#shawn mendes fan fiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lonelyreputation · 5 years ago

Text

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.”

taglist (add / remove yourself!): @adelaidestreets, @alilovesshawn, @alina--jpeg, @fallinallincurls, @lights-on-mendes, @mendesficsxbombay, @now-that-i-saw-u, @particularnarry, @shawnmendez, @shawnsreputation, @turtoix, @vinylmendes, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandducks @musicalkeys, @madatmendes @im-salt-but-not-salty @sunkisseddreamer, @crossedties @fortheloveoftheaussies, @illuminatepotter , @par_r, @perfectlywrongsm

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softboywriting · 5 years ago

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Fix You | Raul Mendes | Modern Royal AU |WIP

Summary: Raul is the prince set to take the throne of the northern kingdom. His life was picture perfect until an affair on his wife’s behalf tore everything apart and broke his heart. Now, two years later and he meets you, the daughter of a lord in the royal court. With your help he will open up and learn what it is to be in love for the first time. [friends to lovers] [angsty raul] [royal au] [tw conversation about dying] [WIP (work in progress)] [mendes triplet au] [loss of a parent]

Word Count: 51k [updated: Oct. 30th 2020]

Authors Note: None of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics on any platform. Header by @/delicateshawn.

|Masterlist In Bio|

The first time you see Prince Raul you can't help but hold your breath. He's beautiful, absolutely gorgeous in every way. It's the name day ball for him, the first one since his divorce to the southern princess Adalia McClure. Their engagement and courting was swift, a real love at first sight type of thing and the wedding was a week-long celebration in both kingdoms. Everyone thought they would be together for a lifetime but things changed. Adalia quickly became distant, uninterested in her new husband and king to be in the northern kingdom. The moment the news broke that she was having an affair the world was shocked. Who could do that to a prince like Raul? Why? No one knows and you're sure Raul still wants those answers too.

Keep Reading (@AO3)

#raul mendes #shawn mendes fic #mendes triplets #the mended triplets #raul mendes fic #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes imagine #mendes triplets fic #mendes triplets au #shawn mendes royal au

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onlyfansdotcomslashshawnmendes · 4 years ago

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Start of Something Great

hi i haven’t written anything in a HOT minute. But I really have been sitting on that ask about sneaking around with Shawn for a hot minute too. So here it is, cheating..with Shawn. Which of course we don’t condone here but, some good angst, and Shawn being a lil cocky hot jock, cool right? NSFW/ Smut / Jock Shawn/ Cheating with Shawn / Car sex / gratuitous oral scenes / Impatient h*rny Shawn /vague college boy style daddy kink / Angsty /Catching feelings /undescribed femme character because fuck non-inclusive descriptions✨ / 3.5k words

