longer than normal to respond, the android cycling through a series of phrases that would downplay his disappointment. Deciding that he couldn’t trust himself, he settled on vague.

“I see.”

He may have forgotten he was on a video call, the downward shift in his features spelling out his mood.

“Connor,” you breathed out, sinking back into your hotel bed. Sunlight filtered through thin curtains. A breeze picked up from an open window, casting intricate shadows over your cheeks, lips and nose. Your eyelids were half open, either from the brightness or from an exhaustion he couldn’t quite place. He worried briefly if you slept well, if your accommodations were enough. As you nestled between blankets, he could make out the flimsy strap of your shirt slipping past your shoulder. A twang struck his chest. Your lips parting brought his attention back to your face. “This sucks for me, too.”

“I know,” he replied, sounding deflated. “I miss you.”

You rolled from your back to your side, finding a new angle for your phone. The tone of your voice changed, dipping into more sultry notes. “What do you miss?”

Oh, he wasn’t made yesterday. He grinned as his fingers plucked away shirt buttons.

“Your taste,” he answered, wetting his lips. His boldness took you by surprise, a small moan crackling through the call.

Across the globe from where you were situated, it was night in Detroit where he was sitting at the end of your shared bed. The room was left untouched, a time capsule of when you were last there: your brush carelessly tossed onto the bed along with clothes and accessories that didn’t make the cut. Without you around, it was easy for him to slip back into his old habits and avoid sleep. Stasis wasn’t a daily requirement for machines and it certainly did not take all night to reset caches and organize his expanding matrixes.

“How much time do you have?” he asked. His shirt had joined your pile of abandoned clothes and he was making quick work on his pants.

Your gaze was drawn to some distant corner, likely checking on a virtual calendar. “An hour or two…I think.”

His regulator pump stuttered when you glanced back at him, the heat of your full attention causing him mild discomfort in his remaining boxer briefs.

You bit your lip playfully. “What did you have in mind?”

“Will you lie back for me?” Obediently, you did as he asked, propping up your phone on a pillow to maximize the angle. He groaned softly once he realized you were bare from the waist down. Your thighs fell open slowly, the light catching onto your wet folds. “rA9, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

He heard your giggle as he worked to rid himself of his last article of clothing. “Will you show me how much you’ve missed me?” he requested.

You made a show of it, dragging your hands slowly from your clothed chest, rolling each nipple until they hardened. A bright glint caught his eye, his gaze following a ring on your hand. He had one that matched it, a white gold band that was cool on his heating skin. It bumped along his length as his hands leisurely stroked up and down. He adjusted his audio output to maximize the obscene squelch of damp skin, smirking when he caught your reaction to it.

“You look so good like this,” he whispered. “Laid out for me to see.”

“C-Con…” Your whimper made his grip tighten.

Funny enough, this was the first time he’d ever done this, a thrill running through his systems. He was beginning to see the appeal as he watched you push a finger past your folds.

“I miss…” you muffled a moan as your other hand began rubbing circles over your clit. It took significant effort to speak, the sentence pinching off with a gasp. “I miss f-feeling you in my throat.”

Connor made a choked noise as he painted a pretty picture of his tongue curled deep in you. How you’d squirm if he accompanied the feeling with his length slipping down your throat. He imagined a game of who could make the other fall apart sooner. It would be a little unfair, the android was more than capable of delivering filth with his tongue preoccupied by highjacking speakers or simply using his audio unit to speak.

“You look stunning. Would you like to see what I see?”

He made good on his promise one day by commandeering the television to broadcast a memory he had of you on your knees, made you watch as he licked into you. This was a stark contrast to the man who nearly stumbled over—as he was standing still, mind you—from asking you out.

“Do you like dogs?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cute.”

“Would you like to walk one? I mean, walk me—walk with me and a dog?”

Embarrassment was putting it lightly, he was mortified for not relying more heavily on the suggestions offered by his social modules. Your enthusiastic smile doused his panic.

“I’d love to.”

It took many dates, but he worked through his nerves and gave you a peek of the deviant hunter that still lurked beneath his sweet, tender exterior. All it took was stumbling through the darkness of your apartment, his hands following your waist and one messy collision of lips to unlock the man you knew today.

“Connor…”

“Y-yes, love?”

“Wish you were h-here,” you said between moans.

He was about to respond when an alert from Detroit Police Department took up half his sight. “Sorry. I—” he trailed off, focused on writing up a reply. The sight of you knuckle deep in yourself had set him completely off track tonight. “I forgot I was on call.”

“Wait, I thought you weren’t doing night shifts anymore? Something about fair labor and giving androids reasonable shifts?”

“Correct, however, overtime is still optional and I have been waiting for some forensics results.”

Talking about homicide was the nail in the coffin of your phone sex session. Your throat cleared and you sat back up in your bed with a worried look. “Is it the case you’ve been stuck on?”

“It is…” Connor sounded distracted, his eyes panning over text you couldn’t see.

“Should we…”

He apologized again. “Rain check?”

“Mhmm. Don’t work all night.” You kept your tone light, but he could detect the disappointment from your gaze drifting lower.

“I’ll try not to. Have a good day, my love.”

“Night, Connor.”

Come morning, he sent you a message, optimistic that he’d be hearing from you again. Hours passed and his notifications remained unchanged. Before he knew it, it was time to take Sumo out for a walk. An afternoon at the park had boosted his mood and while Rose was kind enough to extend an invitation to spend his evening with them, Connor knew better than to intrude on their date night.

“Are you sure, dear?” she insisted. The older couple shared a quick glance. “We’d be happy to have you.”

Her head tilted at him, shoulders slouching with her hands clasped together. The extra attention made Connor’s cheeks flush. Somehow, despite lacking a childhood, Rose managed to transcend synthetic experiences, making him feel as small as a child standing between two doting parents. It didn’t help that Hank’s palm rocked his shoulders with a few rough shakes.

“We wouldn’t mind the company, son.”

Connor shook his head, making extra effort to hide the golden hue of his indicator. “Thank you for the offer, but I have plans.”

A lie, but the two did not push.

After a full day of slobbery kisses from Sumo, a shower was the first thing on Connor’s mind. As soon as he stepped out, hair still dripping, he found himself gravitating to his side of the bed. There, he laid staring into space, still restless from last night. You had been difficult to reach and he assumed it was related to your recent uptick in workload.

His head was turned, cheek pressed into a pillow as he stared over at your side. Raising his arm, he moved to stroke his fingers along the cool material. When he brought it closer, he couldn’t resist taking a deep inhale. Your scent flooded his sensors, triggering an array of fond memories, like the one before you left. His software began constructing the scene. It was like he was there again, with his face nuzzled between the curve of your neck and jaw, his ticklish breath eliciting a small laugh from you.

“Morning,” he said softly.

“What time is it?” you replied with a jolt at the end of the question. The first thing on your mind was not missing your flight.

“We have time.” A plastic hand slipped between your thighs, quickly finding its target. He wondered what you dreamed about as his fingers slipped through your folds with ease.

“You’re going to…ah…make me late.”

Back in reality, Connor was beginning to feel foolish for bothering with undergarments. An obvious bulge strained against soft cotton and he wasted little time in slipping the elastic band lower to free himself. His fingers stroked the swollen head of his cock, wetting his hand with his own slick as he relived the memory of plunging his fingers into your wet heat.

He moaned into your pillow while wrapping his hand around his length, pumping his hips into his fist like a beast in a rut. The holographic creation of you arched into his chest, joining his moans with gasps of your own.

Connor continued watching the replay—his favorite part—when he replaced his fingers with his cock. Your face was pressed into the pillow, body twisted to present your hips to him.

“I thought you were worried about the time?” he teased as the flat of his palm followed your curves.

You responded with a glare, lining yourself up to him. Before he had a chance to react, you sunk him down to the hilt.

“A-ah…!” he gasped.

“Then you better hurry,” you answered with a wink.

When his hand wasn’t enough, he pulled additional sensory data from his memory, groaning loudly into the room as he felt the tightness of your muscles. He just about lost it when you moaned his name, pleading for him to go faster. His teeth bit into his lower lip as his legs tensed, toes curling into sheets. What little control he had of his limbs left him as he chased his end with frantic thrusts. He had lost sight of his constructed fantasy, eyes clamping shut as electricity shot up and down his spine.

“F-fuck…fuck…” he whimpered, thankfully remembering to not spill all over the sheets.

As his software anomalies began to recover and static no longer dominated his vision, he slumped back onto his side of the bed with his eyes fixed onto the ceiling. He was still the perfect storm of unsatisfied with his limbs simultaneously buzzing for action and his heart not much fuller. Perhaps a bit of stasis would do him some good.

His lashes fluttered and the moonlit ceiling faded into darkness.

It used to be a running joke that androids dreamed of electric sheep. After the revolution, when Connor attempted stasis, what he saw made his thirium grow cold. An empty virtual garden greeted him, lit up by one spotlight like a theatrical stage in an abandoned warehouse. But there was no Amanda and no snow waiting to freeze his metal limbs. When he willed for it to all disappear, he was rewarded with an empty gray box as his new surroundings. It was then that he realized he could change the garden.

Some days he made it his workspace so he could walk through crime scenes and solve cases while his processes recalibrated in the background. Tonight, his imaginations were fixated on you. For the most part his dreams were innocent, filled with reliving his favorite memories or ones he wanted to experience. Such as him lying in bed with your arm draped over his waist and your lips pressed against his neck.

You might say something like: “Surprise, I’m back.”

Strangely, the pressure and heat on his arm felt more tangible than it should have been. His head shifted, peering down at your virtual form as you repeated yourself.

“I’m back. Wake up, love.”

He missed this, your voice spoken without the support of cell towers or the subtle breath between words that no microphone could capture. Bits and pieces of reality filtered through his dreamworld. Warm fingers trended down his arm and he was receptive to your touch, his skin flickering between flesh and plastic tones. He felt your hand entangle with his until your wedding bands lined up, clicking together as if magnetized.

“Did you have a nice dream? I’ve never had this much trouble waking you,” you chuckled.

“Well,” he responded with the corner of his mouth curling. “This is a major improvement.”

“Is that so?”

The hand holding yours slipped out to grip your wrist and tugged. Immediately, you froze, managing to stop his momentum by placing a palm down onto the mattress.

“Wait, wait. I’m still wearing the clothes I traveled in!” you cried out.

“That is a solvable problem, my love.”

He sat up, brown eyes gleaming and face pulled in a smile that seemed too pure and sweet, too brimming with joy to match the frenzied, desperate movement of his hands working to shed your clothes. A palm dragged across the expanse of your rib cage, synthetic fingers digging lines into skin. You tried to be an active participant by squirming out of the cotton T-shirt. As he pulled it over your head, it stuck momentarily and you had to share a laugh at human clumsiness interfering with machine efficiency. He breathed out a sigh once you were freed.

