#soft shawn

[shawnmendesgallery]

[shawnshandwrittensongs]

i miss this concert so much 😭💕

[sauveteen]

3.25 Year Anniversary | s.m

"You're really trying to lie with your face all red like that?"

"But I swear I'm not lying!" Is what Shawn claims, but the way he's biting down on his lip to hide his painfully obvious smile tells you something completely different. Your boyfriend's cheeks are stained red — and by stained, you don't mean the soft, rosy blush he gets after a cold day out or a heated makeout session. You're talking tomato, crimson, I-look-like-I-took-a-snowball-to-the-face red. The kind of blush you've only seen on him when he's a) lying, or b) ecstatic.

Something — more specifically, the twinkle in his tired eyes — tells you that the current reason for his expression is a mix between the two.

You hum, a lame attempt to humour him. Placing your bag on the counter, you hold your hand out, "Can I at least see?"

It takes a little convincing and a lot of pecks for him to finally place his hand in yours, an angry gash cutting across his palm. Wincing, you immediately twist towards the shelf that holds your first aid box, but Shawn's grip on your waist anchors you there.

"I've cleaned it already. I'm stupid, but not that stupid, you know?"

"What about a bandage?"

"We're all out. Shouldn't have used them to wrap me a birthday present, don't you think?" His grin is wide, and voice teasing, so you can't help but join in on his mirth. Giggling softly, you tuck your hair behind your ear, bringing his hand up to your palm to press soft, butterfly kisses against his wound. He sighs, contended, and pulls you in by his other hand. Dropping a kiss to the top of your head, Shawn lets his fingers tangle into your hair. You hum against his chest, the warmth from his knitted sweater pressing into your cheek.

"I just don't get it, though..," Belatedly, you pull away, "So you're saying you got that while washing dishes?"

"Yes, hunny. I've told you like ten times already."

"But Shawn... we have a dishwasher."

"And?" Shawn presses impatiently, hurriedly trying to pull you back in. You resist, however, leaning away from his touch.

"And you hate doing the dishes."

"I just wanted to do something nice for you!"

"Are you sure?" You purse your lips, gaze falling to his cut hand, "You sure you're good?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Shawn places his hands on your face, pulling your face upwards to press a sweet kiss against your lips, "How can I not be good when my second favourite girl in the world is here with me?"

Your eyes narrow in suspicion, "Second favourite, huh?"

"First is Beyoncé. Always. Sorry, babe, you're gonna have to do a little more than be cute to top Queen B."

"Queen B doesn't take care of your annoying morning wood every morning, does she?"

"I mean, yeah," Shawn tilts his head to the side, a little smirk gracing his features, "But she's not the one who causes it either, soo.."

You chuckle, swatting his chest with the back of your hand before moving underneath his arms and out of his grip. A soft whine of protest follows you as you pad around the kitchen, Shawn's doe-like eyes watching your every moment. You breathe a sigh of relief once your hair cascades down your shoulders, placing your scrunchie on the island. Proceeding to take off your heels, you chuck them towards the living room, telling yourself you'd bother with those later. Coming home to the sight of your boyfriend tumbling around clumsily in the kitchen had been contending, but you can now slowly feel the tiredness of the day weighing in your shoulders. Making your way back to him, you place your hand on Shawn's face, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"I'll go get changed, 'kay?"

Shawn answers with a nod, but his movements are too practiced. Rehearsed, almost. You try not to let yourself be bothered by his antics, making your way over to the living room. The sight that greets you has you gasping audibly, hands flying to your mouth to hide your surprise. Turning back to see Shawn casually leaning against the doorframe, a shit eating grin on his face, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

"This—I— what?" You manage to stutter, stealing glances at the marvellous spread before you. The entire living room has been decked out in candles, a massive blanket fort stretching from the beginning of the hall to the doors leading to the balcony. Your mind is screaming three things — one, oh my God this is a big safety hazard, two, Jesus Christ that must've taken a shit load of time, and three (and this one you say aloud), "What?"