“Crush, who's got a crush?” Turn off the car. Look around. “I like the way you blush.” Get out, lock the car. Walk across the parking lot, head down. “I like the way you bite.” Get into his car, the backseat. Head still down. Cheeks hot. “Touch, each time we touch,” He gets out, a smirk painted on pink lips. “I wanna take too much.” Steal a glance, clouds of breath, long fingers reaching for the door. “Keep me up all night” The door pulls open, he slips into the backseat as well. The door locks “I wanna scratch your surface.” Lips crushed together, teeth almost clashing at the simple eagerness of it. “I wanna feel your groove.” Her cold fingertips pulled at clothes, pushing off jackets and scratching his pale skin. “I wanna be your needle.” The windows of the car were already fogging up in the cold Toronto air, body heat raising the temperature of the car. “I wanna lick your wound.” His lips found her neck, warm kisses sticking to her skin. She could feel the cold steel of his earring brush her cheek. “You wanna play with fire?” Her fingers ran up his neck, tangling into brown curls, pulling already. “Stick and poke tattoo?” Teeth. She felt his teeth against her neck, “Easy,” she whispered. “Sorry, I missed you,” he murmured as those teeth found her ear. “You wanna play, my new girl?” Her hand ran under his shirt, fingertips tracing the outline of hard muscles. “I wanna play with you.” Her fingertips ran lower, brushing over his belt. “Is this your sex playlist or something?” she asked with a laugh. He paused, pulling back and glancing at the front of his car, “No,” he said before looking back at her, “Are you listening to the music right now? I’m almost insulted. ” he said before pushing her jacket off, pushing her shirt up. Almost as soon as he did, he pushed her bra up as well, humming as her breasts fell out the bottom. “No I just..” she started, but she was cut short as his lips found her chest. “God you have…such nice fucking tits,” he whispered. Calloused hands cupped her breasts, massaging and kneading her tender skin as his lips moved over her. His tongue teased her nipples, hardening them in the cool air. “Shawn…” she breathed his name, wrapping her arms around his head as his lips worked over her. She wanted to pull her shirt all the way off, the only thing stopping her was… Well, the simple fact they were in a parking lot. There were no cars around them, but she was still nervous. Her fingers combed through his curls as he sucked at her chest, almost playing with them. “Do you want me to eat your pussy?” It caught her off guard, she’d barely noticed he’d stopped. “I uh…” and she glanced around. “What?” Shawn asked, sitting back up straight, “You said your lunch break was an hour, we have time.” She shook her head, “No I just, we’ve never done that before, like a car..” her voice was soft. “You’ve never done it before maybe,” he said laughing, shrugging some, “You’re the one who didn’t want to come back to my dorm.” He said and she nodded, “No I know, I just, what if someone sees?” she asked. “Who?” Shawn asked, tapping his finger on the window covers on his back windows. Of course the front was still open, but the back was rather closed off on the sides. “The dude leering in my windshield? Back or front?” he asked smirking some. For a moment, she thought about the window covers, how often did he do this..with who else. So much so he’d bought those? “Right, sorry, I’m just..nervous.” she whispered. Shawn shrugged then, taking his discarded jacket, and hanging it in front of his back window. He took hers then, hanging each side at the safety handles in the front seat, making a making shift sort of partition, “Better?” She nodded, but then reached in closer to him, kissing his lips harder this time. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting her fingers play in those curls again. “…Tell your boys it’s going down.” He broke those kisses, and he moved, a bit awkwardly but then shifting to ‘stand’ in front of her. “We in the zone now, don't stop.” Bent over, he pulled her leggings down and off, setting them on the car seat beside her. “You can keep your hands on me, touch me right there, rock my body.” Moments later, her panties followed as he moved to his knees on the floorboard. “I can't keep my hands off you, your body is my party.” His hands spread her legs wide, pushing them up so her shoes rested on his car seat. “I'm doing this little dance for you.” His lips were instantly moving up her inner thighs, not even giving her a moment to feel exposed. “You got me so excited.” No that came after, as his tongue dragged up her slit. “Now it's just me on you” His tongue found her clit, teasing it, drawing circles and flickering there. “Your body's my party, let's get it started.” Her mouth fell open in soft moans as her fingers tangled once more into his hair. “Boy, you should know that your love is always on my mind.” His tongue dragged lower, and she gasped, feeling it push into her. He pushed it deep, his face tight against her. She could feel his breath hot, through his nose against her clit. “I'm not gonna fight it, I want it all the time.” His tongue kept working into her, pumping over and over. His eyes shut tight. “Boy you should know that your love is always on my mind.” She was getting …way too close, way too fast, and on the verge of telling him. But finally, his lips pulled back from her. Relief. “I can't it deny it, I want you, I want you.” Her eyes watched the way his jaw got tight, cheeks hollowing as he leaned in to spit against her pussy. God, he was so dirty. “This…has to be a sex playlist,” she almost laughed. His brown eyes flickered up as two fingers pressed together dragged up and down her slit, like spreading his saliva. He took a moment to push his fingers half into her, and leaning up, spitting a long string of saliva onto his fingers. “Now I am insulted,” he said in a low voice as he pushed those fingers deep into her. Immediately they pushed up, and they made her gasp, her hips jerked forward. It was so sticky…as if she’d needed that spit at all. “You’re…demonic Mendes,” she panted those words as his free hand pushed his hair out of his face. “I love it when you talk dirty to me baby,” he purred. His fingers worked into her, and she clenched around them so tightly she thought he’d stop moving them. Her hips almost pushed forward to each movement for more friction, and she cursed herself for it. Soon, his head leaned back down, and she felt his lips on her again. He tilted his head to the side, curls falling on her thigh as he worked her clit. His lips gave kisses, tongue teasing and circling, and he’d suck softly in between all of it. Even so, his fingers were relentless, and she was sure she was soaking his car seat now. “Shawn…” she moaned, her body arching as her hands pulled his hair tight. “Shawn you’re going to make me cum...” her voice was almost a broken sob at this point, and her words only served to make him moan against her skin. His fingers didn’t stop, if anything they got faster, and his lips and tongue worked hungrily. “Sh-awn..” she almost choked his name as she pleaded. But soon her hips lifted entirely off of the seat, grinding up against his face as she reached her orgasm. She clenched so tightly against his fingers. One of her hands shot to her mouth covering it so she wouldn’t scream. But she still gave broken dry sobs as she rode out that high. The whole time she rode it out, Shawn peppered soft kisses over her, working fingers into her, making her whimper and whine. Finally, as her hands pushed him back, he did pull back, looking up at her with a soft grin on his lips, “Good?” he asked. She gave a shy nod as he leaned in, kissing her lips hard. While he kissed her, he slowly moved up, sitting back on the seat beside her. She slipped her legs back down into a normal sitting position, glancing over at him and hoping he didn’t notice she was already shaking. She swore she could feel her heartbeat in her pussy right now. But her eyes were locked on his hands, undoing his belt, and he pushed his jeans down. No underwear. As his jeans reached his thighs, his cock popped free, and she couldn’t help but watch it bounce in place. He was such a stereotype and she wondered if he knew it. “Well, are you going to stare at it or are you going to suck it?” his voice woke her up from that thought and she almost jumped. She had to stop herself from apologizing, but she nodded, leaning over to him. She stayed on the seat, almost turning sideways, and leaning down on one elbow. Her free hand wrapped around his cock and slowly tugged it as she pushed soft full lipped kisses over his skin. Her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, and she dragged her lips along the length. Up, then down, her tongue slipping between parted lips. Her eyes were closed but she heard him groan, felt his legs spread, his long fingers tangling into her hair. She felt a sort of stern tug, almost pulling her head up as he slipped forward in the seat. “Stop teasing..” he whispered as her tongue trailed over the tip of his cock. She smiled just a bit, dragging the tip of her tongue over the slit there. He inhaled so deeply that she heard his breathing shake while he did. “I swear to fucking god,” he panted. She couldn’t help but giggle, “You have such a nice cock Shawn,” she whispered against his skin, giving the very tip soft kisses, “It’s so big, and so hard for me…so pretty and pink.” She swore she could hear him grit his teeth as she stuck out her tongue and tapped his cock against it. ��Please,” he finally whispered through his teeth. “Put it in your mouth.” Another giggle from her and she leaned forward, wrapping her lips around him. Shawn breathed a sigh of relief, his fingers loosening in her hair as his fingertips rubbed her scalp now. “Fuck,” he groaned in a breathy sigh. His eyes closed as his head fell back, his mouth falling open as her mouth worked him. “You’re such a good girl…” he half muttered. She hummed against his cock in her mouth, pushing it back into her throat as far as she could for him, even gagging against him some. Something deep inside of her chest just pushed her to please him, to make sure he kept answering those texts from her. The ones where she asked him to meet her at a random parking lot…between his classes, on her lunchbreak. It was once a week, Tuesday, she didn’t have classes, she worked in the library at the college they attended. So they’d meet here. He’d asked her before to get dinner, to go on a real date with him. She’d politely declined, and despite the fact he didn’t seem hurt, he’d jokingly called her ‘Tuesday’ the next week. She couldn’t help but wonder if there were others… a Monday, maybe even more. She didn’t like the idea of there being others, even if she felt she didn’t have a right to that. Each time she bobbed her head down, she felt his stomach clench, his cock twitching against her lips. He gave low groans with each movement, until finally his hand pushed her shoulder gently. “Up,” he said softly, letting her sit up straight. