shawn mendes imagines

whipped cream

"Hey guys, it's y/n, and today I decided that it would be pretty fun if I filmed a little game with my boyfriend for this weeks video," I introduced, staring into the camera while pointing at Shawn, who was excitedly sitting beside me on the edge of my bed. He smiles with closed lips, flicking his wrist slightly to the right.

"Hey guys, I'm Shawn."

"So, because he's my boyfriend and I'm his girlfriend," I began, giggling slightly, "what better thing to do than the boyfriend tag?"

"Basically, we'll take turns asking each other questions, and if one of us gets it wrong, the other can shove a plate of whipped cream in their face," Shawn explains as I groan, holding up a paper plate and a red can of Reddi Whip.

"It's gonna get all over my skin," I grumbled, crossing my arms, upset at his stupid idea to add a spin to the stereotypical tag.

"I'll lick it off babe, don't worry," he smirked, pinching the skin of my cheek with his thumb and index finger.

Gasping, I swatted his hand away, whining an "ew," while scooting slightly away from him. He just laughed, pressing the button on the can and holding it above his lips, the white cream settling atop of his tongue.

As I pulled out my phone and began typing the tag into my browser, I felt a pair of brown eyes staring at me from the right, and I looked up only to be met with the intense gaze he'd fixed on me.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" I whispered self-consciously, curiously poking at my face to see if there was something stuck to my skin.

"Cause you're hot," he chuckled shamelessly, winking at the black lens in front of us, "Isn't she hot, guys?"

"Stop," I hissed playfully, smacking his shoulder with my hand as I felt my cheeks burn with heat. I sighed in relief when the page finally popped up onto my screen, clearing my throat before reading the first question aloud.

"Okay, I'll go first, where did we meet?" I began, looking at him expectantly for an answer. To be honest, I didn't really expect him to remember.

His eyes lit up all of a sudden, and a smile took over his bright pink lips as he jumped up slightly, ready to answer the question.

"I remember this! Andrew stopped at this little coffee shop in Manhattan while I was on tour, and when I stood outside waiting for him, you tripped over your own leg and spilled an iced macchiato all over my brand new white shirt," he laughed, throwing his head back, allowing the skin around the side of his face to squint up, the way it always does when a smile reaches his eyes. He threw a smirk in my direction when I stared at him, impressed by his memory.

"One point Mendes," I drawled, drawing a little tally mark on the white board behind us.

"My turn," he exclaimed, snatching the device from my hands and scanning the long list of queries before finally settling on one.

"What's my favorite restaurant?"

My lips fell open as I stared at him with wide eyes, "You never told me this!"

"Y/n, I go here like every single week!" he exclaimed accusingly, staring right back at me with disbelief, "How do you not know this?"

"Uhh, is it Chipotle?" I squeaked, guilty that I couldn't even remember his favorite place to eat. He shook his head and clicked his tongue, grabbing the paper plate with one hand and the tin full of whipped sugar with the other, squirting a large blob of the cream into the flimsy white dish.

"Shawn, that's way too much," I whined, trying to steal the half empty can away from his hands.

"Shawn, that's way too much," he mimicked in a pitchy voice, chuckling when he saw the terrified look covering my face.

"Can you count to three?" I begged, giving him the best puppy dog eyes I could manage while sticking out my bottom lip in desperation. He rolled his eyes and complied, muttering a "fine."

"Okay, one," his voice mused, pausing for a second before I felt the wet, sticky substance collide with my face as I shut my eyes and pursed my lips together as fast I could. I smacked the plate away from me and brought my hands to my eyes, wiping the sweet treat from them to clear my vision, yet only to be met with my boyfriend rolling around on my sheets, clutching his stomach as loud cackles left his mouth.

"You didn't count to three!" I shouted, grabbing a pillow from beside me and throwing at his head. Even then, he ignored my attempt at shutting him up and continued on with his little laugh attack.

"Zero points y/n," he managed to choke out between his own chortles, leaving me to shake my head in amusement as I tried to wipe as much of the cream off as I could with my fingertips. He grabbed a napkin from the nightstand after he was done with his little episode, then scooted near me and began gently wiping the remains of the whipped cream covering the edges of my cheeks. Everything suddenly got quiet.

He was staring at me with the same look he had on just a few minutes ago as he finished off cleaning the white goo on my forehead, then tossing the crumpled napkin to the side.

"There's still cream on my lips," I whispered, cheeks an alarmingly red color. He swiped his tongue along the pinkish skin below his nose, then shot me a sly smile.

"Oops."

Crashing his lips onto mine, he held my face with his two hands, pushing my body towards the middle of the bed then climbing atop of me, not breaking the kiss once. I could feel him suck on my bottom lip, ridding of the rest of the white cream he coincidently "forgot about."

By the time he pulled away, I was left below him with pink cheeks and nearly no air. It was crazy how he could get me this way with just a simple touch, in a matter of seconds. I let out a breathy laugh, pulling his face down for one last kiss.

"Is this the only reason you were so persistent on adding whipped cream to the game?"