#I like to think that Shawn really just walks into rooms and points a finger to his head and every man and woman within 20 feet SWOONS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aritamargarita · 2 years

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GOLDEN || 003

*walks in* heyyy..how y’all doin….i fixed this too. since there’s only three chapters its easy for me to go back and change the layout YIPPEEEE...now i just wanna say i may make a special chapter where [name] goes back to ecw just to fuck around so if y’all have any underrated wrestlers feel free to scream at me to bring them in!!

now i know i was supposed to post a request but it’s just. ITS NOT REASY y’all im sorry it’s coming i swear. bret hart is next then probably undertaker if everything goes well. i been doing my best. did not really like this chapter but i think it’s because i kept reading it over and over.

now watch me do this sick kick flip

YOU’RE STILL PISSED off from Marlena’s attack. You’re starting to get even more pissed because Shawn wasn’t putting you down...this is a rough start, but you’re going to fix things one way or another.

BACKSTAGE // 7:57 PM

You needed to find Marlena. You had to get her back for even thinking that she could get the best of you.

But it’s hard to do that when Shawn tossed you over his shoulder.

Normally, you’d enjoy this, but you were way too pissed off to function. There’s only one way to settle this. Only one way to be released from Shawn’s hold…….

“HELP!” You scream. “D-GENERATION X IS KIDNAPPING ME! THEY’RE TRYING TO GET ME! SHAWN MICHAELS I—“

Shawn just starts laughing at you at first. “JUST KIDDING!” He yells, just so any concerned ears can hear him. “SHE’S JUST BEING DRAMATIC!” He uses his foot to kick open the locker room door.

“Put me down!” You yell, wrangling in Shawn’s grasp. You’re now backstage, but you were about to run away to find Marlena for round two.

“You want me to put you down?” You don’t see it, but Shawn spares a glance at Chyna, motioning his head towards you. “Fine, then. Next time, try to behave. Or else I’ll have to spank ya’!” He does, setting you down onto the ground.

It takes a moment for you to regain balance, but you pull it together. “Thank you!” You sigh out in exasperation.

You take one look around the room with a nod……before turning on your heel and making a run for it out of there.

Chyna moves quickly, reaching out to you in an attempt to grab the back of your shirt. She catches your collar, but accidentally jams her nail into your back while doing so.

Both of you yelp in pain. That shit really hurt!

“Ha! I knew she’d do that.” Shawn snaps his fingers. “Hunter, told you I was clairvoyant.”

“…I kinda believe you.” Hunter responds, actually swayed that his friend might be psychic.

“Anyone could’ve seen it from a mile away.” Chyna says, rolling her eyes. She, on the other hand, wasn’t swayed at all. They’re just stupid. She adjusts her grip on you and instead wraps her arm around your neck.

You were kind of scared. Hopefully, she wouldn’t choke you out. Jeez.

“Oooh, you smell really nice.” You comment with a smile. You could’ve swore she mumbled a ‘thanks’, but you weren’t entirely sure. “What is that, vanilla?”

The man in the tuxedo steps forward, clearing his throat and capturing everyone’s attention. “Let’s focus, here. I’m sure you know everyone in the room, [Name]. Except for me. My name is Rick Rude. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He holds his hand out for you to shake.

You try turning your head at an awkward angle to expectantly stare at Chyna for a moment and she looks at you.

Sighing, she adjusts her hold to be a little lighter so you can shake his hand, but she goes right back to putting her arm around your neck after you do so.

“Raaaaaavishing Rick Rude, mind you!” Shawn elongates the vowel for dramatic effect.

“I knew you looked familiar!” You chime, pointing a finger at him with a smile. “You wanted to fuck with Shane Douglas! And didn’t you spank Francine?”

Rick chuckles. “Yep. That’s correct. But those days are going to be long behind me. I’ve become an insurance policy for this group, if you will. We’d like you to stay back and listen before you run away.”

You’re willing to listen, but as long as you get to Marlena in one piece. You’ll play their game for now. It’s not like you can go anywhere. “What is it? I promise I won’t run away. Please let me go, Chyna.”

“…Fine.” Chyna relents, letting you free but still backing up to guard the door so you couldn’t run.

He looks around the room for a second before turning back to you. “We want you to join D-Generation X. Creative gave us the go ahead.”

For some reason, it didn’t come as a big shock to you. You figured something would be up, especially since they dragged you all the way back here.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll join.” You agree, waving your hand. “I’m in….”

Hunter comes over and pats your shoulder with a grin. “Easier than I thought. Our first initiation process is for you to show us the goods.” He lifts his shirt up slightly to insinuate he wanted you to take yours off. “You know. The goods.”

……Wait, what?

“Show off the goods?” You repeat, looking around the room. “Did everyone have to do that here??” You weren’t entirely convinced, but now you were having ECW flashbacks.

“No.” Chyna cuts in. Thank god for Chyna! “They just think you’re an easy target.” If they tried doing that again, she’d knock them upside their head. At this rate, they were going to scare you off.

She’s not quite ready to admit it, but she’s thrilled there’d be another woman in this group.

To be honest, you liked Chyna. She was really serious but she seems really sweet under all of that armor she had up. You wonder if you could get her to go to the nail salon with you.

“Damn. It was worth a try.” Shawn mumbles, snapping his fingers. Those two definitely planned this before hand, tsk.

“Wonderful news!” Rick smiled at you, then slams his briefcase onto a table. “I’ve got papers for you to sign.” And boy, was it a lot of papers to sign. It was like you’re in college all over again.

What the hell did you just get yourself into?

BACKSTAGE // 8:10 PM

You never hated paperwork as much as you did right now. Even signing a contract for the WWF wasn’t that much. Rick Rude had you sign a surmount of papers. It got to the point where you didn’t even care, you were signing away.

You wonder if you accidentally signed most of your estate to him because you weren’t paying attention. Oh well. It is what it is. If you get hurt or maybe even get hit by a bus, you’d probably get money for it!

The more you’re backstage, the more you think about how things worked around here. Even just being by the ring, you got a general idea of how things were set up.

ECW had always been disorganized. Whenever it came to matches, there’d be a lot of people in the ring at one time, causing a lot of confusion at first. Most of the wrestlers (yourself included), have found a way to work around it, fortunately.

What you couldn’t find a way to work around was the fact your check would bounce every time you’d receive one in the mail. You hated that the most about working for ECW, so you hope WWF would pull it together.

The people were great, but you’ve got bills to pay. And clothes to buy.

D-Generation X had finally let you go, so you decided to wander around the halls. After what’s happened, you’ve lost most of your energy to even try and find Marlena. You’ll wait until she either comes to you or you come across her by coincidence.

It’s not worth the effort. Signing all those papers tired you out. It didn’t help that Shawn had been throwing crumbled up pieces of paper at the back of your head. Hunter thought it was absolutely hilarious too. Whatever.

You’re bored. Very, very bored.

They didn’t have anything for you to do yet. No gimmick, no interference besides the small appearance you did earlier. You’d rather watch paint dry than stick around. It’s probably best to call it a night and go back to the hotel.

You run a hand over your face. Yeah, you could definitely take a nap right about now. As you’re just sorting through your thoughts without a care in the world, you bump into a hard structure.

Luckily, it wasn’t some sort of foreign object! It was a person. Some guy who had his back turned to you!

Oh, no, nevermind. That makes it worse.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry.” You quickly apologize. “I just wanted to pass by.”

The man turns over to you, lightly brushing his hands on your elbows to sturdy you. “Hey, it’s fine.” He says. “As long as you didn’t fall over.”

You finally get a good look at him and..oh no. He’s pink. And he’s wearing sunglasses inside. But he’s pink. Shawn told you not to talk to the pink guys.

You walked yourself right into that.

“You look familiar. Do I know you?” He asks.

Well, you made your bed. Now it’s time to lie in it. Shawn was nowhere to be found anyway, so it’s not like he had to know. You just shrug. “Not sure. I’m from ECW. I’m new. I’m [Name], that’s all you need to know.” And with that, you put out your hand to shake.

“Heh. Right to the point, eh? I’m Bret. Bret Hart.” He takes your hand and firmly shakes it. “I actually think I’ve heard of you. One of the guys in the Foundation mentioned you.”

“Seriously? Who?” You ask, letting go of his hand. Could it have been someone you’ve worked with before? You’ve spoke with a lot of wrestlers and it’s hard to memorize most of their names.

“Brian Pillman. Strike any bells?”

Wait! Yes! It did indeed.

“Okay, yes. But I was too scared to even try and talk to him.” It was true. The guy was unhinged and so unpredictable that you had no clue if he’d even try and attack you or not.

In a sick way, you think he had a crush on you, too. He’d follow you around backstage, leave you dead bugs as a “gift”…it was just a whole other can of worms.

While you could definitely hang in the ring with the men……you didn’t want to send him home crying, of course.

“You’ve got it all wrong. He’s a pretty nice guy.” Bret takes off his sunglasses and shoves them into his pocket with a small smile. “You can take my word for it.”

If he’s here, you hope he’d have some change of heart. “You know what? I think I will. And if you’re wrong, I expect lunch.”

“Are you asking me out?” He outright asks. No! No, you weren’t! Shawn told you to not talk to the pink guys. (Which you’ve already failed..) No way. You’re not asking him out at all.

“Not exactly.” You say. “It’s just a deal. Lets say you’re right, I’ll buy you lunch! Fair trade, right?”

“Suppose so.”

You stand there for a little longer before remembering something. “Aren’t you in a match tonight? Against some guy named the Undertaker.”

“Sure am.” He confirms. “You want to come out and watch?”

It’s not like you had anything better to do. But at the same time, would Shawn tear you a new one?

Ah, who cares what he says. He doesn’t run your life, nor can he tell you who to hang with! You don’t even know why you agreed anyway.

Another man comes out of the room to your left, holding a huge Canadian flag. “Hey, bro!” His voice is as cheerful as ever, even bringing a tired smile to your face. “My match is next. You coming out to help?”

“Not tonight. Got my own match to worry about.” Bret responds.

The other guy looks at you curiously, but then looks down to the floor. He then gives you mischievous grin. “Hey, your left shoe is untied.”

“Oops.” You’re just about to lean down and tie it, but you remember…..you literally don’t have a left shoe since Chyna threw it in the crowd! “Very funny. You know, my shoe actually went to updog.”

He’s confused, shaking his head. He’s about to fall into the trap.

“Wait, what’s updog?”

“Nothing much. What’s up with you?” You respond with a smile. Bret snorts and the other guy can only shake his head.

“Okay, that was a good one!” He’s gotta give it to you, he’s never heard of that before. Perhaps you would become a good ally. For future endeavors of course, nothing involving pranking others.

“My name’s Owen. He’s my brother, but I’m the cooler one.”

“[Name].” You shake his hand too. Duly noted that he was the cooler one. “I can see that, I mean, he was wearing shades inside.”

Bret rolls his eyes playfully. “It’s a stylistic choice. You can try them on, if you want to. Check it out for yourself.”

Hell yeah, you wanted to try them on! It was all a facade. You thought it was a teeny tiny bit cool. “Hand em’ over!”

So he does, taking them out of his pockets and placing them into your hands. You do the honors of putting them on your face.

You feel like the whole world has changed. “Woah. It’s kinda dark in here now.”

Before you can say anything else, Shawn’s voice pops up out of nowhere. “Woah, woah, woah, what do we have here?” Did he show up from hell or something?? Was he following you?? What the hell.

“Trying to steal my teammate?” Shawn asks, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Man, never knew you would go so low.”

“Didn’t know she was apart of your little group of degenerates. What’s a pretty girl like this doing with you, Shawn?” Bret questions. “He didn’t pay you or something, did he?”

Should you take offense to that? “No, of course not. Why would he pay me?”

“I mean, someone like you with the likes of him…” He trails off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shawn raises an eyebrow and takes his arm off of you. “You got a problem with me?”

Owen sees that this isn’t going to end well. He steps in between them before Shawn could even walk forward. “Hey, hey. Let’s not do this right now.” Normally, he’d find this a bit funny, but he’s got a match in five minutes and he didn’t want to leave you with the carnage.

You’re right with him. You didn’t know why, but the tension between those two was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“Owen’s right,” You cut in, stepping in front of Shawn. “We could get in trouble if we fight in the hall. And I literally just got hired, so…”

“Tch.” Bret scoffs, his hostility coming to a boiling point. “You’ll be fine. Shawn here has Vince McMahon just wrapped around his finger. You could trash the place if you wanted to. As long as he’s around, believe me, you’ll keep a job.”

“We’re leaving.” Shawn abruptly says, taking you by the shoulders and leading you down the opposite side of the hall.

“Don’t guide me!” You complain. “I can walk fine by myself. What’s your deal anyway? Why’re you acting like that?”

“Because he’s just bitter.” He grumbled his answer. His behavior was a complete 360° from how he was earlier. You didn’t like it one bit. “I tell you not to talk to those guys, and what do you do? You go and talk to those assholes!”

You hold up a hand. “First, you better lower your tone. If you have any sense, then we’d go about this a mature way…”

Shawn’s not used to getting any backtalk from others, so he hesitated before speaking. “….I wouldn’t be getting loud if you just listened to what I said in the first place.”

You’re starting to get irritated with him. Yeah, he’s hot and all. Earlier you had no qualms with whatever he said, but his attitude is starting to bring you back to reality. “What do you care?? When is it ever that serious??”

“Because I asked you to! Isn’t that enough?”

“No! You sound stupid!” You stop walking, throwing your arms out. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do like you own me?”

“You—It’s—“

You weren’t going to let him get a word out just yet. “You need me more than I need you guys, I promise that. I’m going to do what I want. If you trust me, you’d let me—“

It’s his turn to cut you off. “Alright, alright, you win.” He throws his hands up. You figure he doesn’t want to argue anymore and neither do you.

Hopefully you two have come to an understanding.

“You can do whatever you want. Just...be careful, I don’t want them to try and steal you away from us already.”

There it is. The truth. Or at least you think it is.

“No one’s going to steal me from anyone.” You say. “You’re worrying for no reason. I don’t want to go anywhere else right now. I’ll stay with you guys. Don’t have to throw a temper tantrum!”

Shawn seems to lighten up a bit. “Good, but it looked like you were the one who was going to have a temper tantrum.”

Be so fucking for real…

“Yeah, okay.” You just go along with it. Shawn swings his arm around your shoulder once more. “Damn, why’s it still so dark?!”

“You’ve got these still on.” He takes the sunglasses off of you. “Almost forgot, if you’re stayin’ with us, you’re cool with being in an intergender match next week, right?”

Fantastic.

pillman not being a loose canon in wwf? they are both mistaken. bret setting reader up LOLL. (their interaction will be next chapter i promise!!!!) is simp reader over???!!! had to scream “GIRL GET UP. GIRL GET UP…” cant let a man get the best of you💯‼️ #ispeakreal #talkaboutit #girlbossing101

and i find it hilarious in ecw you could have 1 (one) match going on with just two people then suddenly half the roster comes out like???? WHATS HAPPENING??????? WHERE DO I FOCUS????? watching ecw is like being on lsd

#THE BOYZ R FIGHTING!??!!#wwe imagine #wwe imagines #wwe x reader #wwe preferences #wwe various x reader #shawn michaels x reader #shawn michaels imagine #triple h x reader #triple h imagine #chyna imagine #chyna x reader #bret hart x reader #bret hart imagine #wwf imagine #wwf x reader #wwe golden series

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rainchyna · 1 year

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𓆩♡𓆪 episode three: HEAT.

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT !!! whew chile y/n got some haters *rolls eyes*, do y’all think taker is over exaggerating or are his actions justified?? me personally i think TRAITOR !! you’re supposed to be the leader not a sour mf ?? anyways y/n world domination for the win. three episodes in and we're scrapping for an interactions between shawn and y/n here LMAO

10:06 pm, backstage.

you knock on the men’s locker room door twice and wait. tapping your foot against the floor, you were quickly falling impatient. what the hell was taking him so long?

you roll your eyes, “if someone wants to see me, they better come to me” you mumble to yourself.

this was a waste of your time.

as soon as you took a step to walk away, the door behind you opens. you sigh as you turn around, there he was.

“about time” you mutter.

“I don’t want to take too much of your time” Taker began. well, you already damn did. “but I have one question for you.” he said. “okay?” you reply, shifting to your left foot.

“what makes you think you’re good enough to be called champion?” he asked.

excuse me?

you blinked a couple times in disbelief of what you just heard. “I beg your pardon?” you ask. “you heard me” he crossed his arms, well your ears must’ve translated something wrong. did he just seriously ask you that?

“what the fuck makes you think I’m not good enough?” you ask back. “well, you haven’t been here long enough, and you probably don’t even know what this championship means to begin with, you didn’t even work your way up. you just debuted and Vince gave it to you” he explained.

you scoff. “who the fuck do you think you are?” you exclaim, he is taken aback. no one ever talks back to him, no one. but here you were.

“I’ve worked really fucking hard to get to where I am now, and I have held multiple championships throughout my career. I know damn fucking well what this championship means. I am more than enough, I’m holding it and I am capable of defending it” you point at him.

“I was New Japan’s longest reigning women’s champion and I still am for a fucking reason. just because you’ve done well in your career and you’re not a champion right now, doesn’t mean that you can go around and degrade others. you’re the one who’s not worthy enough to be champion, because you clearly are a hating, sour old bitch!”

“what did you just call me?” he raised his voice, “a hating, sour old bitch.” you answer even louder, getting in his face.

“do you know who you’re talking to? I can end your career if I want” he yelled. “I can end yours if I wanted to as well! you’re one broken hip away from retirement anyways” you spat.

by now those who where in the locker room had their ears pressed against the door, wanting to know what the commotion was about. “don’t fucking try me, little girl” he raised his finger.