You gently stroked his cheek. “So…what were you dreaming about?”

“You,” Connor said with his chin resting above your abdomen. He moved to work on your jeans, laying one kiss below your belly button, his nose nuzzling close before laying more scattered kisses lower.

“Was I doing anything in your dream?”

Your fingers met soft strands of brown hair, enjoying how they separated and slipped out of your grasp. You watched him ghost his fingers across the edge of the denim waistband, suddenly more patient than he was earlier. His tongue tapped your skin, distracting you from his fingers unbuttoning and unzipping. The light on his head spun as he processed data beyond your comprehension. Whatever Connor discovered left him moaning into your skin.

Large palms dug between fabric and the backs of your thighs, pushing it down. As you stepped out of the pile of clothes, he pulled you by the waist, dragging your hips down with him. You were higher up on the bed than you expected, parting your thighs around his shoulders. He watched you intensely between his lashes, using his hands to coax your hips closer to his face.

“You were lying here…with me.” His voice was rough and mixed with audio interference.

“That’s it?” you teased. “Just us, cuddling?”

Connor wasn’t listening anymore, or more, he was too focused on something else entirely, his sight set on the apex of your thighs. His grip slipped down to keep you still as he peppered light kisses up your inner thigh. You felt his lips travel higher, his teeth faintly tracing your skin. The faintest pressure was applied to your entrance, his tongue barely licking your folds. Connor was a man on a self imposed mission, pushing his tongue forward to swirl the nerves above. He shouldn’t have chuckled at your desperate whine, the former deviant hunter enjoying the grip he had on his catch of the day.

Could you blame him? Seconds of delay was a lifetime to a machine, now imagine a month of time to make him unhinged.

“Can I at least turn around?” you asked. “I promise it’ll be—” Connor’s lips wrapped around your clit, tongue curling in waves. “—good!”

Pulling at his hair did not persuade the android, his brow arching defiantly from between your thighs. Instead, he followed the force of your warning tug, pushing his face closer and dipping his tongue to lick at your clenching muscles. Your pleas fell on deaf ears and you shuddered in his grip. He could almost feel you tipping over the edge before he released you, lying back to flash you a broad, guilt-free grin.

“Alright, now you can move.”

You mumbled vague, teasing threats as you shuffled over to face away from him, your eyes set on his neglected cock. Leaning over to support your weight on your elbows, you brought your hands around his length and his hips excitedly followed. You were slow, using both thumbs to tease his tip, smearing his slick over the angry red flesh.

“S-sweetheart,” he choked out.

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you teased. “Not when you were being evil a second ago.”

Hearing you talk about it only encouraged him, his tongue giving your clit a quick flick.

“Can you blame me?”

“Mmm…Yes!” Determined to not be distracted by Connor, your mouth hovered over him, tongue peeking out in anticipation.

What came out of his audio unit was barely human as you unexpectedly swallowed as much of him as you could. It stung a little, your throat stretching to accommodate his size, but it was worth it to feel him squirm. You used everything you had at your disposal, your fingers, stroking and squeezing when your mouth pulled off him, your tongue curling around the hot and heavy shape of him, and your moan, which served to tighten your throat in the sweetest torture.

A torrent of software anomalies cut through the darkness behind his closed eyes but it did not deter him from maneuvering his fingers to stroke your tensing walls, nor did it ruin his focus as his tongue flicked your clit at inhuman speeds. The RK800 indulged—basked in your presence. If there was anything Connor enjoyed the most, it was seeing you come apart, to feel you writhe in his grasp, to flooding your senses like you did to his.

Your shoulders tensed, skin feeling impossibly hot and tight as his fingers continued to summon a spark that climbed up your spine. It built up, until there was nowhere left for it to go except explode in fizzes that consumed your nerves. His name was a muffled cry in your throat, one that triggered his own end.

You heard him curse as he lapped once more into your pulsing core, followed by a string of words that you couldn’t hear over the ringing in your ears. You did hear his chuckle, felt him rest his damp cheek on your thigh.

“Are you still with me?”

By some small mercy, you hadn’t choked on him as he was still in your mouth. Releasing him with a wet pop, you replied, “No. I’m pretty sure you just killed me.”

He laughed while you managed to untangle from him to turn and face him, returning to straddle his thighs. He joined you in an upright position and you met his gaze, followed the subtle twitch of his irises as he focused on your blissed out smile. Perhaps it was the culmination of distance, time, or the stresses of work and finally…coming home, a weight was simultaneously lifted as a new one settled in your chest. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to finally enjoy his welcoming embrace.

“I couldn’t wait to get back to you,” you whispered in the dark.

He stroked your sweat slick skin, tracing the gentle curve of your back.

“Did you know, I was afraid to go into stasis when you were away?”

“What?” You sat up straighter in the bed, knees falling further apart. Connor shifted strategically, brushing your core with his tip. “What do you mean?”

“I had a theory it would only make me miss you more.”

“Oh…Connor.”

“When I woke, you were here so…” He leaned in, finally getting the kiss he’d been yearning for. You could feel the upward tug of his lips, the sugary, tooth rotting affection he so desperately wanted to convey. “Now I’m going to be sorely disappointed if this isn’t always the end result.”

“Ooo, maybe this is still a—”

Connor interrupted your playful remark, capturing your lips with the gentle push of his hand around the back of your neck. You still hovered over him and he whimpered into the kiss when you circled your hips. He broke away first, slowly, as if to say he wasn’t going anywhere, the heat of his exhaust still warm and close on your skin.

A blue light shimmered from his fingertips down to his elbows, revealing the intricate panels of his synthetic muscles. His palms buzzed faintly around your cheeks. Warm honeyed eyes, tinted with an electric blue hue held yours captive.

“I love you,” he said, voice low and quiet.

You captured one of his hands with yours, repeating his words with as much devotion as you could. “I love you too, Connor.”

Together, in sync, you sank onto him as he rose up to push into you. Wrapping his arms tightly around your back, his fingers kneaded your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Your arms fit over his shoulders, cradling his face. He prepared you more than enough, sliding in with ease until you sat comfortably on his lap.

“I’ll never get enough of this,” he half slurred on your collarbones as he licked and sucked the flesh. “Of you.”

You dipped your head, meeting his dazed eyes. “You have me. You’ll always have me.”

Your words stoked a new fire in him as he began to bounce you over his lap. When his mouth began searching for yours, he laid sloppy kisses up your jaw until he claimed your lips. He licked into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough of being a part of you, driving the point further home with deep, slow thrusts. When he pulled you off his lap, he kept you stretched open, only to slide back at an angle that had you clawing his neck and shoulders. Pressed this close, his pelvis rubbed against your clit and you were certain you wouldn’t last.

The thought went out the window when he freed his hand to slip between your bodies. It would be a cramped and uncomfortable position for a man, but his joints could tolerate odd angles. His fingers alternated between slow sweeping strokes and quick circles. He could tell when you were close, extended your pleasure for both of your sakes with his well timed fingers.

A sensation of being build up and up, like an elevator that seemed to go on indefinitely tugged at the edges of your mind. It was worse than waiting for a beat that promised to drop.

“Connor!”

If his soft grunts and moans were anything to go by, the RK800 was thoroughly enjoying himself. His nose was on your neck and he could feel your heart pounding through thin skin.

“Almost there. You’re doing so…” he moaned, feeling your muscles begin to spasm. “S-so, well.”

“Connor…I’m…please…!”

He pulled you flush into his lap, burying himself as deep as he could go, striking the last frazzled nerve you had left. It wasn’t nearly as intense as your first one but it contained a closeness that the other one did not. Connor slowed the movement of his thrusts and you felt him fill and stiffen before a wash of warmth trickled into you. You both rode out each others highs for a few more moments, stroking each others backs lovingly and him, lovesick as he was, had a grin spreading from ear to ear.

When you both settled down a bit, he made movements to gently lift you. Your legs clamped tight, dissuading him.

“W-wait. Can we…stay together? Like this?” you asked.

Even though your suggestion made him twitch from within you, he nodded, knowing you both desired a different kind of intimacy. He wiped a stray bead of sweat off your brow. “Of course.”

Your thighs ached in protest as your body decided your knees didn’t make good weight bearing cushions.

“Maybe we can try lying down?”

He leaned backwards, guiding you down with him, careful to not disturb how you were both still connected. You relaxed and laid your head on his chest.

“What happened to your extra meeting?” he asked, tone light and curious.

“Uhh…I kinda told them I had a family emergency.”

“Sweetheart,” he replied, slightly worried, not about the family emergency, it was obvious enough that you had lied to get back to him sooner.

“They’ll be fine without me. They signed when I landed in Detroit so…”

Connor made a poor attempt at a chiding scoff but couldn’t mask his smile. You pivoted your hips to distract him, and it did, briefly.

“I do not condone your actions…”

“But…?” you probed.

“I am glad to have you home.”

You hummed something back to him. It mostly sounded like gibberish even to his sharp ears. When he glanced down at you, he found your eyes shut, breathing even. Eventually, your body would protest for sleeping in such a strange position. He’d slip you off of him to your side of the bed, clean you off with a warm towel and tuck you both back into bed.

As for now…

His arm draped over your back and the other pulled the covers up. Connor laid a gentle peck on your forehead, caught the slight lift in your lips and couldn’t help but lay one more kiss down. He let out a deep sigh, content to shut his eyes and join you in a short slumber.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

#my writing #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #dbh connor #rk800 #reader insert #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #connor rk800 x reader

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twohearts-hs · 2 months ago

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i think u are the first writer i have ever seem on tumblr that only do series (even if u just made two of them lol

Hey Doll!

Really? That's surprising.

I am a novel writer, therefore when I write I usually do a whole series/book. I find it difficult to write short stories or snippets as I love to create character development and see the relationships go through their own journey.

I will never post a series without completing it first. I don't think it's fair for people to get attached to a series, just for it to go on hiatus or never have a conclusion. As a fanfiction reader, I hated waiting forever for an update or for a story to never be updated.

Once upon a time, I did do imagines/oneshots for Harry Styles and Shawn Mendes fanfiction, but I have diverted my interest into other fandoms.

I would love to challenge myself with doing oneshots again, however I do love creating a world and a journey for my characters.

Thanks!

Ava

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a-lile-angel · 1 year ago

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I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to save you…

Canon Angel - (more) Angst

Oneshot

Summary - No job in the Survey Corps is easy, each having their own level of difficulty. But the impact of a certain position is rarely spoke about, the medics. Each day, the group of fifteen would see loss more than any others, caring for every group across the whole of the corporation. As head medic, it is Angel’s job to oversee and finalises all deaths, hiding how it slowly takes its toll.