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and just glanced to him. But as soon as she did, he kissed her hard, his hand resting on her jaw and pulling her closer. Once more he was moving in front of her. This time he moved her, pushing her into the corner of his car, pushing her legs apart. He put one on the seat, and one he moved so the heel of her foot rested on the arm rest of his car door. He moved one of his knees down, resting it on the car, and sort of crouching to move in front of her. “You know I’m never going to forgive you for not just letting me get a hotel for us.” He said reaching forward into his car’s center console. “A hotel for fifteen minutes Shawn?” she asked watching him pull back a condom. “Mhn, yeah a hotel for fifteen minutes, it would be better than my back hurting for the next two days.” He said as he opened the condom and pulled it on. “Your back?” she asked with a giggle, playfully wrapping her arm around his neck. “You know this position, in this car, and your dick are NOT friends. I’m going to spend the rest of the week sitting funny,” she said leaning up to kiss his lips once. “Maybe, but you keep coming back don’t you?” he asked, pushing himself up into her now. She gasped, feeling that familiar dull ache in her stomach. Sure, he was big, but it wasn’t insane or anything. Nothing she couldn’t handle normally. But the way this position scrunched her up, her legs wide, exposing her to as deep as he could get. And the way he jackhammered into her in that position, all of it did leave her rather sore. But he was right, she did keep coming back. Because truthfully, even in spite of all of that, he was good. Better than most, and even better than her boyfriend. “Fuck, Shawn,” her voice was a whine as he began to thrust into her already. Her free hand rested on his back, clawing at him through his shirt. Almost as soon as she did that, he pulled back a little, balancing, pausing for a moment, taking off his shirt. “I love those nails.” he purred. And he rebalanced himself once more, going back to thrusting into her at a steady pace. She made constant whimpers and whines, the way he did thrust into her was sinful. It had her bouncing in place and she just knew the car was rocking from the outside if anyone was watching. “Shawn..” she whined again, as he leaned in, kissing at her jaw, at her neck. He was careful this time, no teeth, no nips despite the fact that her nails were drawing blood on his back. “You miss that big cock baby?” he purred against her jaw, “You miss how it fucks you, huh?” he panted. She nodded, and he felt it against his chest, “Yes,” her voice sounded like she was begging. “Yes what?” he asked, pushing an extra deep thrust into her. “Yes daddy!” that came out as a dry sob. “Good girl, tell me nobody fucks you like I do.” Shawn whispered against her jaw. “Tell me nobody fucks that pussy like I do. Tell me that’s why you keep coming back.” his voice was low, almost starving really. She couldn’t help but whimper, making soft sobbing noises. He was so deep already, she swore she could feel him in the back of her throat. “N..nobody..fucks it like you do daddy,” she panted. Now both of her arms wrapped around his torso as she dug her nails into his shoulders. “What else.” his words sounded like velvet even as he panted him. “Why do you keep coming back, hm? Tell me. Make that big cock cum.” Her whimpers got louder now, she wrapped one leg around his waist, almost just because she needed something to hold onto. “B-bec-because...of that c-cock...daddy!” she whined, her voice shaking some just because of the way he was relentless with her. “Shawn, easy.” she breathed against his neck, “Please,” her words were almost shaking. It was too much for her, he was rough often, sure. He was hungry, but this time he seemed... desperate. When she told him to be easy though, Shawn slowed down a good amount. He didn’t slam into her, he didn’t make her bounce against the seat. He was deep still, hungry, but he rolled his hips up against hers, pushing into her as he kissed her throat. She could hear him giving soft almost growls against her jaw, but her breathing was only beginning to somewhat regulate. “Shawn..” she panted, one hand still on his back, one hand rubbing his curls. “You’re horny today, huh?” her voice was an exhausted kind of laugh. But Shawn didn’t seem to notice, “It’s been a rough week.” he said, taking one hand and using it as leverage to hold himself up. The other hand moved between her thighs, massaging her clit. His fingers were short fast little circles as he kept pushing up into her like that. “Mhn, you expect me to beli....oh..fuck that feels good,” she whined at his fingers. “You expect me to believe you haven’t got your dick wet since last Tuesday?” she said it disbelieving, even though she couldn’t help but wish it were true... even if that wasn’t their relationship. “I don’t care what you believe. Can we stop talking about personal shit right now?” he asked before kissing her hard. He kissed her the way he’d been fucking her. Like he wanted to knock the breath out of her, like he couldn’t get enough. His lips crushed to hers, his cock pushed deep into her each time, slow and intense. His fingers kept working that sweet little button, and she could feel warmth building in her core. The more focused his thrusts got, the more intsense that seemed to feel. Oh no..oh no no no. Not here, not in his car. Not in his Jeep. Not..with him. It was already him, he was so cocky, he was so good. This wasn’t going to be the first time she squirted with a boy. Her fingertips pressed his stomach, not hard, just a feeble half hearted attempt to stop him. “Shawn,” she whined into the kiss. “Cum,” he panted against hers. He knew her, he knew the whimpers and noises she made right before it hit. He knew the way her pussy clenched on him, over and over, squeezing his cock so tight he was ..honestly scared he’d lose the condom sometimes. An irrational fear, but it crossed his mind. She was squirming under him, like she always did, like she wanted to get away before it was too late. All at once, it crashed into her. Warmth flooded between her legs, she could /feel/ the gushing. Her cheeks were burning hot, on fire as her hips jerked. She swore she was screaming, but she must not have been, or he didn’t mind because he didn’t stop her. His lips were on her neck, his fingertips still massaging her clit as he kept rolling his hips into her. He kept at it until she’d ridden it out, her hips jerking up at the sensitivity. Once she reached that point though her nails stopped clawing at him and instead began pushing him away. At the little pushes she gave and her whines, he slowly pulled back. She glanced between them, she couldn’t remember feeling him cum exactly, but she did see the condom full. He sort of ‘fell’ beside her in the car seat, panting softly. He pulled the condom off, cracking his door and dropping it on the parking lot pavement as cold air rushed in. Quickly, he shut the door, and she scolded him. “Oh Shawn, fuck come on!” she groaned. “That’s..so gross, don’t be that guy.” she whined. “I am that guy.” he said looking over at her in a tired way, and sighing softly despite smiling as he did. For a moment she just glared at him, before finally speaking, “When did you cum...at the end or?” Shawn shook his head, “Mhn, no, almost as soon as I put it in.” he said, and she blinked in shock. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, only getting a shrug as a response. She wondered if he was shy, or it really had just been a week. “Do you want to smoke?” he asked after a moment, “Like split one before you go back to work?” She laughed, glancing over back him, and slowly putting her legs straight in front of her. “You want me to go back to work high?” she asked, once more, he just shrugged. There was a moment of silence as she shakily picked up her panties, starting to put them back on. She stopped mid-thigh, sort of glancing at the moisture between her legs, “Do you have a uh..” but as she looked up, Shawn was handing her a pile of napkins. She gave a soft ‘oh thank you’ taking the napkins and beginning to wipe up with them. But midway through she laughed some, “Panera?” she asked holding up a napkin to him. “Do you prefer Dominos?” he asked shrugging. “You know your fast food napkins though, I like that in a girl.” he teased. Before just kind of sitting up a bit straighter, looking over at her. “Do you uh, you don’t wanna go again?” he asked, watching her pull up her panties now. “When have we ever gone twice in your car?” she asked with a soft laugh. Shawn shrugged, but started fixing his own jeans then. That..really was all she was getting out of him today, huh. “Are you trying to keep me here?” she asked playfully, giving a little giggle as she kept redressing. Honestly, she was just a bit pleased with herself for keeping her trembling legs still. Another shrug from Shawn. But finally he answered, “I don’t know I’m just not feeling class today.” It was a feeble excuse but who was she to argue it. She took her jacket down where he’d pinned it above the seats and their veil was lifted, it was lighter in the car. But still, cold, snow lingering on the parking lot ground. Almost on cue of her taking her jacket, her phone was ringing. Instinctively she reached in her jacket pocket, taking it out and looking at the screen. Shawn did his best to subtly glance at the screen, but he didn’t have to. “Sorry, I should..” she said holding up her phone to him. Another damn shrug. As soon as her hand touched the door, Shawn spoke. “You still haven’t broken up with him yet?” he asked looking over at her. For a moment she was quiet, “For...what Shawn?” she asked, turning back in her seat to face him. “If I recall, you had a girlfriend the first time we..” she trailed off then, bracing herself for another shrug. “Yeah but I left her.” he said, there was the shrug, just after this time. “Are you expecting me to believe it was for me?” she asked, her tone a bit coy, “Is that what you’re insinuating, Mendes?” her phone had stopped ringing now. And she felt the buzz of a voicemail notification. He shook his head, rolling his eyes some, she could she a smirk on his lips even if he did turn his head. “I’m just saying that it was the right thing to do. To break up with her. Not keep cheating on her. I don’t have to like..be a stereotype of every single negative college jock in a movie, you know? I can be nice.” he said kind of giving her a smile, “I think I’m nice.” She didn’t really have an answer to that. Or well she did, her first instinct was to prove him wrong. To mention how she knew he was only passing his classes because he slept with his tutors. Or because the coaches had begged his teachers to pass him so he could keep winning the school’s hockey games. She wanted to mention how she’d seen him deck at least 3 guys in bars since they’d started school. How he walked around campus like he was a god and everyone just went with it. How maybe she wasn’t being a good girlfriend but he wasn’t the good guy in this whole equation either. She knew she wasn’t being a good girlfriend. But how dare he call her out on that. “Actually Shawn, I’m pretty sure walking up to a girl in the circle of her friends at a party...with your beer in hand. And then minutes later using the ‘well your boyfriend isn’t here is he’ line on her, before dragging her into a bedroom... I’m pretty sure that is THE negative movie jock stereotype, so you’re missing the key points.” she said pulling on her jacket. “Oh fuck you that’s not fair,” he sighed, “I made sure you were sober,” he said in a quiet voice. But now she was getting out, jacket secure and grabbing phone and keys from her jacket pocket. “Hey,” he reached out, grabbing her jacket sleeve gently, almost like a child, pulling at his mother. “See you next week?” he asked. She saw something in his eyes, and she didn’t know what it was, or for sure she’d ever seen it on him before. So, she just nodded to him. He tugged her a bit closer then, “Kiss me.” he said in a quiet voice. She gave a soft sigh, but leaned in closer as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lips in a soft sticky way. Their lips stuck together in the cool air, the crack in her door already dropping the car temperature. “Do you remember what you told me the first time you fucked me?” she asked against his lips. “This could be the start of something great,” he said nipping at her bottom lip. “Mhn, almost,” she added, “’This could be the start of something great, as long as you don’t fall in love with me.’ That’s what you said,” she said against his lips, “So I didn’t.” she added before giving him one more peck as she saw his jaw clench. She turned to get out then, only hearing Shawn give her a soft ‘be safe, text me once you get back, the roads are gross’ before she closed the door. She got walked back to her car, the wind already burning her cheeks, and she didn’t look back. She didn’t want to see him right now, even if it was just him getting back in his driver’s seat.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes smut fic #jock shawn mendes #jock!shawn #college shawn mendes #college!shawn