“who the fuck do you think you’re threatening?” you yell, pushing him into the wall behind him.

and that’s when everything went to shit.

those who were in the locker room immediately ran out. Lex, Davey, Kevin, Sid and Ahmed Johnson all held The Undertaker back. while Bret, Owen, Randy and Steve all were holding you back. you feared no one. not this guy, nor the next. you’ll hurt him if that’s what it takes.

“let me fucking go! I’ll beat his bitch ass the fuck up, I swear to god. let go of me!” you scream. your belt had fallen on the floor and you were wiggling around like a wild animal.

“what the hell is going on here?!”

it was Vince.

you were still being held back by the four men when the boss walked up to you.

“what are you two doing?!” he angrily asked, “ask him” you belted, “he’s the one was trying to start shit with me for no reason.”

it didn’t take long before the situation was diffused. Taker was pushed back into the locker room by Vince and those who held him back. Steve threw you over his shoulder and Owen carried your championship, a frown settled on your face. who the hell does that fucker think he is?

Owen closes your locker room door, and Randy sits besides you. “do have any idea of how dangerous what you’re doing is?” Bret asked, arms crossed over his chest. “no, and I don’t care”.

Bret sighs rubbing his temples, “sweetheart, you can’t just pick fights with people like that” Randy says wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “he’s the one that started!” you throw your hands up, “how would you feel if someone you don’t know, questioned your worth as champion and they don’t know jack shit about you, huh?” you ask.

“he did what?” Bret asked, stepping towards you. “okay, okay, hold on” Owen says sitting on your other side. “how did this happen?” he asks.

you explained to them how it all began, from finding the note on your door to the moment he began questioning you.

the room fell silent, and the silence was deafening. “why would he even think of saying that?” Steve asked, you chuckle. “ask him, he’s your friend after all”. “do you want me to talk to him? I can make him apologize if you want” Randy said.

oh, Macho Man. you’re too sweet for that to be what you’re known by.

you shake your head, “let him figure out that he’s wrong by himself. and even then, I won’t accept his apology” you say. “now, you’re just being petty” Bret said.

“justified” you and Owen say in unison.

“do you know how much heat that’ll give you?” Bret asks. “yup” you answer.

“y’know” Steve began, “he’s not the only one ‘upset’ that you’re the champion” he says. you’re just confused now, “why are any of these men - boys, actually, because what is this behavior - concerned about my position as champion?” you ask. “no idea, but you definitely have the locker room torn” Steve replies.

“it’s not like I’m a threat or anything” you huff.

“some think of it that way” Randy said, leaning back. “how come?” you look up at him. he shrugged, “why do you think Hogan tries to burry anyone he can? anyone that is rising above those already established is deemed a threat” he explained.

“but we’re not even in the same division..?” you say.

“ya never know” he says.

11:00 am, the next day. madison square garden; catering.

“you pushed him?!” Lita asks, you’re standing by the food in catering loading up your plates. “and I’ll do it again” you chuckle.

“have you lost your mind?!” Chyna asks as you walk towards a table. “if that’s what we’re calling it, then so be it” you shrug.

both girls are a little worried, you weren’t taking this as seriously as they thought you would. “babe, you’re the locker room’s number one enemy right now” Lita says looking into your eyes. “not exactly” you say, eating some berries.

“Steve said that the locker room is torn, so I have some people who are on my side.” you continue. “aren’t you worried?” Chyna asks, “of what?” you ask. “well, The Undertaker is like Vince’s lapdog..” she trails off. you shake your head.

“and I’m Vince current champion and his biggest signing so far, also me and Alundra’s match got a full five stars and the RAW it was on, apparently, is now the highest rated RAW in history” you boast. “not to sound like an arrogant bastard but, what’s Vince gonna do? replace me?”

they both put their hands up, “I mean, if that was me, I’d tell everyone about my accomplishments. on the first night no less!” Lita says. “wait, can we talk about that real quick? ‘cause we never actually-”

“Y/n?”

all three of you turn around and face the door, to be met by … Shawn?

"what?" you ask, "can we talk?" he asks still standing by the door, "we are talking" you turn back around. Shawn groans, "can you come here?" he asks, you shake your head, "you can come here" you answer. he groans again, "just come here!" he demands.

jeez, why's he so persistent? and whiny too, damn.

"it's not like I'm the one who wants to talk" you sigh as you get up, he meets you half way and pulls you outside the cafeteria. "can I help you?" you ask, "about your match last night" he began and you immediately roll your eyes and cross your arms. "look, If you're gonna complain about me being champion, like your friend, you might as well save your time. I don't want to hear it" you say looking away.

"what? no, no. that's not what I'm here for" he says, oh? you look at him, body facing the opposite direction, out of the corner of your eye, you can see him look you up and down, he's been checking you out every time he's seen you for a while now, because he know it gets on your nerves.

"what is it then?" you ask

"the match went just a bit too long for my liking-"

you frown, his liking?

"and who the fuck are you?" you ask, second time you’re asking that in less than twenty four hours. you sigh right after, you just debuted but you're already so sick of those backstage 'figures' trying to dictate how they want things done on you.

"the guy who was in the main event!" he answers, you give him a confused look, "okay, and?" you ask. "and? my match had to be cut short because your ass went over the time you were given!" he blurts. "by two minutes! two minutes, really? is that what you're mad about?! you ask, "two minutes mean a lot!" he defends.

you chuckle, hands still against your chest. "you're just tryna pick a fight" you say. you suddenly look at him, "did he send you here? is this what this is about?" you ask poking your finger into his chest. If this was The Undertaker sending someone to talk to you, then that would be quite cowardly of him.

"this has nothing to do with him!" Shawn exclaims, "this is about you reducing my in-ring time!"

"by two minutes?!" you ask holding up two fingers. he can't be serious, this whole conversation is waste of your damn time. "you know what? just fuck off man. I don't need this right now" you say and you begin to walk away.

he grabs your arm and pulls you back towards him, Shawn traps you between his arms as each one rests by your sides against the wall. "where do you think you're going?" he asks, you look up at him.

"what the fuck are you doing-"

"excuse me y/n?"

you both look to your left, and a staff member was standing there. "I know my timing is not great... but Vince would like you to come to his office" she says before quickly walking away, sensing she's interrupted something.

you look back at Shawn and you make eye contact, you're both quite for a second. what even do you say in this situation?

you quickly push him away from you, walking away like nothing happened. you glance behind you with a slight frown and he's still standing there, all this boy had was the audacity.

what the hell was the point of any of this?

you decided to stop by your locker room, you wanted to take off your hat. it felt a little weird to be wearing it all day, and inside no less. it felt as douchey as wearing sunglasses indoors, not as bad, but just as weird.

on your way there you bump into Bret who seems to be heading to the men’s locker room. you both catch up with each other’s day and you feel yourself loosen up a bit from all the shit you heard ten minutes ago, it’s always nice to be around him.

you were talking about your next training sessions when you approached your locker room door, then you saw it. again.

a bright yellow note, stuck on your door.

did your whole fight yesterday not give him a reason to not try to boss you around? like … at all?

“oh, what’s that about now?” Bret asks, you take the note into your hands and you’re once again met by the messy handwriting.

“you don’t disrespect a veteran, expecting a Jack Daniel’s later” -Taker.

Bret looked at you, then back at the note, then back at you. this was not good.

he can visibly see rage slowly build its way up inside you and your eye slightly twitches.

no one tugs on superman’s cape,

no one spits in the wind,

and certainly no one tells Y/n Y/l/n what to do.

“everyone keeps trying me today” you laugh, a laugh out of annoyance and anger.

you could hear two voices arguing as you enter the office.

it was Vince and The Undertaker.

you can feel your spirit deflate as you close the door behind you, “hey” you sigh as you walk towards both men. “take a seat y/n, we need to talk” Vince says.

“we fucking do” you say.

you sigh, sitting on a chair next to Taker, you both side eye each other. you contemplate whether or not you should confront him about the second note, why wouldn’t you? this fucking behavior needs to be stopped.

“listen” you start as you turn towards Taker, “I don’t know who the fuck you think I am, but I am not the one to fuck with. do you understand that? doesn’t matter how fucking high up in the ranks you are, you’re still just some fucking guy” you point at him.

“I don’t need ‘locker room leader’ shit from you or from anyone else. yes, I disrespected a veteran - who started with me first - and judging by the way you’re continuing to behave, I will continue to disrespect you. I am not your punching bag, nor am I your fucking wallet. no, I’m not buying you a fucking Jack Daniels, and if you ask for anything else from from me, apart from forgiveness, a Jack Daniels will be smashed over your head. do you get it?” you ask, leaning back in your chair.

Vince and The Undertaker are stunned. no one has ever spoken to him like that, let alone in a threatening manner, let alone a woman, yet here you are.

there’s a first for everything right?

they’re even more shocked when you hurl a piece of paper at Vince. he unfolds the scrunched up note, reading it, and Vince’s head falls into the palm of his hand. he sighs loudly and Taker’s jaw clenches as he looks away.

“you know why you’re here, don’t you?” Vince asks. “oh, he knows alright” you answer.

“we’re here because you wanted to be extremely rude-”

“I wanted to be rude?!”

“stop it you two! you’re in a professional environment, act like it!” Vince hissed. “oh, we’re professionals alright” Taker remakes.

“don’t copy the way I talk!” you mutter.

Vince sighs and rubs his temples, “why are questioning her as champion? I enjoyed her match, the fans bought it. hell, that’s the best women’s match we’ve had in a while, plus if I didn’t think she’s good enough I wouldn’t have signed her to begin with” he says.

you smirk.

“well, how do you expect anyone to feel about someone coming in, and just having their place on the top carved out for them?” Taker asks, “be happy for me? maybe? I don’t know, give me some fucking advise maybe, you’re the veteran here, aren’t you?” you ask.

he rolls his eyes, “see? she’s being rude again” Taker sighs. “can you or can you not tell the difference between being rude and defending myself?” you snicker. “defending yourself doesn’t mean getting in a fight with him!” Vince reasons.

it was Taker’s turn to smirk.

“that’s exactly what self defense is” you cross your arms, “what does self defense have anything to do with this?!” Taker asks.

Vince loudly sighs, “do I need to make you two hold hands like kindergarteners?” he asks, “just apologize and move on!”

“NO!” you both reply.

if this motherfucker wants to question your worth and do this much, he might as well show for it. you sink back into your seat, hmm…

show for it?

show for it!

“show for it!” you say out loud. both men look at you confused, “what?” Vince asks.

and it was like a lightbulb moment, you got an idea, a great idea. “I have an idea” you say, “well, share it with us then” Taker huffs.

#rainchyna #this feels like it abt to be taker x reader LMAO #sour grapes #wwe headcanons #wwe x reader #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #wwf headcanons #wwf fanfic #wwf x reader #wwe shawn michaels x reader #shawn michaels x reader #rainchyna’s sour grapes

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wheeler-beretta-harwood · 2 years

Note

If you write for MJF, can I request Max being his usual mean and nasty self to everyone else but being super kind around his girl? Everyone would be so bewildered by the sudden change when she walks in the room and he’s suddenly super sweet😭

Thanks for requesting MJF, I love the little shithead. And I agree with you, Max is so soft at heart...at least for his lady. Hope you like it!

Get Out (MJF x Reader)

"Un-fucking-believable! Where the hell do they breed idiots like you? The place needs to be evaporated!" Maxwell was furious. Just yesterday, he told the production team he needed an assistant that was smarter than 'Mark' or whatever his name was . And today, they brought HER in. She was even dumber, and he didn't think that was possible.

"I specifically told you I wanted pink and yellow roses, a dozen each. Didn't I?"

The small woman in front of him couldn't answer, she was too busy trying to suppress her sobs. It didn't help much, the tears were streaming down her face nonetheless.

"ANSWER ME!" Maxwell's voice bounced off the walls, and his new, soon to be fired assistant finally gave a weak 'yes' as reply.

"Then why the fuck are these just yellow roses?!"

The female whiped away some tears with her sleeve before mumbling the florist didn't have any pink roses today.

MJF got real close to her face, the tips of their noses almost brushing. Then, he put his finger to his ear and yelled once more. "Speak up!!!"

"Max, come on. Just let it go." Even Shawn pitied the poor woman, and that had to mean something.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Spears, I can't remember asking for your opinion." Just as he was about to get into his friend's face, there was a knock on the door.

When he turned around and prepared himself to yell at whoever interrupted his rant, he saw your head pop in. "Hey babe. Can I come in? Or is now a bad time?" His whole face lit up once he heard your voice, it was simply music to his ears. He swiftly moved over to you to to pull you into a tight hug.

"Awww, Princess, there is never a bad time for you to show up." His voice was saccharine, the love and admiration he had for you prominent in every syllable. He brushed his nose against yours before softly pecking your lips.

It was always funny to Shawn how MJF's voice just changed once you were around. Everybody backstage loved you, and although you were a nice person, it was mostly due to the fact that once you were there, MJF would leave everybody else alone. Shawn knew that now was the time to dismiss himself, and so he left without another word.

The assistant, whose name MJF couldn't even remember, apparently didn't get the memo and still stood in the exact same spot. When Maxwell noticed, he motioned for her to leave and added a quiet 'get out' to get his point across. She really was dumber than Mark, because even then she didn't move. He walked over to her, Burberry scarf waving around his neck when he gabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her towards the door. "Get. Out." He emphasized once more before finally pushing her out of the room. After he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it and sighed.

"Aww, baby, are you having a rough day?" You said to him as you walked over and started playing with his scarf.

He then realized he had forgotten about the roses, and moved over to hand them to you. "I'm really sorry, I know you like pink roses, too, but-"

He gave you a lopsided grin as response. "Everything's fine now that you are here, Princess." You smiled at the pet name, you always thought it didn't suit you. You were by no means close to what you imagined a princess to be, but Max disagreed. To him, you were perfect. Perfectly mannered, perfectly shaped, perfectly everything. And the best part of it: You were all his.

"They're beautiful, Maxie. I love them." You stated before inhaling the smell of the flowers and then setting them down on the table.

"And I love you, Maxwell." You added as you ran your fingers through his hair.

He smiled at you before leaning down to capture your lips once more, tender at first, but growing more and more needy with each passing second.

And then there was another knock on the door. Max pulled away, his face distorted with anger. He couldn't wait to see the idiot that was dumb enough to interrupt his tender moment with you.

When the door opened, it was his assistant again.

"I am really sorry, but I forgot my pho-" Before she could even finish her sentence, Maxwell had grabbed the phone off the table and threw it into her general direction, so fast and hard that she didn't stand a chance to catch it. With a loud crack, it hit the concrete floor.

MJF glared at her before shouting another 'Get out'.

"Baby, I think you should try to be a little bit nicer." You scolded him.

"But Princess, am I not treating you nicely?"

"You do. But I was talking about being nice to OTHER people. Please? For me." You gave his arm a light squeeze, loving the feeling of hus muscles flexing beneath your touch.

He rested his forehead against yours and sighed. "Alright, I'll try. For you."

#aew #aew imagine #all elite wrestling imagine #mjf imagine #mjf x reader #mj fanfiction

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tameodesza · 11 months

Text

Daddy’s Disapproval (BretShawn)

AO3 link | masterlist

Vince disapproves Shawn’s relationship with Bret

The plane ride home to Connecticut was awkward and uncomfortable.

Vince was still in shock at learning about Shawn’s relationship with Bret, and Shawn was too embarrassed to bring up the topic in first class. So they rode the plane in silence, neither man having the courage to address the elephant in the room.

That was until Vince said at the end of family dinner, “Shawn, I need you in my office.”

Linda gave Vince a questioning look before looking back at Shawn. “Is everything all right?”

Vince answered, “Yeah, it’s something important. Business-related.”

Shawn stretched as he yawned exaggeratedly, “I don’t know, dad. I’m pretty tired.”

Shane perked up, “Oh, I can help then, dad.”

“No, Shane. It’s between me and Shawn.”

Shane visibly deflated as he gave Shawn a glare, not knowing that the ‘business-related’ topic was pertaining to Shawn’s relationship with Bret.

Shawn insisted, “But-”

Vince emphasized, “Shawn. Office. Now.” At that, Vince stood up to walk upstairs to his office.

Shawn slouched in his chair, downing the rest of his lemonade before unwillingly following after Vince.

Before opening the door, Shawn took in a deep breath to prepare himself for the conversation. He walked in the office, seeing that Vince was sitting at his desk, hands folded in front of him as he watched Shawn close the door behind him.

“Lock it,” said Vince. “I don’t need your mother or Shane walking in.”

Shawn locked the door reluctantly before walking towards his dad, sitting in the chair across from him as he asked, “What did you want to talk about?”

Not one to beat around the bush, Vince asked, “How long have you been…involved with Bret Hart?”

“So I guess we’re getting straight to it then, huh?”

“Just answer the question, Shawn.”

“Does it matter?”

Vince had to stop himself from shouting as he sneered, “Yes, it matters.”

Shawn rolled his eyes before answering, “A few months.”

Vince was dumbfounded. A few months? How was Shawn able to sneak this past him without him noticing for that long?

Vince frowned, “What?!”

Shawn quickly relayed, “I was going to tell you! I just couldn’t find the right time.”

“There is no right time, Shawn! It shouldn’t be happening, period.”

Shawn scoffed. “I don’t get what the big deal is. I’m a grown ass man, dad. I don’t need your permission. So I don’t know what point you’re trying to get at.”

Vince pointed a finger at Shawn as he said through gritted teeth, “The point is that you’re going to stop seeing him! Plain and simple.”