Angel loved her job. The feeling of knowing she had saved lives through her day was something she would never give away, not to mention how proud she was of her team, battling all odds and losses to deliver their care to the utmost of their ability, each and every day. They all knew the other members of their group was going to struggle with the scenes they saw once in a while, and always made sure to comfort and help when those dark times came around, which always warmed Angel’s heart. But behind that pride was the dark feeling of stress, forever wondering how long it would be until one of the unit she adored came to interact with a bereaver who was less understanding of the difficulties they faced with each loss like she once had.

A flatline is rarely the fault of a medic, but rather the titan or accident that struck down the injured. But sometimes, there is simply nothing the support can do for the victim. As grim and hard it can be, there comes times when all the person bleeding into your uniform needs is to say their goodbyes and last messages, which the nurse will take in respect. That was a task Angel and her children often had to fulfil, seeing it as their duty.

The morning was a cloudy grey, icy wind whipping around her ankles, spreading numbness through her boots as she walked closer to the cracked oak door she was heading for. This was not her first or last apology of the day, each mission bought near hundreds of casualties, whose families all needed to be informed of, explaining what Angel was doing so far from her lodging. It took a while for the handle to be pulled inwards, framing a cranky looking woman. She stood a few inches taller than Angel, like many did, although she looked younger, more free and relaxed as she cocked an eyebrow at the intruder on her doorstep, displeased with how she was now standing in the winter air, sending her messy ginger hair every which way.

“Can I help you?” She questioned, crossing her exposed arms across her chest, looking at Angel expectantly. Taking the less than welcome hint the nurse cleared her throat, preparing her words and mind for the news she was about to deliver. “Hello Miss Uyio. I am Meredith Lile, I’m the head medic for The Survey Corps. I’m here to inform you that late last night, your husband, Alan Uyio, was stru-“ she didn’t even get to finish her apologetic speech, before a loud yell interrupted her, cutting through the silent morning like a gunshot “He’s not dead!!” The woman’s face had drained of colour, replaced by an expression of pure desperation “He better not be!!” Angel’s teeth sunk into her inner lip at the hostility building in the ginger’s voice which was so unlike her own. “I’m sorry, Miss Uyio… I understand how difficult this must be… but I assure you, he died by my side, I didn’t le-“ Once again, her words were cut short, as if by a blade. “So your to blame?! Your the reason my husband is dead!! You!!” Gradual tears were flowing down the poor woman’s face, accompanying her shakey breathing, growing hysterical. Angel was silent for a few moments, she really wanted to comfort the lady, but her words had cut deep, seemingly stopping her thoughts as if something had been plunged into the cogs of Angel’s brain. “I… I will come back later in the week, to discuss the events. Please take care… Ma’am…” Even though she had bowed in mournful apology and resided from the spot she could still hear the sobbing and screams through the air, each hitting the medic like a physical punch.

It was not until late that evening when Angel’s silent mask broke, sending tears flooding from her eyes, dripping off her cheeks as she clutched her face, quietening the small sobs escaping her pale lips. Guilt, overwhelming waves of guilt filled her senses, making it impossible to think of any other solution of possibility from the interaction. The crying went on relentlessly for an exhausting amount of time, finally confining the nurse to her bed. It was past midnight when the tears finally slowed to a halt, leaving the usually bright blue eyes a stinging red, wearily staring up at the sky. Contemplating what to admit into the night that might express her feelings. Finally, her words came in a small echo of a whisper, disappearing into the breeze with a whistle.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to save you…”

#Spotify #motivation from the clouds (w)

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mylimerence · 9 months ago

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SHAWN MENDES

💙-favorite 🔵-other characters 🔹-other au! 🩵-dad!

series

-none

oneshots

-showers

-meeting

-fallin' all in sleep

-ours

creators

-none

0 notes

getawaycares · 3 years ago

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help me pleaseee. i’ve been looking for a fic i read months ago and was so invested. it went like this: shawn is on tour and broke up with his girlfriends (y/n) bc his friends told him so. at first he was happy being single and free but he truly misses her, there's something about him seeing a note she packed in his suitcase also. when tour is over (or on a break, idk) he goes to her house and sees her with a guy (that shawn knew from tour i think? a photographer? i truly can’t remember). PLEASEE if u know this send me a link i really wanna read it again

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes oneshots

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lonelyreputation · 4 years ago

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Arpeggio

A/N: Woooo a long one! The idea has been on a stick note for three months and it’s finally here 🤧 It was a very fun one to write! I hope you enjoy it & let me know your thoughts! Ahh! 💥🥰💗

Summary: You’re a ghostwriter for a famous singer and Shawn is head over heels in love with the singer who he thinks writes her own music…But little does he know it’s you.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 13.7K // Angst & Fluff

You sat on the edge of your seat, legs crossed, as you stared intently at the “famed” singer-songwriter who was reading over your lyrics. She shuffled papers back and forth either humming in distaste when she didn’t like a particular lyric, or slamming a lyric sheet down on the table for a song she wanted to keep.

This was the third album cycle you had done this for her––writing songs and pitching them for her to sing. All while you sat in the background and collected royalties off the copyright you owned.

When you were sixteen, you wrote a song that circulated around a publishing company, and she––Zilla––did whatever she could to have the song be put on hold for her. She was a newer artist, but you heard whispers that she bought out Kacey Musgraves in order to record your song.

It started with one song as a work for hire, which grew to an EP where you had copyright ownership, and then to a full album…Which led you to sign a contract with her management team as her ghostwriter.

You remember it clear as day––you in their office, with your own entertainment lawyer, as Zilla and her manager slid an NDA across the table. You remember the manager trying their best to not outright say that Zilla wasn’t talented in songwriting––She just spends so much time making sure her vocals are perfect that she doesn’t have time to write and everyone wants personal songs nowadays.

Zilla’s real name was Willow––but in order to keep the artist name the same as the songwriting credits––she picked a stage name. So, her stage name was just Zilla, and your songwriting credit would be listed as Zilla Greene.

While the public knew that Zilla was a stage name for Willow, they thought that she also wrote her own songs under the pseudonym Zilla Greene…But nobody knew how far from the truth that was.

The sound of papers slamming down on a wooden table snapped you out from your daydream, “None of these work,” Zilla leaned back on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, “I want to change my sound.”

You had spent months crafting the songs in front of her. Carefully crafted rhyme schemes, imagery that was similar to the second album you wrote for her that won her three Grammys, it had an even mix of upbeat songs and ballads…And she didn’t want any of them.

Your mouth dropped, “But what––You want––Why?”

Zilla shrugged her shoulders and picked at her nails, “The last album was so…Pop,” she cringed, “Too colorful. I need to change it up––Keep listeners on their toes––I’m seeing this album aesthetic as more black and white.”

You picked up your little notebook and scribbled down aesthetics and moods she wanted to match. With each sentence she rattled off, you wrote down key words––songs that connect in a story, feeling lost, black and white, heartbreak––a bit of your soul crumbled as you saw the songs you worked so hard on lay abandoned on the table without a second thought.

“Give me an album that gives me a perfect score on Pitchfork.”

The pen you frivolously scribbled down ideas on dropped from your hand, “That’s––I can’t control Pitchfork!”

Zilla rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Then you better write a damn good album.”

“But you––Red!” You shouted out to grab her attention as you saw her packing up her bag, “That’s a nine. Literally one point away from a perfect score.”

Hiking her back over her shoulder, Zilla flicked her perfect loose curls over her shoulder, “Red was a good debut album, 1989 was a good Grammy album, I need something great.”

And with that, the “famed” singer-songwriter walked out of the room. The clacks of her heels were as loud as the sound of your heart shattering as you continued to stare at the songs on the table…That’ll never have the chance to see the daylight.

---

It was a new day and the sun shining through your half-opened window as the thin white curtains softly blew with the breeze. You were sat crossed legged on the floor in a little corner of your apartment that you claimed as your “writing room.” It wasn’t much of a room––because you literally sat on the floor––but it was where you wrote the best.

You sat in the corner, right under the window, on a small pink and teal woven rug, with a few throw pillows, and lyric sheets scattered all over the floor.

How were you supposed to create a whole new album when you had a perfect album already written?

With your head buried in your hands, you were at standstill, never having writer's block hit you this hard. You had songs already written––An album that was hopefully a 7 on Pitchfork’s scale––but it wasn’t good enough for her.

Nothing seemed to be good enough for her.

Your phone dinged with an email and you read the preview that it was just a Google Alert for Zilla. You ignored the notification, not wanting to think about how angry you already were at her…even though you were currently writing for her.

A melody slowly came into your mind as you started humming into a voice note. But it was quickly cut off short when you heard the stomps of Mia––your roommate––come running from the kitchen to where you were.

“Did you see this interview?”

You raised an eyebrow at her and directed your eyes to the strewn papers on the floor, “I’m a little busy?”

She waved you off and couldn’t stop smiling, “Shawn Mendes is like in love with you.”

The phone dropped from your hands, and you cringed because you knew that was going to sound horrendous when you played back the voice note. But that wasn’t what was on your mind.

“What?!”

Mia nodded at your shocked reaction, but then backed up with her explanation, “Well, not you––Zilla,” she made a little throw up noise, “But he loves your songwriting.”

“How––”

Mia shoved her phone into your face and you saw a paused YouTube video. In the video you saw Shawn Mendes sitting on a chair, holding a white poster board, as he was in the middle of ripping a paper off. He was doing a Wired Autocomplete Interview. You skeptically looked up at Mia, and she gestured with her hands for you to hit play.

So you hit play and immediately cringed at the sound of his nails coming in contact with the poster board as he ripped off the blocking.

“Did Shawn Mendes write a song on Zilla’s last album?” Shawn let out a small laugh as he shook his head, “I wish she would write a song for me.” His smile only seemed to grow as he continued talking about her, “She posted an acoustic clip of this new song she was working on––I’m hoping it’s on her new album.”

You felt a flutter of butterflies swarm your stomach because you knew exactly what song he was talking about. It was the chorus to a song called Cardigan, the first song that Zilla hadn’t turned down for the new album.

The video Zilla posted on her Instagram was dimly lit as she sat on the ground with her guitar. And while she frustrated you to no end…You couldn’t deny that she had a beautiful voice.

And apparently Shawn Mendes thought so too.

“Ever since her self-titled EP, I’ve been obsessed with her,” at Shawn’s words you looked up at Mia who mirrored your smile, “There’s just something so personal about her songs and I…” he looked down at his shoes before looking back up at the camera, “I’m fangirling, but I really admire her songwriting. I hope to write with her one day.”

He went to rip off the next question, but you paused the video, not wanting to hear the scraping sound again.

With the phone slightly shaking in your hands, you slowly picked your head up to look at Mia with a wide smile, “Oh my God.”

Mia nodded excitedly and jumped around in a circle, “Shawn Mendes likes––no loves––your songwriting! He’s so in love with you––He wants to write songs with you––He––”

You started to feel an overwhelming sense of pride as a jolt of joy was sent from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Shawn Mendes––an artist that you admired for his work ethic––admitted to fangirling over your songwriting.