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brianc521 · 4 years ago

Text

Talk | Brian Craigen

Request: hurts her feelings without meaning to & she pretends to be okay, so his best friend has to tell him what’s he’s done

It was the smallest comment. Something said in passing, that wasn’t meant to be anything. But isn’t usually the smallest thing said that breaks the straw on the camels back? That causes a catastrophe to occur. The one little crack causes the building to fall. The one final second causes the bomb to erupt.

For this instance it went something like

“She goes off on tangents because she gets distracted while telling you something. Most stories take at least an hour, she just talks that much.”

That was that. Her whole world around her crumbled in that moment. Y/n’s been told all her life that she talks a lot. Sometimes it was said just as a fact, because it’s true, she did. Other times thought it was said as an insult, and those times always stand out more. No matter what though, it’s been something she’s self conscious of. Mainly because she doesn’t realize it until after her story has been told, or if she notices someone checking out during her animated conversation.

She’s come to the conclusion that once she feels comfortable with someone she’ll just talk their ear off. I mean she can’t help it, it just happens. One thing reminds her of a funny story, and that story reminds her of another and from there she’s just, talking, always.

So to hear her boyfriend of almost 7 months now say that, it leaves her feeling very discombobulated. She thought he had liked that part of her. He never gave her any indication that he didn’t. Always asking questions that spurred her on to more description.

It leaves her stuck in her head all day. Checking out of most activities as she relives every moment for the past 7 months.

“Hey Honey,” Brian sits next to her, “You okay over here?”

“Mhm.” She nods, looking at him.

His brows furrow as he scans her face. Somethings up, he can tell, he can feel it in his bones. But they’re in public, with others around them, and he doesn’t want to push her here. He doesn’t want her uncomfortable.

“Okay, you’ll tell me if you’re not?”

“Mhm.” She responds again, looking back out the window of the coffee shop.

Brian stands, still staring at her, having a lingering feeling that something wasn’t right here. He goes back over to Shawn and Connor, joining back in on their conversation they’re having about the pub they went to the night before.

For the rest of the day she’s quiet. I mean she literally doesn’t say a word, and it’s not that she’s vowed she won’t, it’s just that she’s decided to not join in on conversations anymore unless she’s spoken too. It’s the only safe way she feels she can do to make sure she doesn’t speak too much.

Brians becoming worried, he keeps watching her from across the room. Now that they’re at the arena he’s busy getting ready for a show, and he can’t help but be distracted.