And that was all it took for Shawn to lose his temper.

“No the fuck I’m not!”

“Yes, you are! I’m not going to risk my business going downhill over whatever the hell this phase is. Because it’s just that! A phase!”

A phase. For some reason, that word really rubbed Shawn the wrong way.

“A phase?! I’m gay, dad! It’s not a fucking phase! When are you going to stop pretending like you don’t know?!”

Vince had to collect himself, not wanting Shawn to think that his sexuality’s the issue. He answered flatly, “I don’t care about you being gay, Shawn. I don’t want you screwing my talent!”

“Well, it’s a little too late for that! You think Bret’s the first guy I’ve been with in the business?”

“Shawn-”

“Because he’s not! Hmm, let me think,” he said inquisitively. “There was Marty, Scott, Kevin, Hunter, Billy, Steve…oh! And I hooked up with Taker once, well twice…three times if you count the handjob-”

“Shawn, stop it!”

Vince was horrified. Not only at the fact that the rumors of Shawn sleeping around the locker room were true, but he was sleeping around with the top talent in the WWF.

“Do you not understand how unprofessional this is?! It’s bad business!”

Shawn threw his hands up dramatically, “Of course! It always comes back to business!”

“Because this business is what pays the bills, Shawn! Not just mine, but yours as well! What do you think would happen if people found out you’re fucking my talent like some cheap whore!”

There was a brief awkward silence between the two. Noticing the hurt look on Shawn’s face, Vince immediately recanted, “Shawn, I didn’t mean that-”

“But you did! What’s so wrong with dating around?! Last time I checked, you don’t have a policy banning workplace relationships. It shouldn’t be a problem!”

“It’s a problem when you’re the son of the owner of the company, Shawn! Why can’t you see that?! Your little fling with Bret isn’t worth it!”

“You’re wrong! Bret isn’t just a fling. I actually have feelings for him!”

“Oh, you have feelings for him,” Vince said mockingly, irking Shawn even more than he already had been. “And you think this is going to last?”

That was a question Shawn didn’t even know the answer to. He and Bret were still pretty new, still getting to know each other and understanding the bounds of their relationship. But what he did know was that he wanted to be with the man.

“I surely hope so.”

“You hope so?! You want me to risk everything on you hoping things will work out?! Do you understand how stupid and selfish that is, Shawn?! Do you know what would happen if people found out?!”

“No one has to know! You surely didn’t!”

“That’s not the point!”

“Doesn’t matter! I’m not a kid anymore. You can’t force me to do what I don’t want to do!”

“What happens if he leaves, then?! If he breaks your heart? If you’re put in an angle against him? Would you really be willing to still work with him?”

“Yes, because I’m an adult! I wouldn’t let this ruin business, dad. We’ll keep the relationship a secret-”

“Sorry, but I don’t believe that!”

Shawn let out a frustrated sigh, realizing that they were going nowhere.

Done with the conversation, Shawn stood up as he said, “ I don’t know what to tell you. Bret’s in my life now. He’s not going anywhere, and you can’t make me leave him!”

“Shawn, get back here!”

Shawn stormed out of the office, passing by Shane who’d been standing near the door, obviously eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Wait,” Shane said, stopping Shawn in his tracks, “You’re screwing Bret Hart?!”

“Mind your fucking business,” Shawn said harshly as he walked away from Shane, leaving his younger brother in disbelief as he headed towards his bedroom.

It was hard for Shawn to sleep that night, his conversation with Vince replaying in his head. He couldn’t believe his dad had the nerve to try to dictate his love life. And although it felt good standing up to his dad, Shawn knew that wasn’t the end of it, his dad always having a trick up his sleeve.

Shawn basically threw himself at Bret when he met the man a few days later in a hotel. Bret certainly welcomed the attention, Shawn barely letting him open the door before tugging at his pants.

However, the blonde’s behavior seemed a bit odd. He was clingier than usual, practically begging Bret to pound into him, going so hard that he’d forget his own name. And Bret happily gave Shawn what he was desperately craving, but he knew something was bothering Shawn.

“Ah! Yeah! Harder! Fuck me harder! AH!”

“Who’s ass is this?!” Bret smacked Shawn’s ass as he continued to pound into the man.

“AH! Yours! It’s yours! Mmh, harder! Fuck!”

After a particularly hard thrust, Shawn let out a strained shriek as he came for the third time that night, Bret soon following suit.

After a final thrust, Bret pulled out before quickly tugging Shawn into his arms, both men panting as they came down from their orgasms. Shawn cuddled a little closer to Bret, ears still ringing as Bret softly stroked his back.

It was when Shawn was drifting off in bliss that he heard the older man ask, “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?”

Shawn let out a groan. He’d been avoiding discussing the topic with Bret, but he knew the older man had picked up on his mood. Bret waited patiently, continuing to stroke Shawn’s back as he collected his thoughts.

“My dad wants us to break up.”

Bret’s hand halted, taken aback as he whispered, “Really?”

Shawn nodded, “Yeah. We got into a huge fight about it. He said it’s bad for business. I call bullshit.”

Bret knew that Vince probably wouldn’t be so open to him dating his son, but he didn’t think Vince would actually try to force them apart. Didn’t he care about Shawn’s happiness?

“What did you say to him,” he asked hoping that Shawn wasn’t gearing up to break up with him.

Shawn chuckled, looking up at Bret as he stroked the man’s cheek saying, “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Bret’s brows nearly flew off his face causing Shawn to clarify, “Well, not literally. I may as well have. There’s no way I’m leaving you, Bret. You mean so much to me.”

That seemed to ease Bret’s worries, the older man smiling down at Shawn as he said, “You mean a lot to me, too. But you’re not worried about your dad causing us trouble? Maybe we should be a bit more careful around him-”

Shawn tsked, “I’m not about to hide my relationship like I’m in high school. I don’t need his approval to be with you, Bret. If he doesn’t like it, then that’s his problem. He’s just going to have to deal with it.”

Bret grinned, tightening his arms around Shawn saying, “I knew you loved me.”

Love. They still hadn’t said the word to each other yet. But as fresh as their relationship was, they were soon headed in that direction.

Shawn snickered, “Hey, don’t get too ahead of yourself, pal.”

#divider cr: @benkeibear #daddy's boy au #hartbreak #shawn michaels #bret hart #bret hart x shawn michaels #bretshawn #wwf #wwe fanfiction #alternate universe #a little spice at the end

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

I wonder what it’s like to be loved by you // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: You’ve loved him for as long as you can remember. Is this the season where he finally realises?

A/N: I LOVE BENEDICT. I love him so much. What do I have to do to get a Benedict? Title is from Shawn Mendes - Wonder. I had so much fun writing this fic, I can’t wait to write more for the Bridgerton fandom! I truly hope you all like it, let me know what you think please?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food and drink, fluff, pining, mutual pining, dancing, balls, obliviousness, friends to lovers, she/her pronouns, a lot of history - I am a historian after all and this is the regency era.

Word count: 4.8k

Lady Danbury never spared any expense on the balls she held every season. She knew full well that many a match could be made that night so there was not only pressure from the ton, but also a responsibility that this ball must outdo all others thrown before – by herself and other matriarchs in society.

A feat she always managed to achieve, the elder thinks to herself as she watches your eyes widen upon entering the ornately decorated room. Looking you up and down, she approves of your outfit – a dark blue dress punctuated with silver jewellery, hair twisted into an updo with only a few strands hanging loose to frame your face. From her spot across the ballroom, Lady Danbury wonders how you hadn’t married yet.

As the band strikes up, Lady Danbury walks into the fray, greeting her guests with a smile. All the while, she keeps a trained eye on you, wondering who on earth had captured your heart but had not noticed.

-------------

No matter how hard he tried, the charcoal would not wash from his fingers. Having scrubbed and scrubbed at his hands, Benedict could only offer you a smile of apology as you not only noted his lateness but the state of his hands.

“It’s very fortunate that you are a talented artist,” You comment with a teasing smile.

Benedict reaches for your hand, dropping a kiss to the back of it before answering. “I class myself as very fortunate to have a friend like you who understands how easy it is to get lost in a sketch or a painting.”

You roll your eyes, careful not to let anyone else but Benedict see your act of impropriety. He smirks, unable to help himself.

“You’re a shameful flatterer, Benedict.”

“Some might even call me a ‘rake’,” He replies, his tone teasing.

“I shall save that for when you’ve really annoyed me.”

He laughs; a loud chuckle that draws the attention of those closest to you. Most notably, Benedict’s mother, Violet Bridgerton and Lady Danbury.

Benedict clears his throat; cheeks flushed not only from the attention but from the knowledge that his mother would soon be making her way over to him. He adored his mother; was grateful for her every day, but he could happily admit he could live without the meddling in his love life. He grabs your gloved hand once more; kissing the back of it in parting before asking, “Save me a dance on your card?”

“Always,” You answer, watching his back as he stalks away. Benedict narrowly avoids being collared by his mother, an act to which you find yourself smiling at.

With thoughts of Benedict in mind, you wander around the outskirts of the ballroom, your dark blue skirts swishing pleasantly under foot. You pause only to grab a lemonade from the table, sipping happily at the cold drink.

You catch sight of the brunette that had stolen your heart dancing with Penelope Featherington and though you know there is no romance there, your heart is unable to stop the hurt that lashes through it. Schooling your face into a mask of polite delight, you force yourself to turn away from the sight of the man you had so readily given your heart to dancing with someone else.

“How long have you been in love with my brother?” A raspy voice asks from behind you.

Your lemonade splashes slightly as you turn to face your interrogator. “Eloise!” You laugh, smiling too wide to be comfortable, “Whatever do you mean?”

Eloise’s shrewd blue eyes narrow slightly as she takes in your dismissal. She waves her hand in the general direction of Benedict though you knew exactly where he was – could feel his location thrumming in your veins.

“Don’t play coy, (Y/N). It doesn’t become you. Now, how long have you been in love with Benedict?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? How long had you loved Benedict? Thinking back on it, you’re sure that you’ve always loved him. Your family had been good friends with the Bridgerton family for as long as you could remember. Your mother was always having tea with Violet and you were always thrust upon the eight siblings without much worry. Your friendship with Benedict had started in earnest when you had complimented his art skills, bringing up how you liked to draw too. From there, a close friendship was forged.

By your twentieth year on this earth, you realised that your feelings for the second Bridgerton were no longer platonic… that you craved something more. Falling for Benedict Bridgerton felt inevitable almost; that your heart was destined to be his whether he knew it or not.

Sighing heavily, you see no point in lying to the second eldest Bridgerton girl. “For as long as I can remember,” You admit, rushing to add on, “But he doesn’t know so please don’t tell him!”

Eloise’s eyes widen at your confession, not only shocked that you readily admitted your feelings for her elder brother, but for how long you have harboured them. “Is that why you have not yet married?” She demands, “Because you loved him?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “It wouldn’t be fair to my husband. Their wife in love with another man – it doesn’t exactly set stable foundations for a long, prosperous marriage and…”

“And…” Eloise prompts, her innate curiosity getting the better of her. If her mother could hear her now, she would surely receive a scolding.

You ball your hands into fists before letting them drop to your sides; letting them hang there like the constant hope you have for Benedict.

“And I still hope he’ll notice I’m here. That I have been here all along,” You voice cracks on the admission causing a pang of upset to flash through Eloise. She’d reach out to comfort you, but it would only draw attention from the many mothers circling and no doubt, Lady Whistledown.

“(Y/N)…” Eloise begins but you hold a single hand up to stop her before she starts. With a strained smile, you reassure her. “It’s fine, Eloise. I accept it with every season that passes that it is unlikely he shall ever return my feelings.”

“Then he is a fool,” Eloise states plaining, sending a glare in the direction of her beloved brother. She had no qualms admitting that Benedict was indeed her favourite sibling, but he had his moments where he vexed her beyond belief.

“Who is a fool?” A voice questions to the right of you. Benedict.

Freezing in place, you cast a helpless look at Eloise, begging her silently to take control of this situation. Eloise smiles and nods imperceptibly. She turns towards her brother, hooking her arm through yours as she declares, “The men that have not offered their hand to (Y/N) yet. They’re all fools, aren’t they dear brother.”

Benedict casts his gaze towards you; his eyes scanning your face for what, he does not know. “Fools,” He agrees quietly though he is heard perfectly over the music. “Would you care to dance?” He asks, wanting you to himself for a little while. As much as he loved his younger sister, she was a keen observer, and he wasn’t ready for her to figure out his feelings just yet. Not when he hadn’t admitted them to you.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand, bidding goodbye to Eloise for now. The brunette shakes her head as the both of you walk away. Oblivious, she thinks to herself, completely oblivious.

As the music strikes up once more, it becomes obvious that the next dance is a waltz, requiring the closeness of your partner. It was only years ago that this dance had scandalised the ton for its closeness – now, it was required at every ball, many married couples savouring the intimacy.

Benedict’s hand settles on the small of your back as his other grips your hand. Your hand rests comfortably on his shoulder as he begins to lead you through the steps you have known since your youth.

Music around you fades as do the other couples. The only two people in the room are Benedict and yourself. The feel of his hand on your back and the look in his eyes; it’s enough to have you accept your fate then and there. It’s enough for you to admit that you have been ruined for any and all men; finding yourself in love with the man who holds you so tenderly and has always held you in high regard. Is this it? You ask yourself, is this what it feels like to be loved by him? To feel like the only one in the world. If it is, you’ll take it with open hands.

Your eyes do not leave his as Benedict leads you through the rises and falls of the dance. His hand remains a steady presence on your lower back; the feeling just enough to distract you from the crowd now watching you and instead, leading you to wonder what his hands would feel like elsewhere on your body.

As the music falls into another song; this one more upbeat, Benedict drops his hands, letting you free. He hadn’t wanted to; had wanted to pull you from the ballroom, to confess the feelings that have haunted him for years and to ask you to be his for better or for worse.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he bows and smiles, reaches for your hand to kiss it and then lets himself breathe as he turns and walks away.

-------------

Dear Reader,

Though there is much to report from Lady Danbury’s ball last night – the fashion, the food, the décor – This Author wants to focus on one moment in particular.

Now, Dear Reader, whilst you may wonder the importance of such a moment, remember that it is one’s job to observe all. That is why I want to bring attention to Mr. Benedict Bridgerton who found himself extremely popular last night, dancing with many eligible women and delighting them with his talents.

However, Dear Reader, this is not the moment I want to focus on.

No. Instead, I want to bring attention to the heart most likely suffering in silence as Mr. Bridgerton continues to charm the ton.

As you all know, I am not one to beat around the proverbial bush and hide identities, but for the sake of the woman who has found herself in love with the second eldest Bridgerton for as long she can remember, I shall endeavour to keep her name a secret.

Know, however, that This Author’s sympathies lie with you.

To love another unrequitedly is a dear shame.

----------

The gossip sheet is scrunched to a ball in your hands. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from falling down your face. As if you didn’t know your love was unrequited; as if you didn’t know you had all but doomed yourself to being a spinster as you wait for a man who did not know you loved him.

Lady Whistledown knew your secret, and your identity. As a result, the whole ton knew your secret but whatever morals the author possesses, she had not revealed your identity.

Summoning the carriage, you ask to be taken to Bridgerton House where you can speak to Eloise in confidence and ask for her advice on what she might do. Deep down, you had to know whether Benedict had read the paper too.

It doesn’t take long for Eloise to find you in the tea room; a cup of tea in your hands but readily ignored as you chew on the inside of your cheek. Her brown hair tied up in her usual bun, her eyes hold the pity you didn’t want to see or hear as of this moment.

“I didn’t know she was listening, I swear,” Eloise promises, sitting by your side and reaching for your hand.

“I know,” You comfort, “You would never tell a soul.”

“At least she didn’t reveal your identity,” Eloise chirps, trying to find a silver lining.

“Yet she has revealed my secret to the entirety of London society,” You sigh. Removing your hand from Eloise’s, you press your palm to your forehead, feeling overwhelmingly tired and desperate for the day to be over already. “Does he know?”

Eloise chews on her bottom lip, deciding whether to answer you. “He has read it,” She admits, but rushes to add, “He doesn’t know it’s you! He doesn’t have a clue really. He’s angrier at himself for not noticing anything was amiss.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You whisper, feeling helpless.

“For now,” Eloise states, “We do nothing.”

---------

Your heels sink into the soft carpet as you wander down the stairs, pausing only to check you have everything. Your mind remains elsewhere as you check your bag out of habit, the conversation with Eloise, the latest gossip sheet, your feelings for Benedict. They circle around your mind, leaving you dizzy in their wake as you try to make sense of them all, try to find your next step in and amongst the mess.

“(Y/N),” Benedict greets, hurrying down the final few stairs, pleasantly surprised, “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“I came to drop in on Eloise. I wanted to thank her for last night; she was an ear when I needed someone to listen.”

“Is it anything I can help with?” He asks, voice taking on a concerned note as he reaches out for you.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand in return. “For now, everything is okay.”

Benedict clears his throat. “I’m glad to hear it, but please come to me next time. I want to help if I can.”

“I will,” You promise, your eyes now scanning over his fine clothes. “Where are you off to?”

“An art exhibition at Somerset House. They’re showing some Holbein’s from the Royal collection.”

“Holbein’s?” You ask, shocked at the name falling from Benedict’s mouth.

He nods, just as excited. It was a rare thing indeed to have Holbein’s on display; they were usually kept in whatever royal residence they found themselves in; hidden away from the public eye. Art was the very foundation of your friendship; having seen so many of his sketches as a young boy and watching them develop into surer lines and confident strokes. Benedict was an exceptionally talented artist – something he would say about yourself. Benedict was the only person to see such work; the watercolours in your sketchpad leaving him breathless as you bring life to the inanimate.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks before he can talk himself out of it. He had barely seen you all season; you had closed in yourself, as if accepting a fate that you did not want. Benedict would do what he could to ensure your happiness for a little bit longer.

