reuploading~

morning; shawn mendes

a/n: another blurb from blurb night october, also another re-upload, here’s why!
synopsis: the morning after the time first [masterlist]


The sun cascading through the curtains wakes you before Shawn does. 

He’s entering from the bathroom, running his hands through his matted hair, trying to give it some volume – trying to make himself look the least bit presentable before you wake up. 

He’s in nothing but his boxers, having slugged them on this morning when he woke up before you. Had to drag himself from your bare frame, meeting the mirror with a glare because it wasn’t you staring back at him. 

There’s a permanent blush on his face, the red blossoming over his cheeks like a rose blooming. It’s cinematic, almost poetic the way he sun finds his features, but the picture only develops when he sees you watching him from your duvet encrusted position. 

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6

hi i made some dan festive icons

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hoodie; shawn mendes

a/n: from october blurb night again, here’s why! [masterlist]
synopsis: drowning in shawn’s hoodie, i believe the request was for her to look like a ‘hoodie blob’


“Babe come on, I’m hungry” Shawn whines from the bedroom door, hands in his grey hoodie pocket as he bounces from one foot to the other. 

It’s 9:30pm, and Shawn’s been at the studio all day – only came home half an hour ago – and when he’d slouched into the living room to find you sitting with your laptop, work sprawled out across the sofa, he’d declared that the two of you were going to get McDonalds. 

“I don’t have a bra on” you say, turning as you rifle through the drawer he’d cleared out specifically for you. You catch Shawn raising a timid brow, and you shake your head – knowing what he’s thinking. “Haven’t done the washing have you?” 

“Nope”

You sigh and shut the drawer, throwing your hands up from your tank top wearing state. 

“I don’t understand why you don’t just get somebody to do it for you” You mutter, scorning yourself for not taking your washing home and doing it yourself. You sit on the edge of his bed while you slip your trainers on. 

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it’s love; shawn mendes

a/n: re-upload from blurb night, last one of the night folks; here’s why it’s a re-upload! 
synopsis: shawn realises he’s gonna marry you some day [masterlist]


Got your head on his tracksuit bottom clad legs, and he’s fiddling with your hair, running his fingers through the strands as he ignores the movie. 

The credits are rolling, the black screen illuminating the curve of your jaw and dip of your neck, and Shawn’s lost in the way you let out a soft, sleepy sound every now and again – snuggling your head deeper into his thigh.

You’re dressed in his t-shirt and a pair of shorts, the fabric pulled up revealing the smooth skin of your thigh; the blanket is wrapped up between your bare legs, but he knows your skin is softer than the fleece. Shawn’s about 99% sure that he’s in love with you. 

Not quite at 100% yet, because he’s scared. Scared of how deep he’s fallen, scared of how much he craves moments like this: wrapped up in you. 

He’s scared because when you laugh he feels it all the way to the tips of his toes and when you say his name it’s a homing beacon, the melody he’s been looking for – the answer to his unanswerable prayers, and he’s doubting if you feel the same.

Shawn slips his fingers across your cheek, starts trailing his fingers over your shoulder and his eyes fall to your hand. Unable to think of anything else but how the ring he’d buy you would sit so perfectly on your finger. 

Shawn heard one time that the reason it sits on the third finger of the left hand was because it homed a vein that ran directly to the heart. 

It’s not true, but with you he’s willing to believe the myth. Playing on the damned thing like a violin, you’re clueless to your relentless pursuit, and when you wake, blink open softly, he’s thinking that the violin is his new found favourite instrument. 

You don’t know where you are for a second, but Shawn’s there – finding your gaze as you rub your eyes awake. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry, shit - musta been real tired”

“The film was boring anyway” Shawn replies, feeling a sense of loss reach his chest when your raise your head. He watches as you wrap the blanket around yourself, and he reaches out when you look up at him. 

He cups your cheek, eyes liquid loving as he takes in your sleep swollen features. 

“I mean, I didn’t have high hopes for it – who asked for an Independence Day sequel anyway?” and as you tie the ends of the blanket under your neck like a cape, Shawn smiles softly, deciding that he’d gladly sit through shitty films with you any day, just to watch you doze off in his lap again.

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