You were about to get up and dance around with Mia because it felt like a celebration, but with one look at the lyric sheets scattered on the floor…Your excitement slowly diminished. Because all of these songs––all of your feelings, your poetry, your deepest regrets and highest of loves––were going to her.

Zilla got the credit for your art.

People told Zilla that she inspired them to write songs.

And Shawn admired what he thought was Zilla’s songwriting.

You picked up the pen and twirled it around your fingers, clenching your jaw, as you casted a regretful look at the songs on the floor…They were your pride and joy, even the ones you didn’t like very much, because each song took a little bit of your soul and was then shared with the world.

“He’s in love with Zilla’s writing,” you sucked in a deep breath, “Not mine.”

----

Instead of your safe writing spot at your apartment, you were in the studio for a change. Since the only people who knew about Zilla’s secret were you, Mia, your lawyer, her manager, and Zilla herself…The record label still booked sessions for Zilla to write. So you found yourself in the studio a few times a month whenever it came time to write her a new album.

“How’s the album?”

You had been writing for hours and felt so exhausted that you should’ve been surprised when you didn’t hear a door open. But you were absolutely dreading this album writing process, you were creating emotions––trying to draw from real experience––but nothing was working.

You stretched your arms over your head, squinting an eye when you heard your back crack, and looked up at Zilla with tired eyes, “I have a few songs.”

Her mouth dropped, not liking the progress you were making, “A few?”

“It’s been two and a half months since you said you wanted a whole genre switch,” You snapped at her, “You’re going from pop to some sort of folk alternative––”

Zilla scoffed, “You did this before. Red was country and 1989 was pop. This shouldn’t be a problem.”

The two of you were in a glaring match as you set your pen down, “You demanded a seventeen song album––Do you know how hard that is with the soft deadline Columbia gave you?”

“You had songs written before––”

“Then why didn’t you take those songs?” It was a genuine question, but also a question you knew the answer to. And you were right when she spurted something off about wanting to change up her sound.

“People love me because I’m not predictable,” Zilla walked over to where you were sitting and picked up a lyric sheet, humming in approval before letting it slowly fall to the ground, “And the songs you wrote before weren’t good enough.”

“What do you mean––”

“It’s just writing a few songs,” Zilla huffed out, “I don’t see how you can’t do that between now and the soft release date.”

You closed your eyes and let your head fall on the back of the couch cushion. You brought your hands up to rub the inside corners of your eyes, “You want a heartbreak album––I’m not in that headspace and you also need to record the songs.”

You opened your eyes and immediately glared, “Do you remember how Rob Stringer nearly flipped because I still had to finish writing Clean but you lied and said it was just the backing vocals that needed to be done?”

As much as Zilla wanted to refute you, she knew she had no place, because what you said was absolutely true. That was not a fun phone call to be a part of with the C.E.O. of Sony Music––even if you were on mute.

“It won him Album of the Year at the Grammys,” Zilla said in an unsympathetic voice, “And this album is going to be better than that.”

You let out a very loud and exasperated sigh, “That won’t cut it this time around! At least I had some inspiration for that album, because I have none––”

“You’re crazy,” Zilla narrowed her eyes, “Just find a random person and have them break your heart.” You had your mouth open for a rebuttal to tell her that that’s not how songwriting worked, but she picked a piece of lint off her sweater, “You’re pretty…enough.”

You squeezed your eyes tight as you felt yourself begin to seethe at her. You started to feel a slight pain in your jaw with how hard your teeth were clenched together, but your eyes were still shut as you tried to simmer your anger, as your voice came out dangerously low, “Out.”

“You can’t kick me out!” Zilla laughed and you opened your eyes to look at the woman who had no respect for your artistry…Even though you were the one to give her a career in the first place, “I’m paying for your studio time.”

“No, technically,” you glared over her shoulder at the door, “Columbia is paying for the studio.”

Zilla huffed as she crossed her stiff arms over her chest, “No need to get so angry––”

You felt yourself becoming more angry at her presence. Her presence was driving you insane and you knew that she was being a nuisance on purpose––poking you like a bear until she got her desired reaction out of you.

“Out!”

She looked at you with shock written all over her face. You were never one to raise your voice at anyone, and you always bent over backwards to comply with whatever Zilla wanted. But not now. You only felt angry and crazy in her presence, and those feelings only intensified in you when she pointed out how crazy and angry you were acting.

Zilla left––you don’t know if it was after you screamed at her or if she stayed for a few moments longer––because for the first time in writing this album for her…You felt inspiration for a song hit.

You heard the light piano keys first, humming the pitch in your head, as the light sound of finger picking on a guitar creeped into the back of your mind. Fresh off your argument with Zilla, the chorus of the song came first. You channeled your anger into inspiration as your hand gripped the pen until your knuckles hurt.

You don’t know how long you were writing the song for, but it was almost finished––I’m taking my time––Oh, how you wished you could take your time with this album––Taking my time––Well, maybe you will take your time with this album and get her in trouble with all of her deadlines, even though it would technically be breaking your contract too––Because you took everything from me.

She took your songs away from you.

“Oh, Sorry I––I might be in the wrong room?”

You dropped your pen and slammed your writing journal closed because no one was supposed to be in this room. With eyes wide, your heart stopped, because there were papers all around the room of potential songs for Zilla’s album.

Lifting your wrist to look at your watch, you saw that you were eleven minutes past your allotted amount of time Columbia reserved. Immediately, you scrambled to get off the couch as fast as possible, crunching your lyric sheets in the process.

You shook your head, still not looking up at the person because you wanted to make sure all of the songs were in your possession, “You’re probably in the right room. I––I’ve stayed past my time just a little and I––This is most likely definitely your room––”

“Wasn’t Zilla in here before?”

You froze and gripped the song sheet that you were currently stuffing in your bag.

Shit.

Slowly, you took a deep breath, and looked up at the person who had the room reserved after you. And your already wide eyes doubled in size when you saw that it was Shawn Mendes standing in front of you. The guy you saw on Mia’s cracked iPhone screen a few months ago––fangirling over songs you wrote.

His knuckles were white as he gripped his guitar case––in what you assumed to be excited nerves––as his head darted around the small studio space, hoping to catch a glimpse of the singer-songwriter.

“Oh, yeah she––She was done like forty minutes ago,” you spewed out a lie, “And then she let me use her remaining time.”

Shawn’s shoulders sunk in disappointment, and his smile faltered just a tad, undoubtedly disappointed that he missed his chance to meet a songwriter he admired. But little did he know that songwriter he actually admired was standing right in front of him.

You never wanted to be in the spotlight, never liked having attention on you, and it’s part of the reason why you agreed to work as Zilla’s ghostwriter. But with how her career took off, her songs––your stories––were gaining much more recognition than you ever thought. And it was times like these that you wished you could tell someone––other than your roommate––that they were your songs.

“So…” Shawn rocked on his feet a few times, quickly breaking eye contact with you to look at the remaining papers on the ground, “Are you friends with her?”

You nodded your head as you bent down to pick up the remaining songs, stuffing them deep in your bag, “We’re like––Uh––Yeah, pretty good friends.”

How else were you supposed to describe your business relationship with her? In the beginning, you hoped it would be more of a collaborative experience––Zilla telling you stories about her that you could write into songs––but that wasn’t the case.

She didn’t want to do any work besides reap the benefits of traveling the world and having millions of people adore her.

He ran his free hand through his curls, following your every move of cleaning up your mess, “Do you sing?”

His question caught you off guard, “Pardon?”

Shawn let out a small laugh and gestured to the recording studio the two of you were in, “Are you a musician?”

You immediately shook your head, “Oh no, I’m––I write.”

“Ah, a songwriter,” Shawn softly smiled in appreciation as he went to set his guitar down by the other couch in the room, “Without people like you, us singers would be useless.”

“You write your own stuff. Not many people do that anymore,” you rolled your eyes at his compliment, “That’s a redeeming quality.”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, I…I do write my own stuff. With some help obviously, but it’s rare to find that nowadays.” You nodded in understanding as the two of you stood in silence. He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans as a smile lit up his face, “Except for Zilla. Now she…Wow,” he whistled low, “She’s a once in a lifetime artist.”

You felt your throat tighten up.

“Yeah, that’s…” You let out a fake laugh as you bit the inside of your cheek, “That’s one way to put it.”

Shawn eagerly nodded as he continued to talk about your least favorite topic, “Her words––Her experiences––It’s all so personal. Sometimes I feel like I’m eavesdropping or reading her diary,” He plopped down on a black rolling chair and his smile grew wider, “Now she’s someone I respect.”

And while you knew he was complimenting your work, he didn’t know it. The person who he thought he respected so much was in the music industry for all the wrong reasons. The person he thought so highly sent you a text on the day she got her first Billboard number one––a song that you wrote––and demanded a new song in a few weeks time all while she popped open a bottle of champagne on her Instagram.

You nodded your head, knowing that if you said something, it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.

“I’ll let you get to work,” you picked up your journal from the couch cushion and slipped it in your bag, “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

You turned to walk out the door but Shawn’s voice called you back, “Hey––You, um…I think this is yours?”

Turning around, you saw Shawn looking down at a familiar white piece of paper with words scratched out and arrows changing up verses, “This is…This is really good…” he looked up at you, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Y/n,” you rushed out as you snatched the paper out of his hold.

Shawn nodded his head and stood up from the chair, leaning over your shoulder to continue reading the lyrics, “Centennial park…” he scratched his chin, “Nashville?”

You folded the paper in half, shielding your story from his eyes, as you lied, “Different park.”

Still stuck on the song, your mouth dropped as Shawn yanked the piece of paper out of your hands, opening it back up to skim over, “Maybe in the bridge––The last line…” you reached out to grab your paper from him, but he held it over his head, tilting his head back so he could still read the lyrics, “Change string to thread? Change up the lyrics like you did with the chords.”

Once he got his thought out, he lowered the piece of music and you grabbed it back, glaring at him as you stuffed it deep into your bag, “These aren’t mine,” you said bitterly, because while they were your words, they would eventually belong to Zilla, “They’re Zilla’s. So I’ll let her know.”

Shawn’s eyes bugged out of his head, mouth wide open in shock, “You––You have her lyric sheets?!” His eyes quickly darted down to your bag. You pulled your bag closer to your side out of protection, “The things I would do to have whatever job you have. I mean––To be able to read her songs before they’re out? That’s––I will literally trade places for a day with you.”

You let out a weak laugh, wishing that you got out of the studio on time, “I’m sure your job pays much better than being her…assistant.”

Shawn’s eyes glistened with excitement, “You’re her friend, assistant, and you get to read her songs?” Shawn ducked his head as he let out a chuckle, “I’d do anything to be you for a day.”