“Unchaperoned?”

A faint blush rises on Benedict’s cheeks as he realises what he has asked of you. “I shall ask Eloise to accompany us,” He suggests, turning to face the direction in which you had just come, “Did she mention any plans to you?”

You shake your head to which Benedict leases a sigh of relief. “I’ll go ask her now. I’m sure she won’t mind… much.”

Laughing quietly, you wait patiently in the entryway of Bridgerton House. The house in London so often felt like a second home to you; spending so much of childhood summers here when your mother would take tea with the Bridgerton matriarch. As you grew into your teens, you would begin to visit the house with just your maid, calling on the family for social niceties. The friendship with Benedict and Eloise only solidified your standing in the close family unit.

Eloise’s voice brings you back to the present. She walks down the stairs, accompanied by her brother. Taking one look at you, waiting patiently for the both of them, Eloise gets a mischievous look in her eye. It isn’t a look that leaves you in comfort, but rather leaves you wondering just what she has planned for the art exhibition.

“Eloise has so graciously accepted to join us,” Benedict announces, sounding rather pleased with himself.

Eloise smiles: a smile that sets Benedict’s nerves on edge. He would owe her for this, that much he knew. “I would be more than happy to accompany you, brother.”

Benedict resists the urge to groan; he’s in deep shit for this.

“Thank you, Eloise,” You murmur with a smile. Something in Eloise softens at your tone as if she would be unable to deny you this time with Benedict when it was their mother’s mission to see him married off this very season.

“Of course,” Eloise allows, glancing between you and Benedict – noting the longing in both sets of eyes. She shakes her head, gesturing to the door and where the carriages waits just beyond it. “Shall we?”

--------

“He wasn’t a handsome monarch, was he?” Eloise murmurs quietly, staring up at the grand portrait of the fearsome king who preferred executing his wives rather than loving them.

The walls of Somerset House have become dedicated to the eyes of the past. Past monarchs and relatives decorate the walls; their eyes following each attendant, as if curious to see how society is progressing less than three hundred years after the death of the artist.

Benedict chuckles; the very sound raising goosebumps across your skin. You barely repress the shiver the sound elicits. Trying your best to listen as the siblings argue about the reign of this particular monarch – the pros and the cons to what he did for the very country he ruled over for decades.

“Oh!” Eloise gasps, interrupting the argument and loosening her grip on your arm, she waves frantically at Penelope Featherington. “Would you mind terribly if I go say hello?”

“Not at all,” You laugh.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay with Benedict?”

The man in question scoffs, rolling his eyes at his little sister. “Off with you,” He dismisses, “I’ll escort (Y/N) – someone who actually appreciates the art.”

Eloise laughs as she turns away, but you do not miss the wink she sends in your direction. It hits you all at once; her mischievous look before you all left the house. She had concocted this plan in her head; accepting to accompany you as a rouse to get you and Benedict alone.

You didn’t know whether to appreciate her genius or hide her favourite book.

Jumping at the sound of someone clearing their throat, you focus your attention on Benedict. He watches you with an amused look, and it’s then that you realise that he has stood beside you waiting with his arm out for a minute or so whilst you glared after his younger sister. Taking his arm, you rid yourself of any thoughts of violence against Eloise. Instead, focusing on the man beside you.

“How are you?” You ask, hand resting gently on Benedict’s forearm.

“Do you mean in general or after today’s publication?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“In general, I am quite well. I have a wonderful lady on my arm, and I am in the presence of excellent art work. However, after today’s publication, I must admit I am rather angry.”

“Oh?” You sound, trying hard not to let his words affect you so much but they rattle around your mind on repeat, committing themselves where they will last for an eternity.

“I’ve never been the focus of the gossip paper and now after one ball, I am. I don’t think I like the attention.”

“I don’t believe that for one second, Benedict Bridgerton.”

He pauses, smiling widely down at you. His eyes light up with the smile and your heart begins to pound at the sight of it. “Alright, I do like the attention,” He concedes, “But what I don’t like are the looks I’m getting from all mothers.”

“Why?”

“They all look like I’m about to break their daughter’s heart.”

“I’m sure you’re just imagining things,” You reassure, tightening your grip on his arm.

“I don’t think I am,” He states, nodding politely at Lady Whitelaw who in turn glares at the younger man. He turns his gaze to you as if to say, see?

You turn your face away from him, trying your best to hide the smile and laugh that threatens to break free. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” Benedict guesses, a smile in his own voice.

“I’m not,” You promise, schooling your face into a mask of indifference, focusing on the closest sketch to you. A graphite sketch of Anne Boleyn; marking her beauty only years before her death.

“You are,” Benedict argues, standing beside you, admiring the same sketch. Throwing him a knowing smile, you turn your attentions to rest of the exhibition, unable to hide your awe at just what is being shown to the public.

The art is incredible; your watercolours barely compare to what is being shown in Somerset House. He would disagree in a heartbeat, but Benedict could come close to producing something of this calibre. He had shown his portraits of his mother and brothers; Anthony making the perfect candidate for a painting.

You come to a natural stop in front of a portrait of a young women. A young queen, in fact. This particular queen had never got to reign in the manner that she was capable, dying after giving birth the king’s heir. His one true love, the king had called her after he death.

“She’s beautiful,” You whisper, admiring not only the artistry but also the focus on the painting.

Benedict watches you admiring the portrait painted so carefully by Holbein. Though the portrait is indeed beautiful, Benedict finds himself agreeing that they do not hold a candle to you. As he watches you lift a single hand, trying to dampen the urge to run your fingers over the brush strokes, he thinks to himself that there would be no artist on this earth that would be so talented to capture your beauty.

His breath comes faster; his heart rate increases. He recognises the symptoms; he’s only experienced such signs before. He had been eighteen then; barely a man but man enough to accept that he had fallen in love with his best friend. Years later, here he was, experiencing such feelings once more. Once more, he wonders what it would be like to be loved by you. He cannot help but hope that the mystery woman in the society papers is you.

-------

Dear Reader,

It seems that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton reads my paper!

He was overheard at the Somerset House Holbein exhibition, complaining to Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) about my last column in which I criticised his treatment of the lady in love with him.

All I have to say on the matter is this:

Mr. Bridgerton, for every complaint you offer, you break her heart further. Stop now before you do irreparable damage.

-----

“What does she mean ‘break her heart further’? I’ve been trying to figure out who it is so I can put a stop to it!”

“It doesn’t matter whether you know who it is, Benedict,” You argue, placing your teacup on the table, “But rather the fact that you unknowingly hurt whoever it is that is in love with you.”

“Do my feelings not matter?” He demands, throwing the damned paper onto the table. Benedict runs a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. “I’m sorry,” He apologises, “I should not have taken that tone with you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You’re forgiven,” You laugh, “I’ve heard you say a lot worse.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Leaning forward on your chair, you wring your hands together, working up the nerve. “What feelings haven’t they taken into account?”

“Lady Whistledown,” He spits the name with derision, “Hasn’t taken into account that I may not have noticed someone in love with me because I am in love with someone myself.”

It’s as if the chair is pulled out from under you; your stomach dips and flips as the world crashes around you and Benedict is none the wiser. He’s none the wiser to the palpable shift that has taken place. Instead, he’s sat down across from, looking utterly defeated.

“Does she know?” You ask after a moment of silence, using the time to pull yourself back together, to compile it all and put it away for later.

Benedict shakes his head; eyes sad as he watches you. “Why haven’t you told her?” You ask, unable to stop the questions now they’re on the tip of your tongue.

“I suppose for the same reason she hasn’t told me. Fear maybe?”

“Fear of what? I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything.”

“Fear of rejection. Fear of humiliation. Fear of ruining a friendship,” He lists off, counting the reasons on his fingers, holding them up for you to see.

“Have you thought about telling her?”

“All the time,” He answers honestly, and you wonder whether the crack your heart makes was audible to the whole of the ton.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

“Eventually.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the teacup instead of him, readying yourself to offer up your broken heart. To confess that the two most recent society papers have been about you; have shown your heart to the whole of London.

“It’s me,” You confess quietly, voice no louder than a whisper but he hears you all the same.

Benedict’s head whips towards you. Had this been another situation, it would have been funny, but the look on his face… “What?” He whispers, shocked.

“It’s me,” You announce; louder this time, ready to lay your heart out on the floor for him to break entirely. “It’s me, Benedict. Lady Whistledown must have overheard Eloise and myself talking at Lady Danbury’s ball the other night. She had caught me watching you dance and asked me outright. I couldn’t deny it. I’ve been in love with you for years, Benedict. For as long as I can remember.”

“For as long as you can remember?”

You nod, wringing your hands together once more. “I didn’t realise until I turned twenty, just what my feelings meant. I think I’ve always been in love with you, Benedict.”

Benedict remains silent; eyes wide, hands slack as they rest on his thighs. He looks like he doesn't believe the very words leaving your mouth; as if he is unworthy of the love you offer him so willingly.

“Say something, please,” You plead, “I know it isn’t proper for the woman to announce her feelings for the man, but I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. Not when it is the focus for Lady Whistledown to sell more copies of her paper.”

“I didn’t know,” He whispers after a prolonged silence.

“You weren’t to know. You don’t have to feel the same, Benedict.”

“I do as it happens.”

“What?”

“I do feel the same,” Benedict clarifies, standing from his chair, “I’ve loved you since I was eighteen.”

You sniffle slightly; emotional from hearing the words you have longed to hear for years. The words that have haunted your dreams; had you rushing from sleep, so you didn’t let yourself believe an alternate reality.

“You do?”

Benedict nods, “I do. I love you very much.”

“I love you too,” You reply, standing from your chair, reaching for him – not wanting anymore space between the two of you.

He dips his head, pausing mere millimetres away from your lips. The question burns in his eyes; desperate to know whether he can kiss you after so long waiting. Your nod is barely imperceptible but it’s nod, nonetheless.

Slowly, almost wanting to savour every moment, Benedict presses his lips to yours. Reaching up, you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him pressed against you after having waited so long, after having dreamed of this moment for too long.

He tastes like tea and his hands bring to life the butterflies in your stomach as they wander the path of your back, settling on your lower back, dipping you slightly. Benedict groans softly at the feel of you lined up against him. If he had known heaven was this close, he would not have waited this long.

Benedict breaks the kiss; not out of need of air, but to stop himself from taking this too far when you feel like heaven pressed against him. You smile widely, kissing his jaw lovingly before starting to laugh lightly. Benedict’s hands on your waist tighten possessively as he joins you in laughter.

Briefly, he wonders whether this is what it feels like to be loved by you.

********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagines

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

If I Fell For You (Part 5) - Date Night

Summary: The reader and Jensen go on their first fancy date together before attending a nanny happy hour the next night. The reader makes a new friend there to Jensen’s dismay but someone from the past will come along and change things between the new couple...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 4,200ish

Warnings: language, lying, angst, mention of past child abuse/assault, fluff

A/N: This a rough one, not gonna lie. Enjoy!

________

Friday Night

“Y/N, I’m downstairs when you’re ready,” said Jensen through your closed bedroom door.

“I’ll be there in five,” you said.

“See you in fifteen,” he chuckled before he walked away. You walked back into your bathroom, looking over your hair in a bun. It looked like a freaking messy bun actually. You should have done it down and in big flowy waves instead. You pouted and smoothed out your dress. Of course you were bloated and you’d nicked your leg more than once shaving earlier.

“It’s Jensen,” you said to yourself, taking a deep breath. “He’s never even seen you in makeup before. You’re fine. He’s not gonna say anything.”

You forced yourself out of the bathroom and slipped on your heels, your clutch in your hand. You wobbled for a step or two on the carpet but did better once you were out in the hardwood hall. Ten seconds later you were downstairs, heading over to the foyer area.

“All set?” you asked, Jensen spinning around. He smiled as he stared, eyes looking you up and down more than once, not even trying to hide it.

“Y/N, you look pretty,” said Arrow as she rushed in from the family room.

“Yes she does,” said Jensen. “We’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Okie dokie,” she said, wandering off with a little wave.

Half an hour later you were sat at a table in a very nice restaurant, Jensen tugging on his collar. His cheeks were slightly pink but it wasn’t from the cold outside.

“So...what’s a good wine?” you asked, sliding the drink list over to him. “I’m not really good with the names.”

“You like red or white?” he asked.

“Normally red,” you said. “You?”

“I like a Merlot,” he said. “You like dry?”

“Sure,” you said.

“We’re not going dutch tonight you know right. This is all on me.”

“We can go dutch, Jensen.”

“I asked you out and this is fancy, even for me. My treat, okay?” he asked.

“Alright,” you said, looking around the restaurant and over in the distance to the bar. “You know I could go for a lemon drop actually.”

He smirked and set the list down, a waiter coming by. He ordered a gin and tonic for himself while you got your cocktail, Jensen breaking off part of a breadstick from the basket.

“Bread’s good,” he said with his mouth full.

“So. Ackles,” you said, picking up a piece and tearing off a chunk with your teeth. He stared and started to laugh to himself. “Ah, there’s my sweet guy.”

“Thought you were gonna say boyfriend for a second.”

“This is our second official date,” you said. “So. Boyfriend.”

“Yes girlfriend?” he chuckled.

“What’s an appetizer look like in a place like this? Like a tiny cube of cheese with some dressing they’re gonna charge twenty bucks for or something like that?”

“You’re goofy,” he said, a big smile stuck on his face. “Uh, they probably have something like that. There’s normally some kind of bread olive oil bowl option.”

“Fancy people eat like a starving college student apparently,” you said. He tried to hide his laugh as your waiter brought over the drinks and a pair of menus. “Excuse me but can you recommend an appetizer? We’re both new to town and are wondering what you think is a good choice.”

“You can’t go wrong with our sourdough and seasoned oil dipping sauce,” he said. You glanced at Jensen and smiled. “The artichoke spinach dip and tartar crackers are also quite lovely.”

“Do you have anything with a little more substance? We’re quite starving,” said Jensen.

“The fried calamari and crab cake poppers combo is a great option,” he said.

“What’s calamari?” you asked.

“Squid, miss,” said the waiter.

“We’ll have that combo,” said Jensen.

“Perfect. I’ll put that in and be back shortly to get your dinner orders,” he said. He took off and you made a face at Jensen.

“Squid?” you asked.

“It’s fried. Trust me, it’s pretty good,” he said. “I could go for a good steak. You see a filet on here yet?”

“Uh,” you said, eyes scanning the page and seeing most everything was something you’d never heard of.

“There it is,” he said. “I’m getting that and scalloped potatoes. See anything you want to try?”

“Uh, why does half of this seem like it’s a foreign language to me?” you asked. Jensen looked at his menu and chuckled.

“That would be because it’s in French. We’re in Canada and this is a french restaurant.”

“Oh. Gotcha,” you said. He got up and leaned over the back of your chair, glancing at the page.

“These are soups and salads,” he said, pointing near the top. “Sandwiches. Pasta. Main dishes down here.”

“Uh, maybe pasta?” you said. He knelt down and read off the dishes to you one by one, your waiter returning by the time he was just finishing.

“Anything I can assist you with?” he asked.

“I’ll have the fettuccine alfredo with chicken please,” you said, handing the menu to him, Jensen returning to his seat.

“Face principale?” he asked. You stared at Jensen and he smiled.

“She doesn’t speak French,” said Jensen.

“My apologies miss. What would you like for your main side dish?” asked the waiter. “Steamed vegetables, scalloped potatoes, lobster bisque-”

“I’ll have the vegetables,” you said. Jensen ordered and the waiter went to get your appetizer, a sad smile on his face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think twice about the French thing.”

“Kinda hot that you know French,” you said. “I should try to learn it if we’re gonna be up here for a few months.”

“I’m an idiot and I learned it so you’ll do just fine picking it up,” he said.

“So where’d you learn in the first place?”

“I’m stuffed,” you said, plopping your napkin from your lap onto the table awhile later. Jensen took the last bite of the piece of mouse pie, licking his lips as he finished. “This might have been the best alfredo I’ve ever had.”

“I enjoyed it. Mostly I enjoyed listening to you talk,” he said. You blushed and looked away, Jensen letting out a small hum. “It’s funny. Doesn’t really feel like just a second date, does it.”

“No, not really,” you said. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re friends first.”

“Well I definitely like being friends with you,” he said.

“Me too, Jensen.”

“Want to get out of here?” he asked. You smiled and nodded, the two of you outside a few minutes later wrapped up in your coats. Your feet were cold in just your heels, Jensen’s arm wrapping around your waist when you almost slipped more than once. It was slow going back to the car, especially when it started to snow lightly.

“You know, that dress would still look hot with winter boots,” he chuckled.

“Sorry,” you said.

“No apology necessary. I got freaking dress shoes on and my feet are cold. I can’t imagine how you’re holding up,” he said.

“The perils of being a woman,” you said.

“Well, no need to impress me is all I’m saying. I ain’t looking at your feet anyways,” he said.

“Oh well in that case I’ll wear some nice baggy sweats next date.”

“Please do,” he said.

“You really don’t care, do you.”

“I think you look beautiful tonight. But I think you look beautiful every night. You did your hair and makeup and this is stunning, don’t get me wrong. But she’s not more beautiful than the girl at home with hair tossed up all messy walking around in oversized shirts and leggings. It’s like flowers. Both are pretty but one isn’t more pretty than the other.”

“Where the fuck did I find you?”