Shawn's making his way over to you, patting himself on the back for his stealthy trick that had distracted you into completely avoiding the living room earlier. He had wanted to see your expression, more than he wanted you to enjoy the actual setup itself. What Shawn needed was to gauge the look on your face as you took in the hardwork he had put into your surprise, the amount of time he had spent lighting and blowing candles. Because sometimes — sometimes words fell short to describe his love for you. Sometimes he had to go all out.

And you loved him to death for it.

"Happy three point two five year anniversary!" Shawn announces giddily, placing his hands on your waist, slightly lifting you off the ground. His happiness is so damn contagious that you're joining in on his laughter not long after, your hands on his shoulders as he twirls you around. When Shawn finally sets you back down, the both of you stumble for a few moments, unable to find your grip on the ground.

You hold his arm to steady yourself, eyes mapping the layout behind you, "Shawn, baby, I love you so much — but you know a quarter of an anniversary is not a real thing, right?"

"I knew you've had a long month and were shit booked with meetings today. Just wanted to do something nice for mon amour. What, I can't celebrate my love for you anymore? Rude!" Shawn looks genuinely hurt, bottom lip jutted out. Before you can apologise and convince him of your happiness, however, his face breaks out into a grin, "Just kidding! Ha! Got you, bitch."

"You're a baby."

"What did you say?" Shawn tips his head forward, his ear turned towards your face, "I'm your baby? Yeah, sounds about right."

You're too busy staring at the candles to send another retort his way, your hand intertwining with his again. Eyes dancing with love for the boy you so luckily ended up with. Your finger brushes against his wound, causing him to hiss slightly and for your eyebrows to furrow.

"And this? You didn't get this while washing the dishes, did you?" You slide his palm open again, concerned eyes now flitting between him and his hand. There's a sheepish glow to his face as you wait for him to answer, an eyebrow raised expectantly. When he finally does, you don't know whether you want to laugh or reprimand him for being the most stupid twenty year old you know.

"So I wanted to have wine ready, right?"

"Right.."

"And I don't know how to use that twisty corky thingy, right? You always do that for me."

"Mh—mm."

"So I kinda... sorta... might've used a knife?"

Your eyes are as wide as saucers, lips parting in surprise. Your mouth open and closes, reminding Shawn of a dazed goldfish, but he pinches his lips shut as he waits for your reaction. And then you're screeching, hitting his chest with balled fists, but your laughter seeps into your anger, causing you to giggle between your words.

"You—fucking—dumbass!" You manage to let out, chasing him as he tries running away from you, "You could've killed yourself!"

"But I didn't!"

"But you could've! All over a bottle of wine?"

"I will have you know, though.." Shawn holds up a finger, gripping both your wrists in his giant hand, "That it was a Chateau Pierre de Montignac."

"Oh, thank God," You let out a relieved sigh, "That changes everything."

"It does, doesn't it?" Shawn lets your hands go, "It's like plum—"

"No it doesn't! I don't care what brand it was, Shawn, you could've seriously hurt yourself!"

"But.."

"But..?"

"But I didn't!"

"Shawn!" You exclaim laughing, not finding it within you to be mad at him anymore, "Come on! It's not funny."

"I'm not the one who's laughing, though?"

"I hate you," You mutter, softly shaking your head. The smile on your face says completely otherwise, though. Your arms go around his waist and you press your face against his chest, Shawn's heartbeat thumping softly against your cheek. Allowing your eyes to flutter close as you breathe him in. He smells like the laundry detergent you fought over in the middle of a grocery store because, apparently, Olives suck ass and he would leave you if he had to use your detergent again. So despite him bullying you into switching detergents, his warmth and presence smells like home.

"A reveleation like that, and on our 3.25 anniversary? Damn, you're really out for blood tonight."

"Shut up and kiss me, idiot."

"Yes ma'am."

taglist: @muffinmendussy @fuckneymar

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[jungkookspeach]

[sanjithesimp]

Imagine Shawn helping you cram for your exam and every time you get a correct answer he gives you a small kiss.

[fantasyizlife]

Soft Shawn is so so sexy! Like, cuddle me always, wear me as a backpack! 🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

[shawnmendesgallery]

[shawnmendesgallery]

he's so soft but somehow sexy at he same time