You pulled your eyebrows together, but tried to keep your face neutral, “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” But his smile only widened as he daydreamed about being so close to someone you thought was cousins with the devil, “I should really get going.”

Shawn nodded in understanding but called your name out, “Y/n––I don’t know if this is too forward, but…I mean––You don’t have to do it––But could you give Zilla my number?” He didn’t get a chance to look at how everything about your appearance dropped.

You were stunned as your mouth hung open, your eyes drooped in sadness, shoulders deflated…But he couldn’t visibly see the weight that you felt like was dropped in your stomach. He picked up a pen you left on the table and scribbled his number on a sticky note and you couldn’t remember a time where you felt so defeated.

He tore the sticky note off the pad and handed it over to you as he blushed, “I’d really love to write with her.”

You’d love to write with me, your brain screamed at you. But outing yourself as Zilla’s writer wasn’t worth all the lawsuits you would face.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and numbly nodded, “I’m sure she’d love to write with you too.”

----

Two and a half weeks later you found yourself writing in the same studio. And while you normally felt cooped up when in the studio, it was better at being at your apartment. Ever since you told Mia about your run in with Shawn it was the only thing she talked about.

She told you that it was the perfect time to tell the truth about your career––bring that witch down once and for all––were her exact words. But you didn’t want to deal with the mess of breaking an NDA.

So the next time you saw Zilla, you told her about your run in, and unenthusiastically handed her the sticky note with his number. Her smile was as wide as his when you told him you worked with Zilla. And while Zilla portrayed herself as a down-to-earth singer who transcended all genres of music…She was nothing but the opposite.

And from your brief run in with Shawn, you knew he was completely opposite of Zilla in every way, shape, and form.

The sound of your phone ringing brought you out of your songwriting process, without looking at caller I.D., you answered, “Hi, this is––”

“Y/n.”

You sucked in a breath when you heard her voice, “I have half of the album written. I’ll send you the songs and then you can record them,” You doodled in the margin of your journal, “So that way we don’t get in trouble again––”

“No, stop––Shawn is on his way to the studio.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your grip around the pen tightening as it scratched a hole in the paper, “I’m sure the fans will be happy to see pictures––

“No. Shut up for a minute,” at her strict tone you straightened your posture, not liking the way she was talking to you, “He’s coming to you. Where you are.”

You were about to make a quip about how she should talk to you with a little more respect, but when you heard the news of Shawn, your mind went from lyrical songwriting to ultimate panic.

“What?!”

“And I’m like an hour away from you,” you heard a car horn beep on the other end, “God, I hate L.A.––But he––He wants to write songs with me––”

“But you don’t write your own songs.”

“Don’t I fucking know,” she sneered through the phone.

A victorious small smile crept on your face, “Then why did you agree?”

“We had lunch and I told him I had a studio time slotted and he just texted me that he’s ten minutes away,” Zilla said all in one breath as she honked her horn twice, “because he wanted to surprise me.”

“Not much of a surprise if he’s texting you.”

She honked her horn again, “Y/n.”

“Sorry, sorry…I just,” you looked around at the mess you created in the studio. There were your usual papers strewn around, empty coffee cups, some takeaway food containers on the table that you were too lazy to throw out, “I’ve been here for like seven hours and there’s no way it’ll be clean before he comes.”

“Well do something––”

“Y/n?”

At the sound of your name being said gently in the same room as you, instead of it being yelled at through a phone, you quickly hung up on Zilla and threw your phone to the other end of the couch. You snapped your head up, and like the first time you saw him, he had his guitar case clutched in his hand, knuckles white.

“Shawn,” You said his name carefully as you looked wearily at him, “Hey.”

He slowly nodded his head, “Is…” and you cringed when you saw him looking around the mess you created in the studio, “…Is Zilla here?”

“Oh she––she just––” you had to think of something quick, “Had to pick something up at the pharmacy and it’s a bit out of the way––and she––so she called me and wanted me to uh––keep watch.”

Shawn looked at you, letting out a confused laugh, as he tilted his head, “Keep watch in a highly secure recording studio where the rooms lock?”

You nodded your head, keeping up with your lie, “She’s very very protective of her work space.”

Again, he nodded his head as he took another look around the messy studio, “I can…see that.” He shrugged his shoulders at the mess and took a seat on the ground.

You gathered up some of the papers that were on the couch around you, and on the table, and on the floor, “She had to go across town so she’ll be some time,” you shuffled the papers together until they all lined up. You set them aside and flipped to a clean page in your notebook, “So like––Make yourself at home.”

In the midst of gathering your stuff up to leave, he called you back in, “Y/n,” you lifted your head up to see an amused smirk on his face, “Leaving your watch position in her studio?”

Your eyes widened, “Well, uh––You’re here now so like––I think it’ll be fine if you’re here, and if you have stuff to work on, I don’t want to get in the way––”

Shawn shook his head, “Stay.”

As if you were trapped under a spell, you set your bag down on the couch and sat on the ground across from him. You sat with your legs criss-crossed as he opened the lid to his guitar case, “So…” you started off slow as you watched him carefully pull out his guitar.

Once he got in a comfortable sitting position with his guitar, you saw him pluck some strings and adjust the tuning pegs. There was one string that sounded off and you couldn’t hide your cringe.

“That B is flat. It needs to be higher.”

Shawn moved on to tune the E string, “I think it sounds fine.”

Even though he was looking down at his guitar, you still shook your head, “Get your tuner. It’s flat.”

Shawn let out a playful sigh and picked his head up to look for his tuner. Once he found it in the case, he clipped it on the head of the guitar, “If it’s not perfect, I buy you a coffee,” he smiled at you, “And if it is perfect, you buy me a coffee.”

You only offered him a smile as your response, already knowing that he would be the one buying you coffee. And when he got everything set up, plucked the string again, he looked at the tuner and frowned. He started twisting the peg as he continued to pick at the string until the B string sounded like music to your ears.

Shawn lifted his head up, a small smile toying at the edges of his mouth, as he looked at you through his eyelashes, “Do we have perfect pitch over here?”

You smiled and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to brag because you did have perfect pitch, “I like a cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso.”

Shawn laughed at your response and rested his arm along the body of the guitar, “Working on anything exciting?”

You saw him eye the small stack of papers to your left, “Um…” self-consciously, you moved the papers further behind you so they were out of eyesight for him, “No…Not really.” Shawn gave you a look saying that he didn’t believe you, but you flipped the question to him, “What about you? Getting some inspiration for new songs?”

On the outside, you wiggled your eyebrows in a suggestive manner, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of joking. But on the inside, you felt your heart squeeze and your lungs collapse.

And it crushed you even more when he ducked his head and blushed, “I’m sure she’s told you plenty.” You laughed, pretending like you knew he was talking about, but Zilla hadn’t told you anything.

“She’s just so…Not what I expected,” a part of your spirits lifted, hoping he had seen her for who she truly was, but that was diminished when you noticed the far off dreamlike look in his eyes, “I think it makes me like her even more.”

You breathed out a silent laugh, twisting your hands together, “She’s a tricky one. Always…always surprising people.”

Shawn nodded his head and slowly strummed the guitar, “I think I like being surprised.”

This time, you threw your head back in genuine laughter, but when you saw his confused stare, you coughed in the crook of your elbow, “Stick with her if you like to be kept on your toes.”

Shawn tried to conceal his smile, but you knew he was already enamored with Zilla, too far gone to be swayed by anything you could say, “I’ll take that advice.” The two of you sat in another silence, as he softly strummed some chords on his guitar.

“Enough about her,” Shawn offered you a friendly smile, “I’m having trouble with something––Partly why I wanted to see her in the studio––” he leaned over to his backpack to grab out his sheet music and handed it to you, “See, I wanna do this,” he tried playing a chord, “But it’s not––I want it to sound different.”

You snorted and laid the sheet of paper on your knee, “That’s a good way to describe something you want changed.” Shawn glared at you, and you rolled your eyes, “How about…Have you tried an arpeggio?”

“You definitely went to music school.”

You waved off his comment, “I’m sure you know what it is––just maybe not it’s technical name,” you pushed yourself off from the ground and walked over to grab your guitar. Having already tuned it when you got in the studio, you sat down and situated the guitar on your lap.

“It’s like; do, do, do, do, do…” You tried humming, but when his face was still confused you started to play one of the most recognizable guitar riffs, “House Of The Rising Sun, the opening is an arpeggio,” you continued to hum along with the notes as you saw everything click in understanding in Shawn’s head.

You continued to play the opening chords on loop, “It’s a broken chord. So that way you can hear the individual notes,” you explained, “Say on piano, you would play an arpeggio by just playing each individual key, and it’s the same on a guitar. So when you play it slower,” you slowed down your strumming, “You can hear them more individually.”

Shawn nodded his head in awe of his little music lesson.

“They’re usually played in either ascending or descending order,” you picked up the pace of your strumming, before placing your hand flat on the strings, over the sound hole, to stop playing completely, “They’re also pretty common if you play them in a triad.”

Again, Shawn only nodded, enchanted by the sound of guitar.

“How much do you charge for music lessons?”

You let out a loud laugh and set your guitar over to the side, “I think you’re probably good in that department, but just buy me coffee then we’ll call it even.”

Shawn eagerly nodded his head, “I’m holding you to that––So like, with an arpeggio, is it always obvious that it’s there? Or do you have to listen to it really really closely?”

“I mean…” you tilted your head to the side, trying to find wording for the answer, “I think they’re more common than people realize? It’s a bit technical, because you're consecutively picking notes on different strings, but if you listen really closely, you’ll pick up on the broken chords.”

Shawn nodded, eyes seeming to be unfocused on something behind you, “Broken chords…” he mumbled under his breath a few times.

Feeling a little unsettled with him staring off into space, you cleared your throat, and that did the trick to snap him back to reality.

He smiled and then nodded his head toward the lyric sheet he handed you, “And these lyrics…I can’t––” He leaned over and slid the lyrics across the floor so that they were placed in between you two, “Something’s off.”

You nodded your head, biting your bottom lip in concentration, trying to figure out the root of the problem. Because while the lyrics were good, and you were able to hear the melody he had written down in your head, there was something off about them.

“Your rhyme scheme,” you mumbled, eyes still concentrated on the lyric sheet, “It’s a bit all over the place. So I would just narrow that down, figure out if you’re doing an arpeggio or not, and you should be golden.”

When you looked up, you saw Shawn look at you with the same admiration he had in his eyes during your first conversation when he said how much he respected Zilla’s songwriting.

You broke eye contact with him and scratched the back of your ear, “But only if you want––I don’t––Zilla is probably the person you should ask about this––”

Shawn shook his head, “She keeps blowing me off whenever I ask for her opinion,” and when you brought your gaze back up to him, he looked unsure of himself, “I know I’m not up to her level, and she’s…nice, but she always seems too busy to write.”