“At my house,” he chuckled. You whacked his arm and leaned your head on his shoulder. “Almost back to the car. I’ll blast the heat for us when we’re in there.”

“Thanks Jensen.”

“Thank you for the date, honey. I mean it. We’ll do it again sometime. Promise.”

Saturday Night

“Your boyfriend seems pissed,” said Brandon. You sipped up the last of your beer, glancing over to the bar where Jensen was tapping his finger.

“He’s fine,” you said. “So any good parks around the west side of town?”

“Center Grove is always my choice. Good playground, nice area, cops routinely are around. Parking can kinda be a bitch sometimes but it’s worth it in my opinion. My kids love it.”

“You’ve been their nanny for five years you said?”

“Mhm,” he said, knocking back the last of his drink. “Shawn’s mom is their mom’s best friend.”

“Oh. So you had an in already.”

“You know long term gigs are the way to go in this job,” he said. “Not too many American girls come up here. Your accent is cute.”

“Is it, eh?” you chuckled.

“Like I’ve never heard that one before,” he said, Jensen walking back with two beers and a clenched jaw.

“You okay?” you asked as he sat it down in front of you.

“I’m fine,” he said, taking a long sip. Brandon slid off his seat and made a face.

“I need a refill anyways. Nice meeting you Y/N. We gotta hang some time,” he said as he walked away.

“For sure,” you said, Jensen rolling his eyes behind his back. “Jensen what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Well you obviously have a problem with Brandon.”

“I don’t have a problem with him. I have a problem with my girlfriend flirting with another guy.”

“I was not flirting. I’m trying to make new friends. It was your idea to come to this thing tonight anyways.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed.

“Excuse me?”

“In case I wasn’t clear, I’m not the kind of guy where I’m okay with you dating multiple people at once. I don’t get that not exclusive shit.”

“I’m with you and only you. I was being nice. Geez, let’s just go,” you said. You got up and pulled your coat on, bumping into a guy on the way out. He turned and apologized, staring at you a little long.

“Y/N?” he asked, a big smile on his face. “My Y/N?”

“Dad?” you said, his face much older looking than you remembered but his eyes still the same.

“Dad?” said Jensen. You brushed past your dad and outside, Jensen hot on your heels.

“Y/N,” your dad said as he left the bar.

“Stay away from me,” you said. “Jensen I want to go home right now.”

“What-”

“Right fucking now!”

He held up his hands and you walked around the block to the car, getting inside and Jensen taking off.

“So your dad’s alive huh,” he said. You stared out the dark window with crossed arms. “So is everything I know about you bullshit?”

“What?”

“Is literally anything you’ve ever told me true? Your dad obviously didn’t die when you were a kid. All those late night talks about family and shit, you just like to fuck with people or something?”

“I was not flirting with Brandon you asshole. You didn’t need to know my whole life story the second I meet you.”

“Oh. Okay. Just your fake life story then, huh?” he said. You shook your head as he got stuck at a red light. “If I can’t trust you, I can’t employ you let alone date you.”

“Whatever,” you said. He drove in silence until you were out of the city, going along quieter roads. You were close to the house when he suddenly turned right towards the local park and stopped in the lot, putting the car in park. He touched your arm and you turned, Jensen leaning over and kissing you roughly, far more roughly than you thought he was capable of. You blinked when he pulled back, Jensen looking you up and down.

“He won’t hurt you.”

“What?”

“Did he walk out on you and your mom?” he asked. “You told him to stay away from you. Sort of shouted it at him. Maybe you lied but maybe...I’m sorry I got jealous of Brandon. I’m still scared and I think you’re still scared too and that’s okay. If you lied about your dad, I’m gonna trust you have a good reason for it. I’m sorry for what I said. I trust you and I don’t want to know what my life is like without you in it.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I forgive you.”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he said. “We can just go home, okay?”

“Why’d you pull over?”

“Because I knew I didn’t mean it and I knew I overreacted. I said I’d mess up when we started. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I’m 42 with three kids. Brandon is thirty and young and stronger than I am and can go out to the bar whenever he wants. You have options. You don’t have to settle for me.”

“If I’d wanted to settle, I’d have married my ex. What I wanted was the guy that forgives me for not telling him the whole story cause I’m not ready to say it. I want the guy that makes me happy and feel like I have a teenage crush but it’s deeper than that. You’re not the settle for option, Jensen. Why don’t you get that?”

“The last time I felt like this, I married the girl,” he said quietly. “That didn’t turn out so well.”

“You didn’t get the time you deserved with her. It doesn’t mean it ended badly. You loved her and she knew it. She wants you to be happy again, whether it’s me or somebody else.”

“See? That’s the shit that tells me...it tells me to keep falling for you. I’m so sorry for how I acted tonight.”

“I lied about my dad and not a little white one either,” you said with a nod. You turned away and felt his hand on your cheek. “So much of what I told you was a lie.”

“You don’t have to tell me the truth right now, Y/N.” He stroked your cheek and you glanced over, meeting his soft green eyes.

“My mom died giving birth to me,” you said, Jensen nodding. “He hated me for it. Hated me. He would hurt me when I was a toddler. When I was four he started doing...other things.”

“Four?” he breathed out.

“I didn’t know it wasn’t normal. Not until I started school. I was scared though so I never said anything. One of my friends mom’s realized what was going on when I was over playing one day. He went away and lost custody. I went into foster care briefly and got adopted when I was eight. Single mom who’d lost her husband young. That’s my mom. She was a kind person. Ray was always good to her and to me. But I asked him not to adopt me after she was gone and he knew it was because I was still scared of a dad again. Being a nanny, I’ve met fathers that look at me and I just know what was going through their head. I reported him and kinda fucked up their family situation but-”

“That was the right thing to do,” he said.

“I know it was. I’ve just...I’ve had more than one guy and even a woman walk in on me changing or into my bathroom and it’s like, she’s just the help, nobody cares. They don’t touch so it’s like...what can I even do? Then my house before this one, the guy tried getting in my shower with me and I shoved him and he broke his arm and I just don’t understand why so many people think I’m just a piece of meat. Even my ex never got why it bothered me so much. They didn’t touch me so what was wrong with it? He just didn’t get it. He would get mad if I wasn’t in the mood for sex. Nobody ever fucking gets it except you who I lied to and pissed off tonight and without a word of an explanation why, you say you won’t let somebody hurt me. Do you get why you’re the opposite of fucking settling Jensen?”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know you won’t Jensen.”

“How?”

“Because you’re a good person. You’re so gentle and kind. I know you’re strong and tough but I see it everyday. You should never be worried about how your kids will turn out. If they are half as good as you are they’ll be fucking great people. Your daughters aren’t gonna put up with shit and your son is gonna be kind to everyone and say fuck you to the toxic guys out there. I can already tell the kind of person you are through them and it’s a good one. A really good one.”

“I’m not the only good person in their lives,” he said. You sniffled and looked down, Jensen’s hand sliding under your chin and tilting it up. “You don’t have to apologize for not telling me all of that. Never apologize for not telling me that. Okay?”

“I never told anyone about…the other stuff,” you said, wanting to look down but Jensen’s hand holding your chin up.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m sorry it took you so long to find people that would protect you.”

“You mean…” He nodded and dropped his hand away, running it over your head. “You’re not gonna like, go back and kick his ass are you?”

“Want me to? I’m very tempted at the moment,” he said.

“I just want to go home. I could use one of those hugs right now.”

“Do you want to stay with me tonight? Just to stay, nothing more.” You nodded and he kissed your forehead, a tiny smile crossing your face. Ten minutes later you were home and the babysitter was gone, Jensen pulling you into his room next to yours. You blew your nose in his bathroom and washed off your face, lifting your head to find a pair of your pajama shorts and one of his shirts on the vanity beside you. He smiled as he ducked out, leaving you to change. You let your hair down and took off your bra before you walked out and saw his blanket on the opposite side of the bed. “Warm enough?”

You spun around as he walked inside and you nodded, Jensen pulling you into a hug.

“I’m sorry for how I was at the bar,” you said.

“I was the one that overreacted, not you,” he said. You felt goosebumps on your arms and he pulled away to turn up the heat, nodding over to the bed. The covers were flung back and you climbed underneath, Jensen getting in on his side. His arm wrapped over your waist and pulled your chest close to his, face only inches away. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. No one will hurt you again. I promise.”

You moved closer to him, resting your forehead against his.

“Remember last Saturday when we were on the trampoline and you talked about those safety nets,” you said.

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re a really good net,” you said softly.

“So are you,” he murmured. He kissed the tip of your nose and you shut your eyes. “What’d you want to be when you were little?”

“A princess,” you said. He chuckled and you smiled. “I wanted a prince to come take me away and everything would be just fine.”

“Really?”

“Princesses were always happy at the end of the movie,” you said. “They got the boy and they were happy. Then I grew up and prince charming doesn’t exist.”

“Cause you’re not a damsel in distress. You didn’t need the prince to save you.”

“But the prince would have made life so much easier.”

“I’m partial to badass princesses myself,” he said. You opened your eyes and he was smiling.

“I’ve never noticed your freckles before.”

“They come out more when I spend some time in the sun.” You moved a hand up and traced under his eye, Jensen nuzzling into his pillow. “Make you a deal. If the badass princess saves me, the scared prince will save her too.”

“Okay,” you said. You kissed him lazily, Jensen smiling through it.

“Do you want to be a nanny forever?”

“Not forever. It’s an easy way to feel like you have a family when you don’t.”

“Now you do,” he said.

“Jensen you don’t know if this will work out.”

“I do and you do and we’ll take it slow anyways,” he said. “Which is why I’m asking do you want to be a nanny forever.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe someday I won’t need one,” he said.

“I thought about being an elementary school teacher when I was eighteen for a hot second.”

“You did? You’d be amazing.”

“Pay in Texas is crap though. I make more as a nanny.”

“If money wasn’t an issue though, would you want to be a teacher still?”

“Anything at all?” you asked, Jensen nodding, nose brushed against yours. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“You okay?” he asked, reluctantly letting you out of bed.

“I’m good. I want to show you something,” you said. You slipped out of the room and down the hall to the playroom, picking up a book. Jensen was sat up in bed when you returned and crawled under the covers. You handed him the book and he smiled.

“I don’t remember buying this,” he said, flipping it over. “There’s no serial code on it.”

“You can’t buy it. I wrote a children’s book and printed a few copies for myself,” you said.

“You wrote a book?” he asked, flipping through it. “Did you draw this?”

“Yeah,” you said, Jensen staring at you. “I don’t know if it’s any good. I never tried publishing it.”

“You want to write children’s books, don’t you?” he said, starting to read the story.

“I have a number of them written out. I would make up the stories for kids at bedtime and decided to write them down. It’s kinda like whinnie the poo, that age group, you know? Same group of characters but different stories,” you said.

“These are adorable,” he said, turning another page. You were quiet while he read through for a few minutes, Jensen smiling when he shut the book. “I’ve never read a children’s book where they deal with the loss of a parent.”

“The kids really like it,” you said.

“You should publish this. Seriously. It’s cute and I’m a grown ass man and it made me feel better about Dee.”

“It’s just a story,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I make stories for a living. This whole place would fall apart without stories. This is good. You should consider trying to get it published.”

“Maybe if that nanny job doesn’t work out I will,” you said.

“Do you mind if I keep this?” he asked.

“Not at all. I gave it to JJ in the first place.”

“Thanks. I want to read this to the twins tomorrow,” he said. He set it on the nightstand and slid back down, pulling you with him. “Why’d the mom fox die in the story? I would have expected the dad wolf considering…”

“Wish fulfillment for a nice father,” you said. “Plus I like drawing the wolf.”

“I like him. He’s fluffy,” chuckled Jensen. “Is that why you asked if I carry a picture of my kids when we met?”

“I’m done with asshole parents. If they treat their kids like shit they sure as hell aren’t gonna treat me any better. You seemed like a good guy. Good guys tend to do that kind of thing.”

“I’m not always good.”

“Yeah, you are,” you said. You shut your eyes and nuzzled close to him, Jensen letting out a soft hum. “You okay? With me being here.”

“Very. Feeling better after everything that happened?”

“Mhm,” you said. “I’m still sorry I lied to you.”

“Did you ever lie about your mom?” he asked. “I mean aside from the fact she adopted you, did you lie about her?”

“No.”

“Then you didn’t lie, not really. I’m sorry it came out like that. You should have been able to tell me in your own time.”

“You still would have been angry,” you said.

“I still would have come to my senses too. I’m not perfect. I never was.”

“I don’t want someone perfect,” you said. Your head rested against his chest and you let out a soft sigh.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said. He kissed the top of your head and tucked it under his chin, adjusting the blankets once before he stilled.

“Goodnight, Jensen.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles au #rpf #jensen series #rpf series #jensen ackles x reader #spn fanfic #jensen fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

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simplystevies · 3 years

Text

sneak peek

pairings || steve rogers x f!reader, howard stark x reader

summary || time travel would be easy, a flick of a switch and you’re shot 70 years later.

warnings || 18+ minors dni, none really:)

note || THE START OF MY NEW SERIES!! I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY <33 this is a super crappy bit, i promise it’ll get better as it goes on !!

wc || <1k

masterlist <<>> chapter one

the area you lived in wasn’t amazing, it was nowhere near a good area. during your childhood, a toy for your birthday was a surprise. you were humble and calm, not expecting massive things from big people.

that all changed when you met howard stark. he approached you at the start of his career, seeing your love for inventions. howard introduced you to a world of riches.

when you were eighteen, howard asked you out on a date. you thought it was a work thing, but he surprised you with roses and a beautiful dinner. it was safe to say howard had you wrapped around his finger.

during your time with howard, you were given unlimited access to his laboratory and prototypes so you could work on anything.

howard gave you everything, he spared no expense when it came to his girl. seeing you walk around new york in complete lavishness raised some eyebrows, people saying you were using him for his money or his fame.

you weren’t, you hadn’t even considered working for howard until he fell to his knees begging. he claimed to have seen something in you.

that thing seemed to have been his future wife, because he wasted no time on placing a promise ring on your finger. howard told you he loved you after the second date, he asked you to move in only three months into your relationship.

he named one of his jets after you, then one of his cars, then one of his houses. at your twentieth birthday, howard held it at a house that you didn’t know, later you found out that the house was yours.

howard had bought you an entire mansion, even though you were living with him, the house was one hundred percent yours. the house always felt like his, the portraits of himself in every room added to that factor.

you rarely ever used that house, only for parties or for when you were angry at howard and couldn’t bare to face him, never mind sleep in the same room as him.

your mother didn’t approve of your relationship with howard, as howard was three years older than you, she thought he liked you because he was attracted to young girls.

the more you thought about it, howard hired you at seventeen, then asked you out a few months after you turned eighteen, you understood where your mother came from.

you didn’t think that of howard, he was a good man with a big heart. he had no family, no one to look after, he needed someone to love. you were that person. from the moment you made eye contact, to the last breath that leaves his body, he’ll love you.

you can't recall the moment you fell in love with howard, you often joke that you’ve always been in love with him, but just needed a push. part of you was joking, another part of you truly believed that.

when america joined the war, howard was already tied into it by giving the army as many arms as he could. he cared for you enough to not tell you what he was doing.

but he was too scared of losing you to hide everything from you. he told you about the german scientist that created a serum, to create the greatest soldier in history. he didn’t tell you that he would be picking a guy out from the army.

you didn’t know who, or what, you expected him to pick out, but just not a training army man. you were allowed to help pick the man, as you were working on the incubator that would inject the serum.

you looked through the 107th infantry, finding one guy that you found eligible, his name was james but doctor erskine was insistent they checked out the 26th infantry just in case.

doctor erskine pointed out the man that lived next door to your mother. his name? you hadn’t a clue. shawn? simon? ugh, whatever. he was small and scrawny, not what you expected.

“we do not need a perfect soldier, we need a good man.” doctor erskine told you when he was pointing at the man. you still didn’t understand why you couldn’t pick a strong man, but you trusted doctor erskine.

it took a few more months before project rebirth took place, the preparation of the incubator and preparing yourself mentally.

during your build up to project rebirth, howard stood beside you through all the stress. “it’s one more day, we can do one more day, hmm?” he smiled, holding you up.

you nodded and wiped the tear from your cheek. howard nodded and put you onto the bed. “come on, i’ll get you dressed and ready for bed.” howard said, lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

howard placed you on the counter in the bathroom and grabbed your toothbrush. howard brushed your teeth, took off your makeup and jewellery. he pulled off your outfit and threw on your silk pajamas.

“howie, i don’t know about tomorrow.” you shrugged as you wrapped your arm around his neck. howard’s hands were sat on your waist as he sighed. “tomorrow will unleash so many possibilities for stark industries, doll.”

you nodded and looked into his baby brown eyes. “unless possibilities for us.” he nodded, kissing your nose. you smiled and kissed his cheek.

CHAPTER ONE

#steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers smut #steve rogers #chris evans x original female character #chris evans x you #chris evans #chris evans smut #andy barber smut #chris evans angst #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #the first time #sneak peak #howard stark #howard stark fluff

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vannybarber · 3 years

Text

The Prenup: Part Three

Summary: After four years of being together and finally being engaged, Chris wants you to sign a prenup.

Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, chris getting his ass handed to him, a lot of pain.

Part One Part Two

After Chris' little sob moment, he got his shit together and went back to where his family was. There was no way he was going to get you back crying like a baby when he was at fault. He needed to fix this, but you had to be on board in order first

He sits back on the couch, his mother and siblings not even realizing he entered the room, for they were having their own squabble. Scott's voice being the loudest out of everyone of course.

He sees his phone and goes to grab it. Carly notices him and speaks up.