“Bri, are you good?” Connor asks when he notices Brian’s not paying attention.

“Is Y/n acting weird to you?”

“What?” Connor asks looking at his best friends girlfriend.

“Is she acting weird to you? I mean, she’s just been staring off in the distance or at her phone all day.”

“I just kind of figured you two were fighting, or that she was upset over what you said today.” Connor shrugs, looking back down at his camera.

At this Brian whips his head up, staring at his best friend with wide worried eyes. “What did I say?”

“That she talked a lot?”

“What? When?”

“You made a comment this morning on the way to the coffee shop that she goes off on tangents that last at least an hour because of how much she talks. I know that’s something she’s a little insecure about.”

“I-” Brian stops and looks back at his girl. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounds. I meant it as something that’s so cute about her. How-do you think she really thinks I think that?”

“I think she might, after today I mean.”

“Oh my god.” Brian shoves the wires he was holding into Connor’s hands and pushes past everyone to go to her. When he’s standing in front of her he holds out his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Come here.”

“Brian?” She says as she puts her hand in his, gasping as he pulls her up and down the hall for some privacy. “What are you doing?” She asks again.

“You know right?” He asks her, desperately, once they’re in private.

“Know what?”

“That I don’t think you talk too much.”

She sighs and looks down at her hands.

“Hey hey hey.” He whispers, tilting her chin back up to have her look at him. “I don’t think that!” His eyes dart back and forth rapidly, trying to read hers.

“I heard what you said this morning. I’m sorry, I’ll work on it.”

“No you won’t there is nothing to work on! I did not mean it the way it sounded. I was talking to Shawn about how cute you are. And he asked what one of my favorite things about was and I said; ‘She goes off on tangents because she gets distracted while telling you something. Most stories take at least an hour, she just talks that much.’ I love that about you, Honey.” His voices trails off at the end, almost in a whine.

She’s just staring up at him, with red plump lips, swollen from the biting on them she’s been doing all day.

He feels like someone is cracking his chest open and reaching in to literally break his heart. The pain in her eyes makes him want to wrap her up in his arms and hold her so she never feels unsafe again.

“Really?” She whimpers out.

“Really Honey. I swear it. I love listening to you talk. It’s so soothing, and you’re an amazing story teller. I swear you write books by just simply talking about your day. I can’t imagine life without it. Don’t, dear god, please don’t stop. Don’t do what you did today. Don’t disengage and keep silent. It throws the whole balance off. Please, please Honey don’t change.”

She just sighs and drops her head onto his chest, and he finally, finally, holds her.

“I was so worried.” She hiccups against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“No Honey,” He brushes through her hair with his fingers. “Shh.” He soothes her.

And they stay like that, holding each other, embracing the other. Until Brian is literally being pulled away by a stagehand for the start of the show. But he stares at her and she nods, sending him off, and feeling immensely better than she did before.

#BRIAN BLURB DAY #brian craigen #brian craigen fluff #brian craigen angst #brian craigen imagine #brian craigen blurb #brian craigen smut #shawn mend #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fan fiction

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harryandmolly · 5 years ago

Text

fear and loathing in mandeville canyon *5*

summary: Shawn & Lilly, derailed, detoured, but maybe not destroyed

warnings: language, NSFW (unprotected sex), The Reckoning pt. 1 (this warning brought to you by Georgie Kingston)

wc: 4.7k

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“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. I mean… wow.”

“I know, right?”

Shawn and Lilly are sitting up in Lilly’s bed, her sheets pooled around their naked hips. Her phone sits between them, glowing the only light in the room. Her home screen is a picture of Lauren dressed as the Statue of Liberty from Halloween in college.

At first when Lilly checked the time, she was sure it said 5:04 PM. But given the time of year, it was too dark for that to be true. Shawn stirred and they inspected it together, equally bewildered.

5:04 AM. They slept for a clean 14 hours. By the way they each stretch and groan, neither of them moved a muscle the whole time. Lilly feels like she’s at the brink of atrophy, with a comfortable soreness between her legs.

She looks over at Shawn. He’s bleary-eyed, extra flushed from all the body heat they produce in the same bed together, with pillow marks on his cheeks and chest. Lilly has a mark across her side from the weight of his arm. It’s like they’ve been asleep for years.

Lilly lets her phone screen go dark. Dawn isn’t coming for a while. They’re alone. Their breathing syncs. Shawn yawns. Lilly follows. The quiet aches.

She reaches over to her nightstand and flicks on the lamp. The orange glow is made warmer than usual with his big brown eyes watching her. It’s different, though, than it has been. He’s not watching her like one of them is impersonating a dog in an ASPCA commercial. It’s curious and gentle, but there’s a confidence there, too. It seems she’s missed it.

“Hello there,” she sighs, coming down onto one folded arm on her side. He follows, mirroring her.

“Hi.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, looking him over. He squirms a little under her gaze.

“Thanks for shaving the gross facial hair.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “No problem. My mum made it pretty clear that she was going to ask me to shave it every time I FaceTimed her, so it was just delaying the inevitable.”

Lilly’s brows lift. “Did you like the gross facial hair?”

Shawn chuckles. “No. I guess I was just curious. I don’t really get to try shit like that most of the time. So.”

She nods, continuing her inspection, as though she hasn’t looked at him in the weeks they’ve been in Mandeville Canyon together. She doesn’t comment on his weight or the pallor of his skin. She has no business, given the way she’s been treating her own body. She internalizes it and moves on.

Timidly, she lifts her hand through his hair. His eyes flutter shut, he nuzzles into it automatically. She feels that ache between her thighs again, more prominently this time.

“But about the hair… maybe I should cut it. If you want me to.”

Shawn’s eyes brighten. “I didn’t know you could cut hair.”

“Oh, I can’t. I mean, I haven’t yet. But I’ll watch a video, we’ll be fine.”

He hesitates only for a moment, surprising her. “Ok. Yeah. It’s probably time.”

Lilly feels an odd sensation getting out of that bed and it can’t be blamed on low blood sugar or dehydration. The writer in her feels a scene ending when Shawn pulls himself up and walks into her shower, leaving the door open when he turns on the water and inspects his hair in the mirror, along with a couple of zits. The finality is an illusion, because life isn’t so neatly told like a screenplay. Even though she feels the scene is over, she has to stand up and find a clean pair of panties and think of some search terms to find a useful hair cutting tutorial on YouTube. There’s another scene and she doesn’t know what it is yet. She doesn’t even know what she wants it to be. But there’s putting the laptop down and walking away. There’s no stopping it.