The insecure downcast of his eyes, and shrunken up body language, was a look you knew all too well. He didn’t think he was good enough to write songs with her. And what killed you was that he thought that way because she kept giving out false hope to him. It angered you because if only he knew that he was actually writing songs with the person he admired, he would have a different perspective on everything.

You let out a sigh, knowing exactly how rejected he must feel, and slid the song sheet back over to him, “For a cup of coffee I’ll give you music lessons.”

Everything about Shawn’s demeanor switched like a light. His posture straightened out, eyes beamed with joy, and his smile looked to be a little too wide after just offering him music lessons, “Please.”

You shyly nodded your head, feeling heat raise up to your cheeks, as you pulled down your phone from the couch and handed it over to him, “You can put your number in and then we can find a time.”

“I really appreciate this,” Shawn said as he swiftly typed away on your phone, “I can’t even––”

“Shawn?”

The voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, but you regained your neutral composure before Shawn had the chance to notice any change. You looked up to see Zilla in the doorway, glaring down at the two of you––with your guitars out and a music sheet in between you. Shawn quickly handed your phone back to you, his full attention captured by Zilla.

“Hey, Z,” Shawn waved at her, still sitting, “Y/n was just helping me write––”

“Was she?” She gave you a pointed look that was meant to be a silent yell at you to not help him whatsoever because it could blow both of your covers.

You nodded your head, standing up with your guitar, putting as much distance between you and Shawn, “I only helped a little. I told him you were the one he should go to.”

And with that answer, you still received a glare from her because of course she was useless in helping him with anything music related. You could never win with her.

He handed his lyric sheet out toward Zilla, “If you want, you can look at what I have––”

“Actually,” Zilla cut him off with a smile, “I thought we could get some lunch.”

Shawn looked down and tapped the screen on his phone, the light illuminating a small portion of his face, as he looked up with eyebrows scrunched together, “It’s five fifteen?”

Zilla clapped her hands together, “Early dinner then.”

When you looked over at Shawn, you could see that he was disappointed that Zilla––once again––brushed off his attempt to write. With a slump of his shoulders, you heard a barely audible exhale of annoyance come from him, as he packed up his guitar with a nod.

Once his guitar was packed away, he stood up and offered you an apologetic smile.

“Come on,” Zilla reached out her hand for Shawn to take, “There’s this really good sushi restaurant we can go to before it gets too crowded.”

And even though you could tell that all he wanted to do was sit down and write songs, when he looked at her, his smile was genuine. He melted right at her touch and his eyes softened.

His eyes flooded with admiration for her because he thought she was the one who wrote the music she sang. He looked at her like she was his inspiration to keep writing better music. He’s looking at her the way he should be looking at you, your mind screamed.

His eyes only added insult to the injury that started the day you signed your contract agreeing to be her ghostwriter.

“I’ll see ya for a music lesson later, Y/n.” Shawn smiled over his shoulder as Zilla dragged him out of the door.

Before Shawn looked back at Zilla, she shot you a smirk, as if she was claiming Shawn in victory. And in a sense, she had won whatever contest she made up in her head.

She won by becoming a household name, she won by not doing any of the grunt work of composing music, she won by having people do the work for her, and she won the heart of the second most famous pop singer-songwriter in the world because he thought she wrote all her own songs.

And just like that, with the slam of the door, you were left exactly in a position you found yourself in plenty of times before. You were left alone in a studio, with all of your songs, while Zilla pranced around with the newest person who caught her attention.

But this time, instead of both of you not caring about what the other one did, you could feel yourself being exiled from any part of her life that revolved around Shawn. And you knew she did it purposefully. She was threatened that your songwriting could easily sway Shawn away from her. She was threatened because she knew she couldn’t give Shawn exactly what he wanted; a partner to write songs with.

And just like every other time Zilla left you aggravated with too many feelings, you began to write a song.

----

You took your sunglasses off and squitend your eyes as you scanned the outside patio of the coffee shop. You were about to take your phone out, but when you saw Shawn stand up from the table and excitedly wave his hands above his head, you smiled and weaved through tables.

When you approached the table, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and your smile widened as you brought your arms around his waist.

“My favorite music teacher,” Shawn hummed as he pulled away from the hug.

You were a little disappointed he cut the hug off short, but you had to keep in mind that he was somewhat kind of seeing Zilla. You tried to get her to define her relationship with Shawn, but she would just wave you off and say it was nothing serious or kept asking if you were jealous.

While you might’ve been a little jealous whenever you saw a low quality paparazzi picture of them out in L.A, knowing that Zilla kept lying to Shawn about her songwriting “ability” always made you sleep with a smile on your face.

Just like the past month and a half when you met Shawn for coffee for one of your “music lessons,” he was always there first. And like every other time before, he had your cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso––at the spot across from him.

Not wanting to waste any time, Shawn eagerly took out his songwriting journal and flipped open to a random page. He slid the journal over to you and a laugh escaped your lips every time you saw how chaotic his journal looked.

He had different color post-it notes sticking up from the top, corners of pages that were worn down because of how frequently he dog-eared them, and the occasional loose leaf paper that was folded up and stuck between two pages.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you leaned closer to his journal, trying to decipher the messy script that was his handwriting.

You leaned back in the chair, nodding as you took another sip of coffee, “I like it.”

“Just like?” Shawn wrinkled his nose.

Shrugging your shoulders you took another look at the lyrics, “I mean…It’s a compliment?”

Shawn let out a sigh and buried his head into his hands for a moment before looking up at you with a pout, “Something’s not right.” He leaned over the table a bit and pointed at the second verse, “I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t right.”

“I like it.”

Shawn crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair, “No, there’s something you’re not telling me,” he glared at you, “You ripped apart my song last week and now you’re too quiet.”

You took another sip of your coffee to cover up the fact that you did think something was wrong with it. But like he said before, with the way you tore his song up last week, you felt a little bad. You didn’t want to make him feel like he wasn’t a good songwriter, because he had a way with words that you found yourself learning from.

He didn’t have quite as many songwriting awards as you, but you knew he wasn’t too far off.

With a sigh you offered him a weak smile, “You’re too vague.” And with your first point of criticism, Shawn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took out a smaller journal and began to write down what you said, “You’ve already had songs that have touched on feeling lonely, and you’re really specific in the first verse, but too general with the second verse…” you trailed off your sentence and pointed at some scribbles on the paper, looking up at him, “Why’d you cross this out?”

Shawn stopped his scribbling to see what you pointed at, and when he saw the lyric, his cheeks turned red and he let his curls shield his embarrassed face, “It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “What should I change it to?”

You shook your head, “Nuh-uh,” you gave him an encouraging smile, “What did you write?”

He shook his head and looked down at the table, “I don’t like it.”

Under the table, you lightly brought your foot up to tap his shin. You didn’t stop nudging his leg with your foot until you saw a small smile grace his lips when he shyly looked up at you, “I’m wondering.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at your poor pun and retaliated by nudging his foot against yours in order for you to stop teasing him, “It’s…” he shook his head, “It’s too embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it’s really not as bad as you think,” you smiled at him again, “If you tell me what the lyric was, I’ll tell you what I think you should do music composition wise at the end.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and stepped on your foot, “You’re evil.”

You let out a small laugh as you rounded your hands around the hot coffee, “I see your three starts next to it, I know that’s your little ‘I need help’ symbol.”

Shawn flipped you off and it only caused the small amount of butterflies in your stomach to grow even more.

With a deep breath, he looked down at his hands and started picking at a loose piece of skin, “I wonder…” He peered up to see your anxious gaze, but then diverted his stare back down to his hands as he tore up the paper napkin in front of him, “When I cry into my hands, I’m conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man.”

You were in the middle of lifting your coffee mug up for another sip, but when you heard the rest of the lyric your hands froze mid-air. You felt rooted to your seat as you stared at his face that still hadn’t looked up from tearing little pieces off the napkin.

How did he think that that lyric was not good enough? That was something that you wished you wrote.

It was so vulnerable and honest and most of all, it was true to who he was. In songwriting, no matter how personal a person thinks their experience is to them, there will always be hundreds upon thousands of people who will resonate with your story.

That was something you learned and used to your advantage.

On Red, you fought hard for one particular breakup song to stay on the album that Zilla thought was too personal. She kept saying––No one will care about leaving a scarf at his sister's house…No one will connect with dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light…And absolutely no one has had anyone ever call them up again just to “break them like a promise.”

But you fought hard and it was the song that solidified Zilla as this generation's greatest lyricist. And it was also the song she performed on the Grammy’s when her debut album was nominated for Album of the Year.

Nervously, Shawn peaked up and saw the neutral expression on your face as you sat frozen. He ran a hand through his hair and reached a hand across the table to pull his journal back, “See? You think it’s stupid. I––That’s why I crossed it off. It’s too vulnerable and if people heard me say that?” He let out a somber chuckle, “They would think of me as less of a man.”

You pulled his journal back toward you and snatched the pen he had laying next to his other notebook, “That’s…Shawn that’s an incredible lyric.”

You re-wrote the lyric on top of where it was originally scratched out, “There’s so much strength in vulnerability. Not enough people––especially male artist’s––are comfortable with their vulnerability. It’s refreshing and amazing and what you wrote––That lyric…”

When you looked up from re-writing the lyric down in his journal, you saw that he was trying to contain his growing smile by biting his bottom lip. And this time under the table, when you brought your foot up to his, you gave it a single tap in reassurance, “It might be my favorite lyric ever.”

His voice cracked, “Really?”

You nodded your head, “It fits so well with the theme of self-discovery and being honest with yourself,” his smile widened with every compliment you offered him. You leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over your chest with a proud smile on your face, “I think you knocked it out of the park with that one.”

Shawn ducked his head again and went back to ripping small pieces off the napkin, “That…That means a lot coming from you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt an electric current jolt through your veins, “If that lyric doesn’t make the song I won’t listen to the album.”

With a laugh so loud that it caused a few coffee shop patrons to look at your table, you let a smile overtake your face as you admired how the corners of Shawn’s eyes crinkled in joy.

“I’ll keep that promise,” Shawn scratched the bridge of his nose as he came down from his laughter, “So…” He briefly looked down at his songwriting journal with a smirk before looking back into your eyes, “What should I do with the end?”

You noticed a new flame of confidence in his eyes as he pushed his journal toward you more. You let out a laugh as you looked at him with your eyebrows raised in excitement, “I’m thinking of a choir and horns…”

----

As your “music lessons” with Shawn continued for the next few months, so did your writing for Zilla’s next album. And unfortunately, Zilla and Shawn also continued to see each other. And while it was always a punch in the gut whenever Zilla brought it up, your conversations with Shawn were solely on writing and experimenting with different synthesizers for his new album.