"Chris is there anywhere you think she could be? Any place you guys have gone that's sentimental or something?" She's trying her best, but it wasn't enough. For all Chris knew, you could've been in numerous places. Everywhere you went was special.

When you both aren't working, you're on an adventure after another. You both loved to explore and were the perfect partners for each other to do it. You guys had traveled everywhere.

"I have no idea. I really fucked up and I don't even know where to begin to fix this" he breathes out, voice wavering gradually at every word. "Why do I always do this?"

It's Lisa's turn to speak up. "Do what?"

"Why do I always sabotage everything good in my life? Specifically love. It's like whenever it gets too good to be true, I back away. This time, I decided to wait four years to mess this up."

"Chris," Shanna calls. "You have a good woman." She pauses. "A great woman. She has put up with your shit and gave up so much to be with you. That's exactly what you wanted. Someone to really prove their love for you and she did that. You cannot go back on that now."

"Look how that's going." Scott doesn't fail to add a snarky remark.

"Scott I'm not going to tell you again. Quit it." Lisa barks and pops the back of his head. Scott goes silent.

"Okay but what if I messed up for good this time?" He looks up and straight at Shanna. "I have never seen her like this. I don't think anyone has ever hurt her this bad before." And he was right. You'd never experienced this much emotional pain before and the love of your life is to blame.

"Well you don't know that unless you find out. You can't just sit around here and feel sorry for yourself because believe it or not, you have no reason to." Shanna is completely right. Now it was up to Chris. But first he needed to figure out where you were.

He grabs his phone and goes to your contact. He finds you and clicks. All your info pops up and he debates on whether he should call or message. As he's deciding, his eyes wander lower to the location box. He sees your icon on the map.

His mouth opens, but nothing leaves it. Your location was on. It had been on the entire freaking time.

"Chris what's wrong?" Lisa walks over and the kids perk up.

"Y/N's location has been on all this time. I can see where she is now!" He clicks your icon and waits for it to load. A little hope has risen inside of him. One step closer.

"Well this is good. Now you can go to her. I just hope she doesn't want to kill you when she sees you." Shanna scratches the back of her neck because she knows what you're capable of.

Last year, your sister's boyfriend was messing around with your cousin's girlfriend and it got exposed at the dinner table infront of everyone.

Chris and his family had been invited and everything was going great. But then one of your other cousins decided to start some mess and pointed out how it was so strange that they were so close and always hung out together. They weren't wrong either.

Turns out they've been hooking up behind their backs for a while and all hell broke loose. Your sister and cousin are both very sensitive people. Their feelings get hurt fast and this absolutely tore them to pieces. That pissed you off and you went straight for the girlfriend. Then you went for the boyfriend but only got a kick to the spleen before Chris snatched you up.

She went to the hospital with a broken nose and dislocated jaw. The boyfriend had pain in his spleen for weeks on end. You apologized to the Evans' for your riveting hospitality, but Scott backed you up and stated that 'you did what you had to do'.

From that day forward, they did not get on your bad side. But you'd never hurt them. You had a great relationship with all of them. Something rare with in-laws. But not the Evans'.

Your location finally loaded and you were pinned at the Liberty, almost an hour from where you guys lived. Chris didn't even need to ask himself why you were so far away. He knew why.

"Okay I found her. She's at a hotel about about an hour away. Who knows what she'll do next, so I need to go right now." He moves to get his jacket and shoes. Slipping them on he grabs his keys and heads out the door, yelling an 'I'll be back soon' just before closing it.

Pregnant, tired, once again and alone. This should not be the case. You should be at home with your fianceé discussing how you'd break the news to your families about your new addition. But instead, there you are eating Domino's and binge watching the first and only season of a new show you found to get your mind off of things.

Its about a district attorney who's son had been found as a suspect for the murder of his schoolmate. What didn't help was the fact that the father, Andy Barber, looked almost identical to Chris. And the way Andy would interact with his son had you thinking about how he would react to your little surprise.

Would he be happy? Would it be too much for him? Seeing that you guys had just now got engaged after 4 years, you didn't see him too excited to add a baby in just yet. You hadn't even gotten married. Not to mention you just pushed that off the table.

You got your mind racing again, so you turned off the show and just sat quietly, succumbing to your thoughts. First, you guys needed to solve your problem before you tell him anything of the current events. Should you call him and tell him to come over? How were you gonna approach him?

Staying mad was off the table as soon as you saw the pregnancy results. You had to be mature for your new family. That meant pushing aside your anger and solving this prenup issue. Then you'd tell him about the baby. You just needed the chance.

And your chance had arrived when Chris pulled up to the parking lot of the hotel. Your icon was still at the location. He rushed to get out and inside, heading to the front desk.

"Hi! Is a Y/N Y/LN checked in here?" His fingers tap the counter in anticipation. The clerk is taken aback but checks the computer infront of him anyway.

"Uh, no sir there isn't anyone here by that name." The clerk shook his head and looked back up at him. Chris sighs and thinks. An idea comes to his head. It doesn't sound reasonable, but he had to at least try it.

"Okay um..how about a Y/N Evans?" The clerk looks back at the computer and types.

"Yes! There's a Y/N Evans in room 263 on the 3rd floor." Chris' heart leaped. You used his last name. After all that went down, you still went by his last name. He was gaining hope by the minute.

"She's my fianceé. Is there a way I could have a key to her room? It's super important" he begged.

"Well we're not allowed to give room keys out randomly. It's policy. But I could call up to confirm with Ms. Evans, if you'd like?" Chris accepted the offer, but not before correctly the clerk to calling you Mrs. Evans.

You jump slightly when you hear the phone ring. You stretch your arm and pick it up from the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mrs Evans! I have a-"

There was a pause before he continued,

"Mr. Evans down here at the lobby that wants to see you. Should I send him up?"

You swear in that exact moment all the saliva in your mouth dried up and your mouth was sealed shut. He had found you and and wanted to see you. But how? Anyways, you had to face him sooner or later. You freaking live together and you can't stay at that hotel forever.

"Mrs. Evans? Are you alright?" You snap out of your immobile state and clear your throat.

"Um..yes. You can send him up." You scold yourself for not putting up a bigger fight. But what for? It would only make shit worse than it already was.

"Alright ma'am. He'll be up shortly."

"Okay thank you." You quickly slam the phone on the receiver and let your body hit the mattress. Well, there's no turning back now.

You don't know how long you were laying there, but it couldn't have been long because you heard a knock at the door. You shoot up and stare at it.

Another knock.

"Y/N?"

You move your body towards the door taking a deep breath. You can do this Y/N. Get it together. This is Chris for goodness sake.

You turn the knob and pull the door back, Chris coming into view staring right back at you.

"Hi baby."

pls- this dramatic ass ending 😭 this was gonna be the last part, but dialogue/ just kept coming at me as I was writing 🥴.

tags:

@flattykawa1 @mayafatimakhan @attitude-times @shawn-youth @traceyaudette @fantasticinternetpizza @kyraroseficreblogs33 @radi0active-thoughts @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @ohbarracuda @katelyneannxo @jennamarieee623 @nicochantez @craycraycraic @ilikeurdad @ppal3 @captainson-of-coul @joanne-stan @ilovetheeagles @cristinagronk16 @kelbabyblue @onyourgoddamnleft @jessycatth @misz-adrii @geminievans1 @saltyflowermakertaco @a-moment-captured @harrysthiccthighss @greatbatprofessordragon @dauntless2022 @f12sfm @allboutdatmarvel @ineedpineapple @illyrianprincess @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @rubyztimetobeme @marianas-studyblr @icycheerleader @obliviatevamps @thevelvetseries @coffeebooksandfandom @shamelessfangirl-3 @quietmyfearswith @jennmurawaski13 @kissme-hs @lvgllre @secretmysteriousperson @arabescapr

#cevans #chris evans #avengers #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #andy barber smut #steve rogers smut #captain america #chris evans fluff #chris evans smut

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shawnsprincesse · 2 years

Text

When life throws you lemons Part 2 (Shawn Mendes Au)

DO NOT REPOST THIS STORY ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME.

When life throws you lemons, you’re forced to deal with Shawn Mendes. Before moving in with five guys, including Shawn Mendes, Kylie swore she would never ever in her life allow Shawn to get anywhere near her but things quickly change and soon she finds herself drunkenly kissing him in a bathroom. What starts as a drunken kiss turns into a passionate secret relationship.

I walked out of Harry’s bathroom completely dressed, to Shawn’s dismay. He was just about to finish his first slice of my pizza as he was interrupted by the squeaking bathroom door. I sighed, realizing that he was still sitting on the floor next to Harry.

Shawn’s always been up my ass. He’s been like this ever since we first met and I honestly feel bad for Harry having to live with this guy. It’s not like they’re just simply college roommates but they’re also related by blood. It’s safe to say that I was super thrilled about Harry getting into UCLA and less thrilled that his cousin would be joining him, especially since I’d met him several times before during high school.

I love Harry but his cousin is a real pain in the fucking ass.

”Are you done?” I asked as I raised my eyebrows at Shawn, hoping he would leave my pizza alone because I was starving.

”With what?” Shawn asked as he reached for another slice of my pizza.

”With my fucking dinner.” I said as I walked over to grab the pizza slice out of his hand.

”No!” Shawn argued as he held onto the pizza slice. I sighed as I reached for another slice of pizza before he could finish my entire pizza. I clenched my fingers tightly around the slice in my hands, hoping to keep it to myself as I was starving. ”So, what are we doing tonight?” Shawn tried to reach his arm around my neck while leaning closer to me.

”What do you mean?” I groaned as I tried to avoid his touch.

”Well, Harry told me you’re staying the night…” Shawn said as he forced his arm onto my shoulders.

”With him… Yeah.” I emphasized as I glared at Shawn, leaning my body back to avoid his grasp. ”So you’re free to leave.” I muttered as I flashed him a fake smile.

”Aw really? I thought we were all having a wholesome sleepover together in the living room?” Shawn cooed as he laced his voice with some kind of fake disappointment.

”You’re gonna have to call your girlfriends for that kind of sleepover.” I replied sarcastically.

”Alright.” Shawn stood up as he finished his second slice of my pizza. ”Well, if you’re feeling lonely, you know where my room’s at.” He said as he winked at me before exiting Harry’s room.

”Yeah, I might stop by and choke you in your sleep.” I called back as Shawn turned around to close Harry’s door.

”And I might like that.” Shawn pointed out before closing the door and I rolled my eyes as I looked over at Harry.

”You want me to live with THAT?” I emphasized as I looked skeptically at Harry and he let out a chuckle. ”You know… I’m honestly afraid for you, the fact that you share his DNA is absurd.” I said as I chewed off another piece of my pizza.

”He’s…” Harry tried to defend his cousin but before he could utter another word I interrupted him.

”A handful.” I added.

”Well, yeah.” Harry laughed. I know boys will be boys and I guess that goes for Harry too, but I doubt he’s nearly as annoying as Shawn is when he’s around girls. Shawn has always been this annoying, teasing force in my life ever since we first met. Deep down inside, I know it’s a sign of interest but I honestly try to avoid that sign, mostly because I’m not interested but also because dating my best friend’s cousin would literally just be weird and awkward. Even if I was interested, I wouldn’t be able to look harry in the eyes, knowing I’m sleeping with one of his relatives.

”If I were you, I’d literally cut all family ties.” I joked as I looked at Harry.

”I don’t think my mom would be too happy if I did that.” Harry laughed as he took a sip of his coke.

”If I was Anne, I would understand.” I laughed. ”Anyway, how’s soccer going?” I asked Harry in an effort to change the subject away from his obnoxious cousin.

”It’s great, the season started off with a bang.” Harry said. ”We’re playing Friday night if you wanna come watch?”

”Yeah, totally!” I replied knowing I had nothing better to do Friday night anyway. ”I’ll ask Bella if she wants to come too.” Knowing fully well that Bella had nothing else to do either.

”Awesome!” Harry smiled.

After Harry and I finished our pizza we decided to go downstairs to watch a movie. I had an eight am class in the morning but after having the most stressful, anxious day of my life, a movie seemed like a comforting solution.

I chose a movie we’d seen before, knowing that nothing could give me more comfort than my favorite romantic drama.

The boys had a large living room with a big wide screen TV and multiple video game consoles. The couch was a little worn out but it was filled with cosy pillows and warm blankets to snuggle up beneath, which was great for movie watching.

I laid against Harry with my eyes half open. I didn’t need to watch the visuals, I already knew every scene of the movie and I already had every line memorized inside my head. My thoughts drifted away as the movie kept playing on the screen, despite today’s stressful events, I was thankful for Harry. I was thankful that I had such a nice and understanding best friend, someone who knew just what to say and how to comfort me when my anxious thoughts were taking over my mind. I don’t think I could ever put a price on our 16 year long friendship. We’ve always been there for each other and I’m honestly so happy to be here in LA with him. He’s the only family I’ve got out here.

”Hey Kylie.” Harry’s roommate Niall called out as he walked into the living room.

”Hi.” I smiled lazily as I shifted my eyes towards Niall.

”I heard you got an internship at Apple, that’s rad!” Niall said as he joined us on the couch. Harry shifted under the blanket as he reached for the remote to paus the movie.

”Yeah, I did!” I smiled cheerfully. ”I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it though, I gotta solve my living situation first.” I explained to Niall. ”My lease is up this month.” I added as I noticed Niall’s confusion.

”Oh really? Well, there’s plenty of room if you wanna stay here.” Niall offered kindly.

”Thanks.” I smiled. I didn’t want to be rude and tell him that sharing a house with five guys was literally my worst nightmare. I guess I could ask Bella if she’s got room but she already lives in a studio and I’m not sure if she’d be keen on sharing a twin size bed with me. ”What about you, did you find a place to intern?” I asked Niall as he leaned back in the couch, placing the beer bottle next to him on the arm rest.

”Not yet, but I’m hoping Ubisoft will pick me.” Niall replied. Niall was the source of all the video game consoles and games residing in the boys living room. He was studying to become a game developer and he probably had more gaming hours combined than the rest of the boys in this house.

”That would be so cool!” I smiled. I know nothing about video games but Niall had explained to me that that company was a big deal.

”Yeah, I was gonna stream but I think I’ll just join you for the movie.” Niall said as he took a sip of his beer. He made most of his money streaming on Twitch and I was honestly quite jealous of him, I wish I could replace my part time job with something I love and have people donate money to me while I sit at home.

”It’s a good movie.” I laughed as Harry pressed the play button.

The three of us huddled up on the couch, watching the movie in the dim lit living room as the rain kept pouring outside. I was glad I made the right choice and stayed here, knowing that I would have to get up and go to school in a few hours. Harry’s house is so much closer to school and if I’m lucky the rain will be over by the morning.

”Alright, who the fuck ate all my chips aHoy cookies?” Shawn stomped into the living room with a frustrated look on his face.

”Cookies?” I snorted out a laughter. ”What are you, five?” Harry once again paused the movie.

”No!” Shawn replied defensively and Niall let out a chuckle as he looked over at my amused facial expression. ”Did you eat them?” Shawn asked as he looked at Harry accusingly.

”No.” Harry laughed.

”Did you?” Shawn asked as he turned to ask Niall and I snickered to myself.

”Are you seriously mad someone ate your cookies?” I laughed as I looked at Shawn’s infuriated facial expression.

”I’m not mad!” Shawn stated defensively. ”I’m annoyed!”

”Aww, you poor baby.” I flashed him a pout, my voice empathic and sarcastic at the same time. ”Why don’t you go back to your room and cry about it.” I grinned as I tried to shoo him away with my hand so the rest of us could finish the movie in peace.

”Whatever.” Shawn sighed defeated as he glared at me.

The idea of living with other people and sharing common areas was not the most appealing thought to me, but it was a common thing amongst college students, and considering my lease was up in less than a month, I would probably have to get used to that idea within the next few weeks.

I was lucky to find a studio apartment when I first moved here but I know might not strike twice. If I can’t find a studio apartment with the same rent as my current apartment then I’ll have to settle for less and share housing.

After falling asleep on the couch last night, I woke up on Harry’s couch feeling well rested and ready to take on the day.

”I set your alarm at 6.30, I hope that was fine.” Harry said as I rolled over to turn my phone’s alarm off.

”That’s plenty of time.” I released a hoarse giggle. Harry knew me so well. He knows I like to get up early and take my time in the morning and he knows I like to be early for class.

I rubbed my eyes as I sat up on the couch and glanced over towards the window. It had stopped raining outside which was nice.

”I prepared breakfast downstairs, so just come down whenever you’re ready.” Harry said as he left me alone in his room. He’d already been up since 5 am. He always gets up at 5am to go for a morning run. I wish I was that kind of person but the idea of running in the morning made me want to throw up, I’m barely capable of running to the bus in the morning.

I walked over to the bathroom, washing my face off in the sink with whatever products Harry had to offer, which wasn’t much. He had a face cleanser and some regular soap which would have to do. Since this was a spontaneous sleepover, I hadn’t brought anything with me and the only thing that was laying in my bag was a pink lip gloss. It would have to do. I’m not a big make up girl but I would’ve appreciated come concealer and a little mascara before going to class to make myself look presentable but since that wasn’t an option, lip gloss would have to do.

After getting ready and putting on my own clothes from yesterday, I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen where the five boys had gathered around the kitchen table.

”Uhm…” I wasn’t ready for the entire house to stare at me as I made my way over to the counter. Harry had prepared scrambled eggs, bacon and toast for everyone and I quickly made myself a plate. The counter was surprisingly clean compared to yesterday and as I opened the fridge to retrieve a glass of orange juice I noticed that it wasn’t just the counter that had been cleaned but the entire kitchen.

”Morning.” Niall said as he scooted over and made room for me at the table.

