Shawn Mendes Imagines

You Love Me (Smut) (Funny) (Cute)

THESE IMAGINES ARE NOT MINE!!! I JUST EDITED THEM A LITTLE!!

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"She thought the view was pretty.." Shawn murmurs, loud enough for her to hear, quiet enough for it to not disturb the gentle peace of the evening. She turns to look at him over her lifted shoulder, smile buried into her robe, eyebrows lifted in amusement. Smirking, Shawn shifts the arms he'd crossed under his head. He finishes, "I thought I was prettier."

She grins. He sees her cheeks plump up over her shoulder, and then she's lifting her face. Blowing him a loud, exaggerated kiss, singing, "My pretty boy."

He lifts his head, stretches an arm towards her. Wiggling his fingers in a hitherto motion, Shawn draws his eyebrows in, juts his bottom lip out. He drinks her in as she turns to face him, crosses her arms over her chest. The setting sun is washing the city behind her golden, her silhouette brazen against the glass windows. "You're so cute, just standing there." And she is. Her hair is wet from the shower they just stepped out of, face bare of anything but her love for him. Cheesy, Shawn knows. True, though. Her cheeks are flushed the way they are only around him, her lips pursed in a smile she smiles only for him. His heart fails. Stomach clenches. "Come look cute over here, please, honey."

He says the nickname sweetly, so softly, like he's only ever meant it for her. It makes her heart soar in her ribcage. His face is joking, still, but his words are sincere. His love is sincere. She's pattering over before she knows it, coming to a rest by his side. Her arm falls from around her chest, hand moves to comb his hair away from his face. Shawn's eyes flutter shut as her fingers slip through his damp curls, as her nails softly scrape against his scalp. He shifts into her hold, smiling dopily up at her. The little scar at the ridge of his cheek accentuated when his cheeks plumpen when the light washing through the windows paints him in this ethereal, golden glow. He's so beautiful, she thinks. Shawn, with his honey eyes and rosy cheeks, with his plump lips and his laughter lines. With the nose that scrunches when she giggles at how he melts into her touch. The eyelashes that rest against his cheekbones flutter precariously, and then he's looking at her, really looking at her, and she's never been more in love.

When her palm slips to his cheek, cupping it softly, Shawn's fingers find the back of her hand. Her thumb strokes his cheek, just as his fingers lace together with hers. He brings their hands down, presses his lips against her palm. He's staring at her as he does it as if putting into his kiss what he can't into his words.

Shawn's shifting on his side. The hand that isn't holding hers reaches out, taps against the back of her leg, asking her to move closer. And she does. Shawn's palm is hot sliding under her robe, up the delicate skin of her thigh. His fingers flex against the back of it, tug her forward. She understands what her boyfriend wants when he lifts her head, and she quietly climbs into bed. Rests her head against the headboard just as his falls into her lap.

And so the pattern repeats. Her fingers comb through his hair, his lips press featherlike kisses to the inside of her hand. The silence that settles into the room around them has a sort of calm that the two have only ever experienced with each other. There's no rush, no inherent need to please the other. It's nice. It's lovely.

She's staring outside the window, watching the sun dip below a horizon of tapering skyscrapers, buildings older than her family name. Shawn's watching her, fascinated beyond words at the fact that he gets to have her. That jokes and teasing and 'hey, that's sexist' aside, she's his. The warm eyes that shine with the light of a thousand stars, the soft cheeks that fit just right in his palm, the lips that part gently when she's delving too deep in her thoughts. All his. For life now, he hopes.