With your contract that essentially hid you from the public, it was so refreshing to be able to collaborate with someone instead of writing by yourself. Even though you mainly just helped Shawn with a bit of writing and composing some music, it was an experience that gave you new inspiration.

You always thought you worked best alone, but collaborating with Shawn opened your eyes to everything you were missing out on.

It was all fun until Shawn approached you saying that he wanted to give you credit on his upcoming album. That was when reality hit you because there was an exclusivity clause in your contract with Zilla stating that you could only write for her. You tried to politely decline Shawn’s offer, but every time you saw him he brought it up.

It wasn’t until you told him you would stop your music lessons with him if he kept asking you.

The times after that, you could tell he wanted to bring it up, he was fair in wanting to give credit where credit was due, but you told him not to worry about it. Someone had been taking credit for your songs for years.

And soon enough the end of July came around and the album you wrote––Zilla’s album––folklore, was released to the world.

The public’s reaction to this album was more than you could’ve imagined. It started off as an album with no inspiration, just meaningless stories, but it morphed into an album that you held close to your heart. It had your true feelings, real experiences––that might’ve been exaggerated just a little––but it was still an album based on personal experiences.

And while it only got an eight on Pitchfork––two points off from a perfect album––Rolling Stones gave it a 4.5 out of 5 rating with possibly the most beautiful review Rob Sheffield ever wrote about your songwriting. You made sure to hound Zilla to send him a thank you basket.

It might’ve been your favorite album you’ve ever written, and while you sipped on a glass of red wine at the album release party, all you had to do was look over to see Shawn’s laughing face to know why it was your favorite album.

He was still clueless that you wrote the album.

He still didn’t get any of the signs you gave about being the true songwriter. It was always you writing with Shawn while Zilla pulled him away to go out to an expensive restaurant. And while he still looked at Zilla like she was the most inspiring songwriter of today’s generation…He was starting to look at you the same way.

The inspiration behind the album came from everywhere. It was mostly centered around your frustrations with Zilla and how most of your regrets lied with signing that contract at sixteen. No matter how hard you tried, it still felt like you wasted most of your potential writing for her instead of yourself.

But then Shawn came into the studio that one day. He came in and your perspective changed.

You took another sip of red wine as the opening chords of the 1 started to play around the small venue ZIlla rented out to celebrate the release. Bitterly, you took another sip of wine, as you looked at the boy who inspired the song and threw an arm around the person you despised most in the world.

If one thing had been different…If you were the person who rightfully got credit for your work…Maybe it would’ve been you he threw an arm around and pulled in close to his chest.

Your wine glass was still half full, but you tossed your head back to finish it off. And when you brought the glass down, you saw Shawn turn his head toward you and offer you a wave.

You tightly smiled back at him and whirled around to the bar to get yourself another glass of wine.

You took full advantage of the open bar Zilla provided and another glass of red wine was placed in your hands. And as you tasted the alcohol hit the back of your throat, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of them.

If only all of your wishes came true.

----

“And we’re back!” James Corden cheerily smiled at the camera before turning to face the three guests sitting on the couch.

You were backstage watching with Shawn as the crowd clapped at the “return” from the commercial break. While you never went with Zilla to any of her interviews, you started tagging along to them to fit your “assistant for Zilla” cover story you told Shawn.

And with folklore released just a few weeks ago, you had accompanied Zilla on more than enough of the press tour. You were back in L.A., which eased your spirits a little, but it didn’t ease the bubble of animosity that you felt toward Zilla every time she talked about her experience writing folklore.

“So, Zilla,” James started off, “Congrats on the new album––folklore.” Everyone cheered and a smile lit up her face as James continued to praise her songwriting, “I’ve got to say, it’s probably my favorite album of yours. It’s so different than anything you’ve ever written before.”

Zilla crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knees, “It was…It was a totally different experience writing this album, and when inspiration hits you just have to get it all out…”

As Zilla went on about her fake inspiration for the album, you tuned her out. You could care less about what she thought the songs meant, but when you heard James bring up a little segment he wanted to do with Zilla, you felt your heart jump to your throat.

James deviously smiled, “As one of the greatest songwriters of our generation––Oh, stop blushing you know you are––I think we should play a little game.”

Zilla let out a small laugh, “Oh?”

Even though you couldn’t stand her, you knew when she was nervous. Her foot started to bounce and she ran a hand through her hair as she quickly looked down at the ground.

And before James explained his little game, you felt someone rush past you with an acoustic guitar in their hands. You felt your stomach churn with anxiety because Zilla had already performed on the show, and she was the only musical guest on the show.

The crew member rushed on stage to hand the guitar to James and then quickly ran off. Your eyes widened and you felt your breath come out short.

“We here at the Late Late Show are obsessed with folklore––and even more obsessed with your songwriting.”

Oh no.

James handed the guitar to Zilla who took it with shaky hands, “And we challenge you to write a mini-song. Right here,” The crowd cheered, “Right now.”

Oh no.

Your jaw dropped the same time as Zilla’s and she whipped her head to look backstage at you with petrified eyes.

“Oh, James…” Zilla nervously laughed as one of her hands gripped the neck of the guitar, “You can’t just write a song in that amount of time.”

One of the guests spoke up from the couch, “But earlier you said that it only took you seven minutes to write the chorus of hoax.”

But there was a small little detail that everyone was missing. It didn’t take Zilla seven minutes to write the chorus to that song…It took you seven minutes to write it.

Zilla glared at the guest, “It needed some tweaking after––”

James let out a loud laugh and waved her off, “Oh stop being modest,” he then turned in his seat to face the audience and speak into the camera, “After the break we’ll have a brand new little song from singer-songwriter, Zilla!”

The crowd erupted in cheers while both you and Zilla stood frozen in place. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think Zilla would be in this position. Before every single interview or T.V. appearance, Zilla had her manager carefully pre-screen all of the questions and segments she would be part of to make sure nothing like this happened.

“This is exciting,” Shawn bounced on his feet, and for a moment, you forgot that he was standing next to you, “She always changes topics whenever I try to talk songwriting with her.”

This was definitely not an ideal situation for either her or you.

“That’s…” you looked around to see the audience excitedly talking amongst each other. You heard one girl in the front row say how she couldn’t believe she was going to witness the Zilla write something in front of her. You were beginning to feel increasingly hot with ever second that passed, “That’s one way to put it.”

“And we’re back!”

Zilla’s head whirled around again to look at you, but you turned your head to the side to try and find the nearest trash can in case you threw up.

“Zilla…” James started off with a smirk, “You just sat here looking off to the side…I’m hoping you heard the music in your head.”

The audience laughed, Shawn laughed, and Zilla just sat there in silence.

“Well, go on then,” James gestured to the guitar, “Play us what you wrote.”

At least Zilla knew how to play the guitar, and she started off strumming a random chord as she let out a shaky breath before singing.

“Oh…You make me feel like the sky…So…Blue,” you visibly cringed at her lyrics and were reminded as to why you were hired. But as she continued to sing, you started to feel more and more nauseous, “Oh…I wish you made me feel like…The sun, so bright and…Yellow.”

Everyone was silent.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off her as she still had her eyes shut tight. You knew exactly how she was feeling; embarrassed, nauseous, and utterly humiliated. You took a peak at Shawn and saw that his mouth tugged down in a frown, lips slightly parted, with his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

James’s stare was blank before he let out a forced chuckle, side-eyeing the audience, before he turned his attention back to Zilla, “Nice warm up, but now, let the magic flow and sing us the real song.”

Zilla opened her eyes and took in a deep breath, “That––I told you––You can’t push inspiration.”

James nodded his head, eyes wide in surprise at how Zilla snapped at him. Zilla was always poised, always charming everyone in the room, and never had she ever snapped at anyone in public before. Her jaw was clenched and you saw her shoulders tense up.

“I––I get that,” James tried his best to de-escalate the situation, “But you––your songwriting––You’ve always been so vocal about how you can write so fast, even without inspiration––”

You were surprised Zilla hadn’t snapped the neck of the guitar in half with how strong her grip was on it. She glared at James, “Well, I’m just not feeling it today––”

“I could’ve written something better,” the guest next to her laughed, which caused the audience to laugh along with them, as they continued their teasing, “Might need to take away your songwriting achievements––”

Zilla snapped her head to her right, turning her anger away from James, to the unknown actor who sat next to her, “I hired the best songwriter in in the business. She writes only the best for me––”

“––Because what you just sang was horrific.” They finished off their sentence.

For the third time tonight, you froze. All of the second-hand embarrassment you felt when she sang disappeared and was replaced with absolutely nothing. You had no thoughts––You just felt empty. You only had a feeling of absolute devastation, paired with a slight ringing in your ear, as your throat closed up.

You thought that her revelation couldn’t be heard by the actor talking over her. You thought that no one caught her slip up. But with the stunned look James had on his face, a few audible gasps of confusion from the audience, and Shawn stiffening up next to you…You knew that she blew her own cover because she didn’t know how to keep her cool.

James cleared his throat, “Your…Songwriter? You have someone else write songs for you?”

Zilla’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as she realized her mistake, and her face lost color, “Well, no––Of course not––It’s me––I’m my own songwriter––”

The other guest to Zilla’s left let out a snort, “There’s no way you wrote exile––”

“And we’ll be back after the break!” James interrupted the trio on the couch before Zilla completely lost her head.

Right as the studio lights lit up more of the room, Zilla tore off her mic and stormed off the stage. Her hands were balled tight into fists as you could visibly see her face turn a darker shade of red with each stomp she took toward you. You felt your heartbeat stop as you noticed her fiery glare was tunnel visioned toward you.

“She––You write her songs?”

Oh, shit.

For a moment, you forgot that Shawn was standing next to you because all you were focused on was the death glare Zilla continued to shoot your way as she walked toward you. You had been at the end of many of her glares, but nothing compared to how she looked at you now. Everything she had built her career on was crumbling and you knew she was going to blame you.

You rapidly shook your head, and when you looked up at Shawn, all you saw was betrayal and sadness, “No––Of course not––How’d you ever come to that conclusion––”

“You’re always in the studio when she’s supposed to be there,” Shawn cut you off, “She never wants to talk about songwriting while you––we’ve––been writing songs together,” his eyes widened as you saw something click in his mind, “Invisible String…” His voice tapered off as he mentioned the song, “You––You said you were just holding onto it for her.”

As you felt your heart plummet down your throat and into your stomach, you continued to shake your head, “I was just holding it on for her––It’s not––I––”

“I gave you a suggestion to change a lyric and it…You changed it,” his eyes that were full of despair suddenly narrowed at you.

Your voice cracked as he took a step away from you, “Shawn––”

He shook his head, “You lied––”

“This is all your fault,” Zilla shouted at you as she took hold of your elbow, spinning you away from Shawn to face her wrath, “If you could’ve––”

“How is this my fault?!”