”Good morning.” I replied as I sat down, quick to dig into my plate of food.

I could get used to this, I thought to myself as I chewed my scrambled eggs. If I could wake up every day and have breakfast made for me, I would definitely consider moving in here, despite how much of a mess the kitchen had been last night.

I sat in silence, chewing my food as the guys continued their conversation about the soccer game on friday and what not. I tried to keep up with the conversation and listen to what they were saying but it was useless, I know nothing about sports and most of the time when I go to watch Harry’s games I zone out until the crowd starts cheering, then I snap back at it.

”Well, I gotta go, thank you for breakfast.” I said as I stood up from the kitchen table. Time was slowly ticking away and I didn’t want to be late for my accounting class.

”I’ll come with you.” Harry said as he stood up and followed me towards the front door.

The pavement was still wet from the previous night’s rain which was a relief, at least now I wouldn’t look completely out of place wearing my tall rain boots to class while the sun was out. I walked slowly, leading my bike next to me as Harry accompanied me on my walk to campus.

”Did you clean the entire kitchen last night?” I asked as I looked over at Harry.

”This morning.” He corrected me with a cheeky smile.

”Why?” I asked confused.

”Because I figured you’d like it better clean.” Harry laughed as he looked over at me. ”And maybe it would make you less hesitant about moving in with us.” He smiled. Really, he cleaned the entire kitchen for me just to prove that their house was a livable place? That’s actually kind of thoughtful.

”I’ll consider it.” I smiled, not really sure what else to say. I mean, my choices are pretty limited and maybe this isn’t the time to be picky.

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tommyparkerr · 3 years

Text

Enough | Shawn Mendes x Reader

Alright y’all here’s one of my dusty old docs I happened to stumble across in my every-now-and-again clean up of Google Docs. Just as a disclaimer, I wrote this in 2018 so no one is allowed to judge me for this, okay? Okay.

Words: 3.0k

Warnings: Panic/anxiety attack (though it’s presented differently than the majority I’ve seen), some angst, Shawn being stupid, crying

-Masterlist-

E N O U G H :

How’d studio go?

You were hesitant to send the text but did it anyway. You hoped for a positive response, but with the way things had been lately it was highly unlikely. Still, you so badly wanted to give Shawn the benefit of the doubt so you decided you would wait until his response proved you differently. After two hours had passed and he still hadn’t replied, however, you got your answer, and the benefit of the doubt quickly fizzled away.

Shawn wasn’t one to just not answer you, but lately it’d been more and more reoccurring. It wasn’t that he didn’t care or that he was angry at you; it was that he cared too much and was angry at himself. You still remembered when Shawn called you after a studio day a while back, disappointed that he hadn’t managed to find any sort of inspiration. You didn’t know it then, but that was only the first of many uninspired days he’d be facing over the next several months.

The boy hid it well—the self-hatred and frustration—but you saw things that others didn’t. You were the one who saw the dark rings under his eyes before he had the chance to cover them up. You were the one who spent countless nights with him on the phone, trying and failing to reassure him that it was all right he was feeling this way and that it happened to all writers at some point. You were the one who brought him coffee with an extra shot of espresso each morning because you knew if you didn’t he would fall asleep in the middle of warm-ups.

Shawn was going to crash soon, and not in the metaphorical sense; he was going to mentally crash. In a way, he already had. But you had a feeling that these past months were going to catch up to him, the meaningless guitar strums and pointless piano chords adding up to be one too many, and he was going to crash. Hard. You just had to make sure you were there when he did.

Lucky for you your apartment wasn’t too far from his, that way when he called and asked you to come over because he needed you (and vice-versa), you could be there in five minutes or less. It hadn’t been purposeful, the close addresses, but it worked out. And you were happy it did, as there’d been numerous times the short distance was used to your advantage in emergency situations—such as the time you made cookies and wanted to surprise Shawn with them while they were still hot.

Your phone buzzed from the coffee table, startling you from your half-conscious state. You rubbed your eyes and your hand fumbled to pick up your phone.

Same.

You sighed. Somehow you knew that while you’d been relaxing in your apartment watching cheesy movies and almost dozing off, Shawn had been sitting staring at blank sheets of music in an apartment that was entirely silent apart from the experimental chords he’d strum and immediately nix.

Before you could even think, your fingers were making the appropriate movements to call Shawn. It rang a few times, the soft sound making your eyes droop again.

“Hey, it’s Shawn!”

Shawn’s voice snapped you awake and you shook your head at yourself, frustrated that you’d almost fallen asleep when he clearly needed someone to talk to.

“Hey Shawn, you oka-“

“I’m busy right now, but leave a message and I’ll be sure to call you back.”

You blinked a couple times, the switch from your boyfriend's voice to the teller machine making you stumble. You quickly hung up before a voicemail could be recorded and tried calling again, but you only got the same result.

There was no reason he shouldn’t be answering his phone when he’d texted you back only a minute ago.

An unsettling feeling washed over you and you scrambled up from the couch to find your shoes and throw on your cardigan. It was below freezing outside but you didn’t care enough to spend the extra time finding a coat and warmer clothes; besides, it was a short walk to Shawn’s place.

You called again. This time when the teller came on instructing you to leave a message after the beep, you did.

“Hey bub, you’re really starting to worry me. I’ve been calling but you haven’t picked up, and I know you have me as an emergency contact; I know my calls are going through. So, I’m coming over. Right now, actually. Hang tight, okay? I’ll be there in a few.”

You were in such a rush that you hardly even noticed the cold. You were sure you’d feel it after you sorted everything out with Shawn, but until then it had no place in your mind.

The receptionist didn’t question your presence in Shawn’s building, quite used to your late night visits, although she did look a bit concerned; you always made sure to bundle up this time of year and never went upstairs without flashing her a smile and quick hello, but now you did both, sprinting to the elevator and maneuvering the buttons to work as quick as possible.

You didn’t bother knocking when you got to Shawn’s door, instead pulling out the key he’d given you months ago and using that to unlock it. At first you heard nothing when you stepped in, making you painfully aware of your racing heart.

“Shawn?” you called out cautiously, not wanting to do anything that could possibly scare him off. You stepped further in to find the living room and kitchen clean as usual, but no Shawn. As you travelled further into the apartment your uneasiness grew stronger. “Shawn, where are-“

A mix between a shout and a groan came from the bedroom and you quickly sprinted to the area, finding that the sound had come from inside the closed—and locked—bathroom door.

“Shawn, it’s Y/N. Please open the door, baby,” you said calmly, gently.

“Get out!” he suddenly yelled after you’d made a couple more attempts.

“I’m not leaving, Shawn-“

“Get out, Y/N!”

“Shawn,” you stated firmly, not being thrown off by his irrational anger. “Open the door.”

A loud bang sounded as Shawn slammed his fist against the door, making you jump. But your resolve still wasn’t weakening.

“Leave me alone!”

“You do realize I’ll stay here all night, right?” you said truthfully. Even if he stayed angry the entire time you were here, you would much prefer it over silence. At least with anger you knew what he was doing; silence could mean anything.

“I’ll call security!” he shouted.

“With what phone?” you asked, having seen his supposed phone on the floor by his bed. Your point made him stumble for just a moment as you weren’t usually the type to fight fire with fire, but somehow you knew that tonight it might be the only way to get through to him.

“You’re trespassing!” Shawn tried.

Fire it was.

“You mean on the property you gave me a key to and never asked for back?”

Shawn paused again—only for a second. “Can’t you live your own life for once instead of following me around like some lost puppy?” he jabbed. “I don’t need your help, Y/N!”

His words that were meant to extinguish the fire only fueled it, and before you could tell yourself to stop you raised your fist and banged hard against the door like he had—so hard that your hand ached. But it had gotten his attention; you could tell due to the sudden silence on the other side of the door.

“Shawn,” you said, speaking quieter but still with unwavering tenacity. “I’m not leaving.”

The next few minutes were silent yet deafening. Just as you were about to open your mouth and say something else, a resounding shatter filled the air. You instinctively flinched and felt your heart drop when you realized what had happened.

Shawn had broken the mirror.

You snapped into action, grabbing a pair of socks and shoes from Shawn’s closet then knocking on the bathroom door again, hoping beyond hope that that was the peak of his episode and it was all downhill from here.

“Baby, please open the door.”

You breathed a quiet sigh of relief when you heard an answering click and carefully pushed the door open, taking in the sight of glass fragments scattered amongst the floor with Shawn right in the middle of it, looking unphased and too caught up in his own head to notice the mess he’d made.

“Shawn.”

He turned to look at you, his cheeks flushed and his hair a mess from constantly pulling at it. Your heart broke and you so badly wanted to reach out and wrap him in a hug, but that probably wasn’t the best move right now considering the circumstances so you held back, instead offering him the socks and shoes.

“Put these on and try to avoid stepping on the shards, okay? Go lay down. I’ll clean this up.”

While he didn’t show any reaction to your instructions, he did as you told him, carefully slipping on the footwear and treading out of the bathroom to his bed.

It took a bit of time to clean up the glass, especially when it came to scooping it out of the sink and off the countertop, but you did it, sweeping it several times to ensure there were no shards left behind. It was only when you’d finished the task, put the broom back, and dumped the glass in the trash that you went to Shawn.

He was sitting up now, his legs hanging off the side of the bed and his feet bare of the amenities you’d provided him just minutes ago. Unsure of how to go about the situation, you sat on the floor in front of him and reached for his hand. He let you have it, and you were surprised to see he only had a few shallow cuts from the breakage. You decided you’d deal with those later. For now, though, you needed to deal with the mental wounds.

You sat in silence, trying desperately to find the right words to say to get Shawn to talk to you. Lucky for you, though, you didn’t have to.

“I-I didn’t mean what I said,” Shawn said, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Any of it—all of it. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” you replied quietly, tracing the lines of his palm.

Shawn swallowed and shook his head, his free hand clenching into a fist. “I don’t know why I did it. I was just so-so angry and I couldn’t stop and I just…” He trailed off, his eyes laden with the self-hatred he’d been guarding from sight all these months. His eyes shut as if he knew what you‘d spotted and his head tilted away from you.

“Hey,” you said softly, interlacing his fingers with yours and working with his other hand to do the same. “Look at me.”

It took awhile but eventually Shawn complied. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, so sad and so genuinely upset that it made your own eyes water.

You physically watched as all of the burden Shawn had been carrying around suddenly came down on him, his shoulders dropping and every muscle in his body relaxing to the point where he was falling forward. You jumped to your feet, catching his weight and pulling him into your mid-section. A broken sob left his lips, and you were quick to hold him firmly against your chest as you played with his tangled curls.

You let him cry, let his wounded hands twist into your shirt even when it rose up and exposed your abdomen, let his tears and dribbles of blood soak through the thin fabric of the only clothing you had with you. Because this was the breakdown. This was the crash.

You resisted shushing Shawn like you would a crying child, knowing that if you didn’t let him break then he wouldn’t be able to build himself back up—as much as it hurt you to watch. “I’ve got you, bub,” you whispered instead. “I’m here.”

Eventually Shawn’s tears slowed but he didn’t move, allowing you to continue your soothing touches and calming words. His hands slowly moved from your shirt to your waist, his fingers tracing patterns along the bare skin there. You felt him frown and he tilted his head up, looking at you concernedly.

“You’re freezing.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile. It drove you crazy sometimes how utterly selfless he was, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t one of your favorite traits of his—one of the traits that drew you to him in the first place. “I’m fine, Shawn.”

“Did you wear a coat?” he insisted.

“No, I-“ You stopped at his disapproving look and exhaled. “I am fine, Shawn. It’s you I’m worried about, not me.”

Your words seemed to chase him away, as he rigidly pulled back into a sitting position and moved his eyes away from yours at the remark. You sighed and took a seat next to him, looking at your dangling feet versus his solidly planted ones before taking his hand again and guiding him to look at you.

“Talk to me, Shawn,” you simply said, your voice the gentlest you could make it.

He took a deep breath, letting it escape heavily through his nose. “I feel so pathetic.”

“Why?” you prodded, and when he shook his head you softly reminded him, “Bub, it’s just me.”

It took awhile for him to open up, but you stayed patient. You watched him as he formed the words in his head, trying to figure it out just as much as you were.

“I’m supposed to be making music,” Shawn started quietly. “I know how pathetic I look each time I walk out of the studio with nothing more than what I brought in. Everyone’s waiting on me, expecting me to do something. It’s been months—months—and I’ve got nothing. I’ve done three albums back to back with no problem, I’ve done countless shows and tours and festival runs, but I have nothing now. No music, no ideas, no inspiration—nothing. And...and it makes me nothing.”

You paused. “If having nothing makes you nothing,” you said, choosing your words carefully, “then why am I here right now?”

Shawn didn’t reply, training his eyes away from you and to the wall in front of him. You could see you’d simultaneously struck a chord with him and backed him into a corner; the only way Shawn could reply was either by telling you he didn’t know, which you both knew was false, or with self-deprecating reasoning, which you wouldn’t let slide for a second.

You swallowed, knowing your next words would be extremely controversial. “Have you ever thought that maybe this is your mind’s way of telling you it’s time to take a break?”

Shawn immediately tensed, his head snapping back to you. “I am taking a break,” he argued.

“No, you’re not,” you said, keeping your composure. “You’re working yourself twice as much as normal. You barely sleep, you hardly eat or drink anything other than what I give you, you never have the ‘time’ to hang out with me or your friends anymore, your mental health is spiralling-“ You quickly came to a stop, watching the fight you’d just recently seen in Shawn’s eyes begin to drain again at the last item on your list. “Shawn, I don’t know what taking a break means to you,” you began, “but to me it means letting go of your responsibilities—letting them disappear to the back of your mind where you won’t have to see them for awhile. It means relaxing, not worrying about deadlines or expectations or anything else remotely pressuring.”

Shawn was quiet, letting your words soak in. You and everyone else (including his fans) agreed it was time he took a break, but getting Shawn to agree himself was a whole other challenge.

“I just…” He struggled for a moment, fiddling with his fingers and looking down. “I just feel like I’m not enough.”

There it is, you thought sadly.

You gently grasped his chin and moved it until he was looking at you again. He looked so vulnerable, and you knew that whatever you said in the next moment could break him if you weren’t careful.

“Shawn Peter Raul Mendes,” you breathed, “I promise you on all the stars in the world that you are and always will be enough. And if I have to promise you that every day for the rest of my life, I will. You are enough, Shawn, and the day you aren’t is the day tomorrow never comes.”

His eyes filled with tears again. He grabbed you and pulled you into his lap, burying his head in the crook of your neck and hugging you so tightly you could barely breathe.

“You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you carded your fingers through his tangled hair. “Probably break another mirror.”

Shawn let out a choked laugh, his breath giving you goosebumps. He squeezed you tighter and placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. “Please don’t leave,” he whispered. “I love you so much, Y/N. I’m so in love with you, I’m sorry.”

“I love you too, Shawn,” you said, trying to hide the lump you now had in your throat. “I’m so in love with you, too. I’m not leaving, I promise.”

You held on to each other like that until the wee hours of the morning where you fell asleep in a different position but still curled up just the same. And when you woke up and were met with Shawn’s sleeping face and gentle snoring, you realized that you wanted to wake up to that every day for the rest of your life.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Shawn subconsciously hugged you closer, his lips upturned in a soft smile.

“You are enough, Shawn Peter Raul Mendes,” you whispered, prepared to mark today as the first day of the promise you’d make to him every day from now until forever. “I promise on all the stars in the world.”

---

Permanent Tags: @dahliaspidey (There were a few others here whose URLs must have changed, plus I’m redoing all of my tag lists, so if you’re interested in being added to any of my tag lists check out the link in my bio!)

Shawn/Fic Tags: @odd-lil-duck @rava13 @deamus-liv @mendesficsxbombay

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fandom #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes oneshot #one shot

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dabiboy · 3 years

Text

As I said yesterday, here's some dad material. Hawks and Dabi, fluff this time👀.

Author's note: I really liked the lyrics of the second song, it fit wells 😅

Hawks:

The clock stroke two am, and the silence of the room was filled with Haru's scream. Was it pain? Was it fear? Was it hungry? You couldn't now, he was just a bit more than one month, so all you could do was guessing. You squirmed a bit, ready to get up and go check on the baby, but a warm hand on your arm stopped you.

"I got this" Hawks said in a raspy and sleepy voice.

"You sure? You worked a lot today"

"And because of it I couldn't be with him that much. If my son needs me, I'll go to him even if I was missing my two legs" you couldn't help but feel your heart warm, but at the same time you let out a lazy laugh.

"Maybe he needs me" you teased.

"Nah, listen, he's clearly saying dad" Hawks laughed "Go back to sleep, honey. You need to rest. I'll let you know if he's hungry"

After leaving a short kiss on your shoulder, Keigo got up and made his way to Haru's room. The little creature in the crib was crying his lungs out, and even though it was worrying Hawks allowed himself to smile, he was still amazed. How could he love someone that much?

He leaned closer the crib so he could hold the kid and look at him. For a second, his crying stopped, and Haru locked eyes with Keigo, doubt, curiosity, but then? The crying started again, making Keigo laugh a bit.

"C'mon, I'm not that ugly, aren't I?" He said.

Once the baby in his arms, he held him against his chest, letting him feel his warm and heartbeats. Keigo started humming softly as he walked around the room, getting closer to the window.

"You have made my life complete, and I love you so," Keigo sang lowly, resting his cheek on the baby's temple. "Love me tender, love me true. All my dreams fullfill. For my darling, I love you" He sang "And I always will"

It seemed it was working, because there was no more crying, instead, some soft like cooing sounds as the baby held onto his father's neck as he looked at the bright lights of the city.