Lilly wanders into the kitchen in panties and a tank top, too preoccupied to notice the utility scissors when she opens drawers looking for them. His footsteps are house-shakingly loud as they carry him from her side of the house to neutral ground. He arrives with a towel around his waist. His hair looks even more like sad limp noodles when it’s wet. He stops in the doorway, watching her. He waits until she pulls a chair into the empty space between the breakfast table and the island, under a bright cluster of lights. He takes the invitation to sit.

He even smells warm, somehow. Lilly’s urge to lick up the rivulets of tepid water coasting over the mountains and valleys of his back is disorienting.

They watch the tutorial together on her phone. It seems a small concession to make, given what he’s putting her in charge of. He doesn’t have any specific direction to give her beyond longer on top, shorter on the sides. So she goes hunting for some inspiration.

You would think she would know better than to dive into the “Shawn Mendes” tag on Tumblr. The seizing half-hiccup, half-pseudo stroke sensation she gets from accidentally coming upon a hoard of pictures of them together is back. Lilly blames a recent lack of exposure for the completely noticeable, pity-inducing reaction. Her callous has softened. After an awkward few seconds, she pivots to Google.

“I think we’re going for… like… February 2019 hair. That was really good hair,” Lilly insists, plowing ahead, gesturing to photos of him on the red carpet at the 2019 Brit Awards.

“Yeah,” Shawn replies, “That was good hair. Maybe a little longer on the sides though. I liked what I had going, like, before quarantine.”

Lilly grumbles something under her breath about googling photos of that era over her dead body. Shawn relents.

“It’s fine, you should cut it-- just cut it however. It’s fine.”

Lilly begins by balling up a little tuft from the top of his head into a teeny bun. She stands between his legs to arrange it, making sure it’s even on both sides. His eyes remain on his feet the whole time.

She starts at the back of his neck, smoothing his curls out to decide how much to trim. Her fingers are more helpful than the comb, she soon realizes, in keeping them flat enough to judge. She begins by cutting it shorter at the base of his neck so the short curls can do the sproing thing she likes. As she moves up the back of his scalp, she leaves it longer until she hits his funny little man bun. When the silence breaks, she’s so jarred she has to ask him to repeat himself.

“I…” he clears his throat, “I think it’s time that you ask me some of those questions.”

Lilly hates that she knows him so well she doesn’t have to ask which ones. She fluffs out the back of his head with her fingers and decides it’s not completely tragic, so she moves onto his left side.

There are considerations, of course. Is her stuff in a state that she could easily pack and bail in a short time frame if he reveals himself to be dumber than originally feared? Is digging up old dirt to toss it over a wound that won’t heal really necessary?

Is it a good idea to have this conversation while she’s wielding something that could easily be used as a deadly weapon?

Lilly takes a long moment to blink and sticks her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, eyeing the way his hair wraps over the tip of his ear. She brushes it with the pad of her thumb. It reddens.

There’s a preamble in her head, one that lectures him about the absolute necessity of honesty in this situation, the futility of the exercise if he’s not willing to be completely transparent. When she notes the way his knee bobs anxiously, she stops it in its frilly-worded tracks.

She pulls curls off the side of his neck, right over the freckles she likes, and snips.

“When did it start?”

Shawn doesn’t shrink or react in any noticeable way. This isn’t a surprising question.

“I started feeling it when we were in working on Senorita. We weren’t really talking much before that. We started texting a little. It was the first time I felt anything for her since you and me started.”

Lilly sections off the hair above his ear and starts to feel herself working slower. She remembers the first time she heard about the idea of the Senorita collab when he told her over the phone. He sounded tired. Lilly was enthusiastic, knowing he and Camila had been closer before Lilly was in the picture. She felt some guilt for driving some kind of wedge between them, however unintentional. The collab seemed like a nice way to reconnect with a friend.

“The music video.”

Lilly doesn’t phrase it as a question. She doesn’t need to.

“That was when things came more… into focus. She and her ex were in the process of breaking up. I didn’t know for sure then what was going to happen. But it was the first time I thought something actually might.”

Lilly focuses on the way his hair sits above his ear, debating about how short to cut it. She recalls FaceTiming with him from rehearsals. He was so excited. He was nervous about dancing. Lilly teased him. He reminded her repeatedly that he loved her. She wonders if it was more for him to hear out loud than it was for her.

“What exactly happened between you before you broke up with me?”

Shawn flinches slightly. Lilly feels the sick pleasure of it sizzling in her fingers, imagines a tick arriving with a satisfying ping in her nonexistent column.

Shawn takes a deep breath. “It was… at one of the viewing things before the final cut of the video. We got drunk.”

Lilly’s heart slams in her chest like a fish out of water. This was a mistake.

“I knew she and Matthew were done but I asked anyway. We were… we were the last ones there and just fucking around, being goofy. I kissed her.”

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Shawn doesn’t ask to look at whether she’s defacing one of his calling cards.

“Anything else?” Lilly asks coolly, wondering if a fuck might’ve actually felt like less of a soul-deep betrayal. Doesn’t matter, probably. She still lost him.

“Not until after.”

Lilly systematically strokes her fingers through his hair as she switches over, angling to determine if the sides are even. Her stomach hurts.

“Did you tell her you were going to leave me before you did?”

She watches him swallow.

“Yes.”

Lilly remembers the image she had of her sitting in the back of a dark Uber Black, hunched over her phone, waiting outside Lilly’s house for the deed to be done.

The questions are sprouting faster than Lilly can come up with a strategy for dealing with them. She takes a weed whacker to her mind unsuccessfully.

“What did she-- how did she--”

Lilly stalls out and drops her scissored hand by her side. Shawn looks over at her patiently. He doesn’t cower or turn away or guilt her out of this line of questioning with a glance.

Lilly shakes her head and waves her not-sharp hand for him to turn his head back. She gets to work evening out the sides, pinching his strawberry-scented ringlets, making a focused effort not to yank at them.

“All the pictures… the paps, whatever. Did you consider what that would do to me?”

Shawn keeps his head forward, eyes fixed on the refrigerator at the other side of the room. He wets his lips and speaks, “I… didn’t really let myself focus on it. I told myself it wasn’t really my fault, I wasn’t the one calling them and doing all that shit we did in the beginning. I told myself it wasn’t about me and Camila, it was about the single, so anything we did to promote the single was ok.”

“That was a very long-winded no.” Lilly keeps her voice even.