Zilla shook with anger as you saw fire in her eyes, “It’s just––You,” she stomped her foot as she continued to throw her tantrum, “It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t been so caught up in writing with Shawn you would’ve been more focused on me. Because newsflash,” she took a step forward, “You still work for me.”

“You––Y/n? So she is your ghostwriter?”

Zilla’s eyes widened because she forgot that Shawn was also backstage with you. And she basically just confirmed everything she tried so hard to deny when she was on stage.

You were long forgotten as Zilla turned to face Shawn. She tried to take hold of his hands, but he shook her off and took a step back, “It’s––We have a partnership––We both write–––”

“You take credit for the songs that Y/n writes,” Shawn said it more as a statement than a question, but his voice was still one of disbelief.

Zilla’s face crumbled. She knew the only hold she had on Shawn was that he thought she wrote all her own music, “Shawn––”

“Zilla,” her manager came rushing toward her with panic written all over their face, “This––This is bad. We need to do some serious damage control––”

“The show––It’s pre-recorded,” Zilla hastily said, “Can’t we––Is there any way we can pay them to edit it out?”

Her manager grimaced as they shook their head, “Someone had their phone out, recorded the whole thing, and posted it to Twitter.” Zilla let out a noise that was a mix between a cry and whine, “Billboard already has a whole article written. TMZ is having a field day…” Her manager rubbed their temples, “It’s really not looking good.”

This time, Zilla did let out a soft cry as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. Everything she built her career on––The authenticity of songwriting––It was over.

“And you,” her manager gave you a disinterested look, “You should probably leave. If people saw you two together they might think––”

“Loud and clear,” you grumbled at them, not feeling the least bit sorry that Zilla had a meltdown on television and that it was all on video. This was the Zilla you knew. This was the “famed” singer-songwriter you had to deal with for years. She was rude, nasty, and the most self-centered musician in the industry.

With a deep breath, you were about to turn around and leave, but if this was how they were treating you after everything you gave up for her, you wanted to make one thing clear, “Don’t ever come to me asking for another song again.” You angrily breathed out, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer as I expect that she,” you glared at Zilla, “Violated some term in the contract by admitting to having a ghostwriter.”

You whirled around, hoping that would be the last time you saw Zilla until you had to meet again to officially terminate your contract. When your back was facing her––all you heard was her crying––but you couldn’t find the one person who deserved an apology.

Shawn was gone.

----

Two months after the public meltdown Zilla had on James Corden, people were still trying to figure out who the ghostwriter was. But unlike the day you signed the contract at sixteen, there was an extra person who knew that you were Zilla’s ghostwriter. Shawn was added to the list of you, your roommate, your entertainment lawyer, Zilla’s manager, and Zilla herself that knew your secret identity.

Zilla had come out with a tearful apology less than twenty-four hours after multiple music publications came out calling her a fraud. And the next time that you saw her in person was with your entertainment lawyer to terminate the contract. When the contract was labeled “null and void” it felt like the chains Zilla had around your wrist were broken.

And ever since Zilla confirmed she’d been working with a ghostwriter in her tearful YouTube apology video, the internet had not stopped searching. In her video she said, “out of respect to the writer I worked so closely with over the years, I’m not revealing their identity.”

It was a low blow. Because everything about that sentence was a lie. The two of you never worked close together on any songs and you knew she had little to no respect for you. She made that clear during the years you worked for her.

Even after everything…You still liked the anonymity that came with the deal. Especially now, if you were to come out as her ghostwriter, you would have the attention of the world. And while you wanted credit for your work, you didn’t know if you were ready to be put on that stage yet.

But the thing that killed you the most was not being able to explain everything to Shawn.

He hadn’t responded to any of the messages you left him. You felt a pang of pain in your chest whenever you pulled up your messages with him and read back through your texts. You listened to the voice notes he sent you a three in the morning when he was struck with inspiration and you mourned the ridiculous selfies he sent you.

You had taken up a hobby of cooking complicated recipes, that needed your full attention, to keep yourself from hyperfocusing on the regret you felt by not explaining the situation to Shawn sooner. As you put the beef wellington in the oven, coming to a painful understanding that you would probably never hear from Shawn again, your phone dinged on the counter.

Two months after not hearing from him…He sent you a text. It was simple, and to a stranger looking in on your friendship, they wouldn’t know what it meant. But you understood it loud and clear.

Music lesson in twenty?

You yelled out to Mia––telling her to keep an eye out on the oven––as you grabbed your keys and dashed out the door. After you buckled up, you sent him a response––of course––and broke about every traffic law in the book as you raced to the coffee shop you always had your “music lessons” at.

Your park job was pitiful, but it didn’t matter, because you made it to the coffee shop in a record thirteen minutes with only one person on your mind. Automatically, your feet carried you through the coffee shop and to the back patio. You were about to sit at an empty table when you saw that your music partner was already sitting at one.

He was slumped down on the chair, arms tightly crossed over his chest, and even though he was wearing sunglasses you knew that he saw you enter. But unlike all the other times you had your music lessons, he didn’t jump up and wave his hands above his head.

Like routine, you weaved through the tables until you got to him.

You stood in front of him for the first time since the James Corden incident, and even though you could feel the irritation he felt toward you…You noticed two cups of coffee on the table. He had his usual black drip coffee and there was a cappuccino.

“Light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso,” Shawn mumbled.

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t say anything. You promptly sat down and circled your hands around the mug. Because even though it was October, you still felt cold in California.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments longer; Shawn was still slumped in his chair while you sat with perfect posture, wanting to be ready for anything that came your way.

It was a silence that came when two people understand each other.

You let out a sigh as you looked at the latte art this particular coffee shop was known for, before you looked up at him with wide apologetic eyes, “I––I know saying sorry isn’t enough of an apology.” Shawn stayed slumped as he nodded his head. You saw your reflection in his sunglasses and gulped, “And not telling you because I was contractually obligated to keep quiet about being her ghostwriter…” you let out a pathetic laugh, “Just sounds shallow and shitty.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Why did you do it?

Truthfully, you didn’t think you had it in you to captivate the attention of record labels and you didn’t think you were interesting enough for a fanbase. Your plan was to hopefully get a publishing deal, write songs for that specific music publishing house, and have various artists cut your songs for their albums. But then you caught Zilla’s attention. And just like how she was with everything else in her life, she was selfish and wanted your talent all to herself.

Wanting to stall before you answered, you picked up the cappuccino and took a sip, but even beneath his sunglasses, you could feel his hard stare on you.

You sighed, “I––I didn’t like the idea of being in front of people. I was sixteen, didn’t want to be pulled away from home, and I felt like I was better suited for writing and not performing.”

You tapped your fingers on the side of the ceramic mug, “And before I knew it…Zilla heard one of my demos floating around a publishing company, liked it enough to cut it, and then it turned into signing a contract with her to be her ghostwriter.”

Shawn shook his head as he leaned forward, taking off his sunglasses, tired eyes staring straight into yours as he rested his elbows on the table, “Why’d you let her pretend that she wrote your songs?”

Shawn briefly covered his face with his hands, before looking at you with a pained expression, “As a songwriter, I can’t…Just thinking about someone else claiming my feelings as their own?” The look he gave you made you want to hide in a cave for the rest of your life, “Why did you do that?”

You sucked in a breath and shrugged your shoulders, “I––I’m not sure.”

He nodded his head, not because he understood your answer, but in understanding that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you.

“How’d you do it?” He stared straight into your eyes, not backing down until he got this answer out of you, “I looked at the songwriting credits and they were all under her name. I searched every performing rights organization database and saw that she––you––whoever––was with B.M.I. And I called the people I knew there and they said that they didn’t have anyone by your name.”

He let out a defeated sigh, “The only person they had registered for her songs,” the fact that he couldn’t even say Zilla’s name had you smiling just a tad, “Was a Zilla Greene.”

You nodded with a sad smile, “That’s me.”

Shawn tilted his head and scrunched his eyebrows together, “No, that’s not––Zilla Greene––That’s Zilla, not you––”

You shook your head and held up a hand to him, he quickly stopped talking and let you explain, “When Zilla approached me to be her ghostwriter, it was her manager’s idea to have Zilla––whose real name is Willow––perform under a stage name that synced up with a pseudonym for me.” Shawn slowly nodded his head, “So that way if anyone were to look at the songwriting credits and search her up on a database,” you gave him a pointed look, “It would just look like it was still her stage name. First name, last name, and all.”

Shawn let out a small laugh of disbelief, “I can’t believe you pulled it off for years.”

You shared his laugh and took a sip of your coffee, feeling a small sense of dread in your stomach, “And it would’ve kept going on if she didn’t practically admit it on James Corden.”

The atmosphere went back to feeling tense.

“So, are you…” Shawn lifted his head and looked at the people sitting around them, before he leaned into the middle of the table, whispering, “Still her ghostwriter?”

You let out a small laugh as you shook your head, “She technically broke our contract so, no,” you genuinely smiled for the first time when talking about Zilla, “I don’t write for her anymore.”

Shawn took a sip of his coffee before he mirrored your smile, “All this time…” He looked at you with a hint of remorse, “Whenever I told you how much I wanted to write with Zilla,” he smiled sadly, “I was actually writing with her.”

You nodded your head, “Don’t feel bad,” you waved him off, “I knew the whole time that it was me you wanted to write with.”

Shawn rolled his eyes and lightly nudged his foot against your leg under the table. At the gesture, you didn’t try to hide the blinding smile that overtook your face.

“I was literally fangirling over you in front of you,” he briefly looked down at the table, letting out a chuckle, before looking back up at you with soft eyes, “And I didn’t even know it.”

You smirked, “Don’t worry, it still boosted my ego all the more.”

Shawn let out a loud laugh as he flipped you off just when you were about to take another sip of the drink he bought for you.

“So…” Shawn started off slow, briefly breaking eye contact with you, “I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with it yet, but I…I’d be honored if I could credit you as a songwriter on my next album.”

After years of being brushed under the rug, years of someone taking advantage of your feelings for their own monetary benefit, having Shawn saying he would be honored to credit you––actually you––for your work…You felt yourself get choked up at the thought.

You sniffled, trying to hold back the small tears of joy you felt behind your eyes in, “I would really appreciate that.”

Shawn’s smile was wide as he nodded once at you, before he leaned over to reach for something under the table.

He pushed his songwriting journal over towards you and opened it up to a page with music notes. You looked down and his messy note placement as you heard the composition in your head.

“So, I’ve been practicing arpeggios,” you looked up from the journal to see a sheepish smile on his face, “And while the sound of broken chords sound really cool,” and again, under the table, he brushed his foot on top of yours, “I’d like it better if the chords were together.”

You smiled as you felt a familiar warm feeling in the pit of your stomach cause a shiver to run through your whole body.

“Together,” you repeated his words that most definitely held a double meaning, “I think I’d like if the chords were together, too.”

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