"I'm never letting you go, kid" Keigo whispered, softly caressing his back "I swear I'll try me best to be good at this" low chuckle "But one thing's for sure. You will always have your dad, k'? One day we'll fly together. And I'll be there to catch you if you fall, always. That's a promise"

He smiled, pressing a kiss on Haru's forehead. Keigo kept humming, swinging from side to side slowly. After some minutes, he layed on a small couch next to the crib, holding the baby against his chest. His soft breathing and warm little body seemed to calm Keigo too, and without even knowing his wings were wrapped around the little human securely, together with his arms.

"My precious chicken nugget"

Those were Keigo's last words before falling asleep with his baby on his chest. Wishing that moment was forever.

Dabi:

"I'm busy right now, princess. Can't go" Dabi said simply on the other side of the line.

"Dabi please, I'm travelling in five minutes and no one is available, I can't leave Kaji alone. Less at night. I arrive in them morning, please."

"Shit, fine. I'll try to make it fast"

After hung up, he cursed to himself and finish his work. Just villain things.

Dabi didn't even bother in telling Shigaraki to fuck off before he went back to your apartment, it was just one night, right? He was going to be fine. It was just a kid, not an alien. And it was his kid. A kid that was always excited to see his dad, and actually, that was what scared him.

Once he make it home, he used the spare key to get inside, and in less than five seconds some tiny arms were wrapped around his legs.

"You came!" Kaji said, holding him tenderly, making Dabi stiffed.

"Yeah, I did" He replied simply, and notice the mess he had on the table "watcha' doing?"

"I was drawing, but astronauts are hard to do" Kaji whined and ran back to the table, climbing to the chair to show Dabi his drawing "See?"

"Looks like crap" Dabi said simply "Should try again, maybe improve the proportions" That's all he said before moving to the couch and let himself fall there, covering his face with his forearm. Kaji looked at his drawing, considering his dad's advice, not worying about his attitude because he knew he was... Harsh.

"Wanna draw with me?" Kaji asked, excited again.

"Nah, keep doing your things. Act like I'm not here" Dabi replied, he was not going to sit a draw cute things. No way in hell.

Kaji just hummed back, and kept fixing his drawing. But still, his attention was on Dabi. He wasn't there often, and when he was he was... Boring and distant, but he was like that. The times that he had shown more affection were when Kaji was feeling bad, and now he was being a functional five year old.

After some minutes, he stood up. Making Dabi look with just one eye when he heard the running steps going away, and then coming back. The kid showed up with a blanket covered with stars around his shoulders, catching Dabi's attention. Kaji opened the big windows that led to the balcony, and sat on a couch.

"Mom says I can't be alone out here" Yes, he was persuasive.

"And now you're doing what your mom says?" Dabi asked, lifting an eyebrow "Go to bed, Kaji. Is fucking late" honestly, it was Dabi the one that wanted to sleep.

"But I'm not tired. And I wanna be here! The sky is clear and stars look very pretty" Kaji lifted his eyes to the sky, shinning just like the stars above.

"Shit, fine" Dabi stood up, and walked to the couch Kaji was sitting on "Move your ass"

The kid moved faster than ever, happy because his dad finally agreed to something. Dabi sighed, eyes up to the sky as well. He had always watched the stars, something he liked doing yet no one knew. And apparentely, his son liked that too.

"Wanna play rock, paper, scissors?"

"No"

"What about a guessing game?"

"I sat here already, I'm not playing too, Kaji"

After a moment of silence, Dabi did feel a bit bad. Kaji's mood changed, because he was now much quieter, looking down and not at the stars. Dabi knew his time with him was not going to be much, and now? He was just wasting it. Ah shit.

"You're so boring" Kaji mumbled, playing with his fingers "My classmates... They all do fun things with their dads, I... I can't even tell them about you" He sounded sad, and he was. He didn't even look at him.

"You think I'm boring?" Dabi said, "Am I really, brat?"

Dabi grabbed his body so he could tumble him on the couch, the kid looked scared at the sudden action, but then, Dabi started tickling his stomach, armpits, neck, everywhere "So you do think I'm boring, but look at ya' " Dabi kept tickling him, Kaji's laughing loudly and happier than ever, trying to keep the glasses on his face as he tried to get free from his dad's attack "Laughing like a crazy kid huh"

"Dad stop! You're not boring anymore" He said among bursts of laughter.

"Said that again" Dabi teased, his hands never stopping.

"You're not boring! You're the best dad ever" He said and Dabi stopped at those words, looking at him with sad yet surprised eyes.

"That's better" He went back to his mind, and ruffled Kaji's hair, eyes on the sky again

"Look! A shooting star!" Kaji pointed to the sky, a huge smile on his face "Quick, make a wish dad!"

Was he allowed to wish something? He didn't know, the only thing that he asked was his son not to be like him. Night moved on, and the warm summer breeze calmed down the two blue eyed boys on the balcony, and from one minute to a another Kaji's head was on Dabi's lap, sleeping peacefully. He covered him with the blanket, and left a soft pat on his shoulder before closing his eyes.

He wished things were different.

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magnoliabloomfield · 3 years

Text

Possession 13

Nikola spent a lot of time in her room until her period was over, the boys were just too loud even when they didn’t mean to be annoying, and she was still a bit too embarrassed to face Gally. Not only had he helped her clean the blood from her sheets while he was shirtless, she’d also made that weird, hormonal declaration to him from her balcony. But she wouldn’t take it back either because it was true, Gally was just about the sweetest person in existence even if he did have a hardened exterior, or didn’t express himself with tremendous amounts of warmth. The things he did were always just right in his own unique way.

The attention most boys gave her felt meaningless since she was the only girl. It was hard to feel special without other options to be chosen from. Did they like her personality? Did anyone like her with their brains or their heart, or just their hormones?

She wanted to think Gally cared for her beyond the superficial, but she feared the day another girl would show up that he might like better than her, or they got out and there were so many to choose from, what if he didn’t really want her but was settling because she was all there was? But that’s how life was. A small world with one girl and one Gally.

She was supposed to work on some mending that day and went to Gally’s work bench for a pair of scissors. He wasn’t anywhere in sight even as she scanned extra hard for him. She did notice Shawn looking her way and quickly averted her gaze. She grabbed the scissors and looked for a scrap of paper to leave a note on. Gally didn’t like his things going missing, so she was going to let him know she had them and where she’d be if he really needed them back. As she searched she noticed something.

Moving some things out of the way she saw drawings, somewhere between a sketch and a doodle, and it was all of her. She was shocked at how good the drawings were, but even more shocked by how beautiful the artist seemed to think she was. She’d caught some glimpses in rusty mirrors and still water, she didn’t really look that good. She couldn’t fool herself, this was Gally’s table, Gally’s stuff, so it had to be Gally’s drawings. Honestly if he saw one of his builders doodling away he wouldn’t stand for it or keep it around.

She bit back a huge smile before she covered it back up and looked around for his to-do list, maybe that would tell her where to find him. But what would she do when she found him? Say ‘hey, I saw your drawings of me,’ …then what? She just wanted to see him, just be around him, even without a reason. When she did find him he was in the dead heads with the other builders looking for any trees that could come down, or branches for fires or tools. He was busy and there was no privacy, she couldn’t play off going to see him as anything but going to see him just because she wanted to.

~~~

At dinner Gally got a huge surprise. Nikola was sitting at his usual table. It felt like his heart did an extra big thump when he saw her there in the evening glow. He saw Newt make a dash for the table as fast as his limp would let him, looking ready to be entertained by Gally who he claimed was ‘totally whipped’, whatever that meant. They were saying hello to each other as Gally sat down across from her.

“Hey,” she greeted him with a smile in front of all the other boys. “Did you get my note about borrowing your scissors today?”

“Yeah, I did,” he nodded, glancing at Newt who was watching them like they were a compelling tennis match. “Thanks for putting them back.”

“I saw your sketches,” she said innocently enough but there was flicker in her eyes that made him freeze.

The sketches. The sketches of her, she saw them, oh crap.

“They’re really good, I think you could make a perfect greenhouse if you had the glass for it,” she went on, but her eyes told him she wasn’t really talking about the greenhouse. Strange too was that she didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

Gally swallowed despite not having taken a bite of food yet. “Thanks. I like to plan ahead for future possibilities.”

“You never planned for this possibility,” Newt smirked as he pointed at Nikola.

Gally shrugged. “You can’t plan for everything.”

“Very true,” Newt admitted. “I mean, you were quite worried about the effects a girl in the glade might have, but nothing terrible has happened yet and you seem to get along thick as thieves.”

Gally gave Newt a hard stare.

“He does like to keep the chaos organized, doesn’t he?” Nikola conspired with Newt, a well meaning tone in her teasing. “Honestly, what would you do without him?”

“Better question is what you’d do without him,” Newt countered. He had spent enough time with her to realize who she fancied, no matter how stoic and subtle she tried to be.

“Oof,” she got a thoughtful look on her face. “Well, I’d be homeless.”

Newt laughed and even Gally cracked a smile.

“I might be under someones thumb, too,” she went on. “Without Gally advocating for me to get on the council. I wouldn’t have my swing!”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Newt said looking right at Gally with an almost taunting grin.

“But all that sounds pretty terrible,” she waved it off. “It’s not just about the things Gally has done for me, or what I’ve gotten from him. He’s my best friend.”

“Is he now?” Newt asked in surprise that sounded more genuine than teasing. Meanwhile Gally could feel that he had gone absolutely, unsubtly red.

“He is,” Nikola smiled, looking at Gally as she answered Newt’s question, watching him adoringly as he bashfully avoided her gaze with red cheeks and ears as he pushed food around on his plate.

“I have bad news for you, love,” Newt sighed. “Gally’s best friend is me. Isn’t that right, Gally?”

Gally looked at him with one raised brow but didn’t say anything which Newt found very amusing in itself. But then Newt gave a sigh as if the fun was over.

“I know it’s- well actually I can only try to imagine how hard it is for you being the only girl here, and how there are so many normal and fun things you should be able to do… but this place is anything but normal. I get it, I don’t mind the fun and the teasing, but there are some who might. I know it’s not fair, but try to be a bit more careful. I really would hate to see either of you get hurt if someone got the wrong idea.”

Nikola looked thoroughly chastised even though Newt had spoken so soft and kindly.

“Right. You’re right,” she nodded as she looked down at her lap and bit her lips. She looked back up with just a ghost of the smile she was wearing before. “I guess I got away from myself there. I’ll have to work on that.”

Gally felt his heart sinking in his chest. He knew Newt was right but he didn’t want her to become reserved and shy away from him just to try and keep peace with some jealous shanks. She’d done all this just because she had seen his sketches of her, had he made her that happy to begin with?

“I guess I’ll go ahead and turn in then,” She said with a shine to her eyes that he hadn’t seen on her before, but he recognized it still because even boys cried.

She said goodnight and took her plate to the kitchen before heading to her house without looking back. It was all going on behind Gally’s back and he couldn’t look at her without making it obvious, but he watched Newt watching her, his longer hair hiding his gaze from others around him.

“I’ve gotten it all wrong haven’t I?” Newt sighed after Nikola disappeared from his view.

“How’s that?” Gally asked, suddenly not so hungry anymore.

“I think you’re the one who has her wrapped around your finger,” Newt clarified making Gally blush again against his will.

“I don’t,” Gally tried to argue quietly and just earned a disbelieving look.

“You best be very careful,” Newt warned. “No one says anything around you because they know you’re protective of her, and you can beat them to a bloody pulp, but there are some boys who would be very sore if she was taken. I know you can take anyone one-on-one but I don’t know if you could take them all at once, and I’m afraid it could come to that.”

“Who is saying what about Nikola?” Gally demanded.

“Oh god, it’s mutual pining,” Newt sighed to himself tiredly as he rubbed his face. “I’m not going to tell you that because you can’t act like you don’t know and you’d end up in trouble any way. For her sake and yours just tread carefully.”

“I don’t want things to go backwards. She trusts me, she knows I’d do anything to protect her,” Gally spilled without meaning to.

“If you’re willing to do anything than do this, just back off a bit when others are around,” Newt suggested.

When Gally didn’t say anything to that Newt just shrugged and took his dishes back to the kitchen. Gally sat there at his table alone, deep in thought and murky, unhappy feelings. He stayed there so long, Fry came over himself to take his dishes to the wash. He sat there till all the others had gone to bed, knowing his thoughts would keep him awake anyway.

~~~~~

A few days passed where Nikola and Gally did the last thing on earth they wanted to do and kept their distance most of the time. But when they did get a chance to interact they both made an effort to subtly assure the other that it wasn’t personal, that nothing had changed between them.

Nikola was sitting up in her house with various scraps of things arranged on her floor and was figuring out how to recycle them into something useful when Newt called up to her. She went out on her balcony and frowned when she saw his face.

“I need you to come with me,” he said apologetically. “It’s a gathering… of sorts.”

Her heart plummeted. She was shaking as she tried to go down her ladder and it made it difficult. She didn’t say anything as she walked with Newt, her mind racing with so many things at once and her stomach feeling twisted beyond untangling.

When she stepped inside she saw Alby, Gally, and Shawn. She narrowed her eyes slightly at the latter even though she was trying very hard not to give any of her emotions away. Gally didn’t seem happy with him either and Alby just looked completely impatient. Nikola just looked at him, not willing to say a word until she knew what was going on.

Alby reached out and handed her a piece of paper. “Did you write this?”

She looked at him doubtfully as she plucked the paper from his hand and then looked down to read it, immediately seeing it was not her handwriting before she took in what it said. “No, not my handwriting,” she said quickly and passed it back.

“Read it, will you?” Alby said as he pushed it back.

She sighed but complied.

“It’s time for me to wash my sheets, why don’t you come and help me get them real good and dirty first? It was so fun last time.”

She hid her disgust and tried to morph it into confusion instead. She looked at the boys standing around her. “What the shuck does that mean?” she asked Alby like it was Greek to her.

“Shawn says he saw you and Gally washing your sheets very late one night, and Gally wasn’t fully dressed. Said you seemed very… close,” Alby explained, glancing at Shawn who had clearly orchestrated this whole thing.

“And the first conclusion you jumped to was that we were screwing?” She asked Shawn directly, as flat as possible. “No wonder you faked a note, if that’s all you’ve got to support that theory.”

“She didn’t deny it,” Shawn pointed out smugly to Alby.

“Right, because I was up late one night, I was washing my sheets, and Gally was helping me,” She admitted easily. “That all happened because I started my period in the middle of the night and had to clean blood off myself, my clothes, and my sheets before the stains set.” Everyone but Gally looked uncomfortable as soon as she said period. “And before he tells you he saw me write this note to Gally, I did write Gally a different note about taking the spare scissors when I did the mending. I can get the med journal and show you an example of Shawn’s hand writing and my own if you want, but Newt also heard me talk to Gally about the scissors that day as well.”

Newt nodded to that and Alby threw an unhappy glare at Shawn’s now pale and unamused face. “I think we’re good here, you two can go,” He said to her and Gally, his gaze still fixed on Shawn.

Gally had fixed Shawn with a glare of his own and didn’t seem to be going anywhere, even as Nikola headed toward the door.

“Gally,” Newt said with a warning tone.

Gally let his arms uncross themselves slowly, eyes fixed on Shawn for as long as he could before walking away and following Nikola out the door.

She was out there squinting in the sun waiting for him.

“At least that was easy right?” she commented as they fell into step with each other. “I know that means it’ll only be worse the next time though. I’m sorry Gally-“

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” He blurted, some of his anger at Shawn coming out in his tone with her. He stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath to calm down, then looked up to see her anxious face staring up at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he repeated more softly, “And neither do I. He’s an idiot, and I don’t care what else he does, you’re my friend and I’m yours and I won’t allow any amount of childish jealousy to change that.”

His fists were clenched and his heart pounded in his ears. Nikola’s eyes were wide and he saw her swallow before she nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, absolutely,” she agreed. “Same here.”

Neither of them realized what it would take to keep that promise to each other.

Masterlist

@frequentlychangingfandoms @quackquackbi @poulterjonas @crazysheeplyca @pre-google @gladerscake @neilox @thesuitkovian @carp3d1em @cottoncandy-dreamxd @emilyhadenbaker

#tmr #gally #tmr gally #gally imagine #fanfic #maze runner #maze runner gally #thirsting over gally's thick ankles #Will Poulter #Will Poulter protection squad

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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

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

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 13.7K // Angst & Fluff

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Nothing seemed to be good enough for her.

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

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

“Did you see this interview?”

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

“How––”

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

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

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

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

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

And apparently Shawn Mendes thought so too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zilla got the credit for your art.

People told Zilla that she inspired them to write songs.

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

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

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

----

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

“How’s the album?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You had songs written before––”

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

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

“What do you mean––”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Out!”

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

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

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

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

She took your songs away from you.

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

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

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

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

“Wasn’t Zilla in here before?”

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His question caught you off guard, “Pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

You felt your throat tighten up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

“But you don’t write your own songs.”

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

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

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

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

She honked her horn again, “Y/n.”

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

“Well do something––”

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shawn shook his head, “Stay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You definitely went to music school.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much do you charge for music lessons?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shawn?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just like?” Shawn wrinkled his nose.

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

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

“I like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was something you learned and used to your advantage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice cracked, “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was still clueless that you wrote the album.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only all of your wishes came true.

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zilla let out a small laugh, “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

Oh no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And we’re back!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone was silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She––You write her songs?”

Oh, shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head, “You lied––”

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

“How is this my fault?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shawn was gone.

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Music lesson in twenty?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’d you do it?”

Why did you do it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The atmosphere went back to feeling tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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