“There’s so much I did that I handled completely fucking wrong. We, I mean you and I, we were hitting this point, this weird, shitty point where we were both really busy and couldn’t be around each other that much. It had been over a year and the, like, giddiness wasn’t there at the time. Like, neither of us was that happy then.”

Lilly’s nostrils flare. Her lips purse and begin to part, ready to unleash hell.

“I used it as a shitty fucking excuse for something I was probably going to do anyway.”

Lilly takes a step back. She drops the scissors beside him and crosses her arms, staring expectantly. Shawn takes the scissors and fiddles with them.

“The honest, stupid fucking truth is that I had this… I dunno, this thing for her. I could never totally let go of it. That’s not to say I wasn’t happy with you, or that I was thinking about her when I was with you… that was never it. But when she started showing interest in me, when she was telling me about the shit with Matthew, I just… I think I felt like it had to happen. Like something I had to get out of my system. I romanticized it at the time; it felt like fate, maybe.”

“I’ve heard the song, Shawn,” Lilly snaps. Shawn blinks hard, but is otherwise still.

“I know. I know you, Lill, I know you’ve been through the whole catalogue, tearing it apart, deciding what was about her.”

He’s not wrong, Lilly thinks bitterly.

“I felt this weird kind of instant relief when I was sure she wanted me. It checked this old box that felt like it was going to stay unchecked forever. I felt so shitty, calling it off with you, but it felt like I was doing what I was supposed to. But it wouldn’t have felt so shitty if it were really what I was meant to do.”

“Do you realize how entitled and selfish you sound right now?”

“Yes.”

The tightness in Lilly’s face relaxes, her expression blank. She wasn’t expecting such an easy response. She wasn’t expecting a real response at all.

“I do. It’s ok if you don’t believe me, I don’t really blame you. I haven’t given you any reason to. But if we have a shot in hell, and fuck, I hope we do, I think you need to hear this. I don’t think you’ll ever stop wondering unless I really lay it all out.”

Lilly swallows a lump in her throat and releases the tuft of hair, sliding the elastic back on her wrist. As she ruffles through his damp hair, Shawn’s eyes slide closed.

“Keep talking,” Lilly whispers.

“So I did it. I ignored how fucking bad I felt after that initial relief. Like, not just bad because of our fight, just… bad. I had done the wrong thing. I made the wrong choice. I do still think it was the choice I was going to make because I’m fucking young and stupid. I just--”

His jaw tenses, the muscle in his cheek twitching. Lilly waits patiently, parting his hair.

“I might’ve always wondered. I’m a hopeless romantic idiot. But at least now she’s not the one that got away anymore. She’s the one I tried it with and realized it didn’t work.”

Lilly closes her eyes and exhales through her nose. She waits for the words to hit all the spots they did before when he tried to talk this out with her, the pain points. Spots that made her snarl and retch and wail and slash at him. Instead they feel like a rising tide around her knees.

“So… what happened?” she whispers.

“For a while we lived on the high of the single. Both our teams were so focused on it and on us. The VMAs and everything, finishing tour. By the time the Grammys came around I think we were both so fucking sick of that song. The backlash that came from all the media attention… it didn’t just go away like we hoped it would. I started laying really low on social. She was getting ready for tour and I was working on the album. Not being focused on the same thing, on promoting one song, it helped put things more into perspective I think. Pulling away started to feel… natural.

“And then the pandemic came. It felt like a time to hit reset. I went down to Miami and felt pretty stupid because everything just got so much worse every day and I was worried about not even being able to leave. But… we were on the same page, basically. It wasn’t fun, but it was… right. Neither of us wanted it. We tried it, it ended. I think… I mean, we don’t hate each other. I don’t think we’ll be like, writing friends again. But maybe eventually we’ll talk again.”

Lilly sucks at her front teeth. “You haven’t talked at all since you left?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Shawn looks thoughtful. “Not… yet. I don’t think I have anything to say that we haven’t said already. Maybe… I dunno, maybe that was part of it. I always felt like I wanted to talk to you, like I always had stuff to tell you, even stupid stuff. Me and Camila ran out of stuff.”

Lilly shifts to stand in front of him, keeping her gaze on his hair, though her eyes are not in focus. She sifts her hands through it while she thinks.

“I still have more questions. I’m just…”

She trails off. Shawn nods carefully.

“It’s ok. I’m… not going anywhere.”

Lilly’s eyes shut. “I think it’s important for you to understand that when you say things like that, my head immediately comes back with “but you did.” You did go somewhere. You didn’t come back for a long time.”

Shawn pauses, then nods again. Lilly sighs.

“I’m not saying this to punish you anymore. I don’t want that. It’s not doing anything for me. But you need to understand that I can’t just turn it back on. Even when you make me want to.”

Shawn’s expression clears. He turns his head slowly as she continues ruffling his hair, snipping odds and ends. She doesn’t look down at him.

“I do understand. I’ll wait, Lill. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“And what if I don’t know what I need?”

Shawn looks unconcerned. “Then I’ll wait for you to.”

Lilly continues sculpting his hair like a topiary. He looks older with his hair this way. She thinks it’s not a total disaster, maybe.

“I have another question,” she announces. Shawn waits expectantly.

“If the pandemic didn’t happen… when were you going to end it? When were you going to come to me?”

Shawn’s brows raise, but he looks far away again. “Truth is I almost did a few times. A bunch of times after the holidays. I had this countdown clock in my head because I knew as soon as we finished the album, I wouldn’t just be able to spontaneously come see you, not if I wanted to spend any real time with you. I just kept scaring myself out of it.”

She understands that, especially given the way their first meeting went down.

Lilly internalizes the answer, then turns back to her imaginary notes. Each question has a line through it. Nothing new materializes. She frowns.

“I don’t have any more questions.”

Shawn bobs his head, watching her closely.

“I might have more questions later,” she continues. His expression doesn’t change.

Lilly drops her hands to his shoulders. He blinks but reorients himself, slowly guiding his hands to her hips. She steps closer. His knees widen. As Lilly folds herself over him, pressing her face into his hair, he collapses into her, his forehead against her sternum. Her relief is narcotic. Her head hasn’t been this truly empty since… she can’t remember when.

He smells like her. He’s holding her. He’s breathing her air. He’s hers. Little by little, she’s starting to believe it.

Lilly steps around his legs and lowers into his lap. Their eyes are nearly level. Shawn locks his arms around her back. His nose brushes hers.

“Ok,” Lilly murmurs.

Shawn inhales and exhales deeply. “Ok.”

Lilly’s hands rest on his chest as he kisses her. He doesn’t come at her with fire and brimstone this time. He has nothing to prove. He knows exactly how good it feels. He seems to want to slow down and enjoy this as much as she does. He kisses her long and slow because they have the time. His hands remain mostly still. He seems to feel that she needs the stasis, despite their frenzied night.

Shawn’s kisses whisper to Lilly with each pass -- is this ok? How about this? I don’t want to push it. I care too much to push it. They’re the easiest sentiments to believe when they’re said like this.

Lilly drapes her arms around his shoulders, enjoying the breadth of them, plucking her lips away in shorter bursts until they’re pecking innocently, smiling with closed eyes between points of contact.

“Do you want to check out your hair?” Lilly offers, shifting back in his lap. He’s the most marvelous shade of pink.

“Oh,” he starts, pulling a hand up into the still damp chunky strands, “I can look later. I’m sure it’s great. It feels way lighter, actually.”

Lilly is smug. “You just want to sit here and keep kissing.” His smile is megawatt. She’s blinded.

“Can you blame me?”

Kissing him is… completely lovely. Lilly refamiliarizes herself with him in a way she didn’t yesterday. Her fingers find the tendons in his shoulders, the ridge of his adam’s apple, the little hoop in his earlobe. It’s a redundant kind of flirtation, given that she’s already in his lap, but it might be more for her than for him.

His lips skate down her neck as they break for air. He tucks kisses under her hair over marks she doesn’t remember him leaving. Lilly closes her eyes and exhales slowly, letting herself hate them a little for tearing each other to shreds. It wasn’t like them. Even when they were at their most frantic together, it wasn’t like that.

Lilly feels a lump in her throat. He must sense the change in her breathing. But instead of pulling away to check on her, Shawn pulls her closer, fills all the spaces her body leaves until she’s cradled against him, chest shuddering. He presses his nose into her hair and rocks her softly, back and forth, until he feels her tears dripping off his shoulder down his bare back.

“It’s ok,” he murmurs, the vibration from his voice tremoring through her body, “If it feels good to cry, you should cry.”

Shawn has a way of saying things to her that would bring her no relief to hear them from anyone else. Even though she believes him, and she’s pretty sure he’d sit here into the night and let her cry herself dry against him, she pulls back. He looks her over. She stares at his swollen mouth. He sweeps his thumbs beneath her eyes.

“I’m sick of crying,” she tells him with a short nod. He nods back. His eyes are clear and so warm. His hands sift back into her hair and hold it all, scrunching tumbling, escaping strands like he can’t bear to let any of her go. He kisses her breathless.

“Be gentle with me,” Lilly pleads on a sigh, releasing him only long enough to undress. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

He’s always been patient, even when she could barely stand to let herself be touched by him. He waits until every sound out of her chest is nearly a whine and her fingers curl into his freshly cut hair, cajoling him. When their bodies finally connect, he’s slow and deliberate, the tips of their noses together, their fingers clenched together against her thigh. She doesn’t thrash or force or scrape for him. He doesn’t stop until she’s melted for him, draped over his shoulder, panting with need. She clings, he gives. When she’s finished, she cups the back of his neck and whispers until he’s shaking beneath her.

They slither to the kitchen floor, exhausted, reluctant. He tosses tufts of his shorn hair at her. She pretends to put it back where she cut it off. They order from a local cafe for breakfast and kiss until the food is cold.

“So when do you want me to cut your hair?”

Lilly looks up from the Instacart order in progress on her phone. His arm is around her shoulders, his fingers sifting through the dry ends of her gold hair. He said it like he’s reminding her of something she had already asked of him. Her brow furrows.

“You’re not cutting my hair.”

Shawn looks down and mirrors her expression. “What?”

“I’m not letting you cut my hair, Shawn.”

He gawps. “But you just cut mine!”

“Yeah, what the fuck were you thinking? Your hair is like half the reason people like you.”

Shawn’s eyes light up. His grin is so big she thinks his face is gonna split. This time, she’s the one mirroring him.

“You seriously don’t trust me to cut your hair? It can’t be that hard, your hair is straight. I just have to keep it even.”

“But I have layers,” Lilly explains patiently, turning to pull her legs up beside her on the couch, “And my stylist uses thinning shears, which we don’t have. And also… you’re not cutting my hair, Shawn.”

He huffs and pulls away. “Maybe not when you’re awake anyway.”

Lilly looks up from her phone. He’s wearing an impish smile. She kisses it until his lips are soft and pliable against hers, and he’s making the little content sounds she likes.

Shawn gets curious and trails his kisses off down her jaw. Lilly’s eyes are shut. She’s getting ready to crawl into his lap for the third time in 24 hours when her phone buzzes with a news alert.

LA County extended shutdown to all but essential business through July.

They stare at the phone together. Shawn’s brows lift. He rubs a hand over his mouth.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

Lilly chews her lip. July?

July.

Quietly, because they’re both in their own heads, they make their way to the kitchen to continue taking stock of the groceries they have and what they need. Lilly’s head is swimming in numbers -- will the bump in unemployment continue? Is she going to have to ask for her parents’ help with rent? Could this go through the end of the summer, or even longer?

She senses him behind her even through the haze of her own anxiety. He places a hand on her hip, his thumb rubbing the worn cotton of her t-shirt.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, more as a request than a demand. Lilly turns and tucks herself into his arms. He rocks her back and forth on their bare feet, which make a soft smushing sound against the cool tile. He’s sturdy enough to rest her weight against. Her hands clamor up only as far as his shoulder blades. It feels good.

“I know it’s really, really bad,” Shawn says into her ear, “Like, really bad, if they’re shutting down through July. But… I’m glad I’m here with you.”

Lilly rolls her eyes and lifts her head as her hands drift down his back.

“Yeah, seems like your plan is working out nicely. Taking me hostage, and all.”

He seems pleased with her teasing. He nods.

“Yep, got ya right where I want ya,” he admits, shrugging.

Lilly shakes her head and dives deeper into false dramatics. “Luring me here in my vulnerable state. You’re like Dracula. This is Stockholm syndrome. I should know, there’s a One Direction song about it. You’re holding me here against my will.”

Shawn grins again, that same face-breaking grin from before. It warms Lilly through more than the afternoon sun streaming in through the kitchen windows. He presses his forehead against hers.

“Your hands are on my asscheeks right now,” he points out.

She squeezes them. He flinches and somehow smiles even wider.

“Stockholm. Syndrome,” she insists, giggling until his lips meet hers again.

----------

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