Shawn Mendes Imagines (Editing + Open Requests)

♬4.3 - Still

Ari and Shawn both like evahother; but are just friends. Ari is hesitant, slow and timid. Shawn is careful, respectful and gentle. He shows up when he notices how quiet she has been.

You're standing in your kitchen, staring at the open fridge like the answer to life is hiding behind the almond milk. It's late. Too late to be awake on a weeknight. But your brain hasn't shut off yet — not tonight.

Your phone buzzes on the counter.

Shawn: Are you home?
Shawn: Like actually home?

You frown.

You: Yes?? Why
Shawn: Coming up. Don't freak out.

You stare at that last message for a full three seconds before you hear it — the familiar uneven rhythm of his knock. He always taps twice, pauses, then knocks once more like he's entering a secret clubhouse.

You open the door.

He's standing there in sweats, a hoodie, messy curls, and holding a grocery bag like a man caught doing something suspicious.

"What are you doing here?" you whisper.

Shawn lifts the bag slightly. "Emergency supplies."

"What kind of emergency requires snacks at eleven?"

He steps inside like he's done it a thousand times — because he has. The bag hits your counter with a soft thump.

"I had a feeling," he says, shrugging off his hoodie. "You get quiet after 8 p.m., but tonight you got... quiet-quiet. Thought you'd be sitting here overthinking your entire existence."

Your jaw drops. "How—"

Shawn gives you that soft, infuriating smirk — the one he uses when he's right and hates that he's right.

"So I brought reinforcements," he says, pulling items from the bag like he's presenting evidence.

"Cookies," he says, placing them down.

"Your favorite tea."

"Chocolate, because you pretend you don't want it but always eat it."

"And—" he lifts the last item with a dramatic flourish, "the fancy yogurt cups you only buy when you've had a mentally exhausting day."

You blink. "Shawn."

"What?" he shrugs. "I know your shopping habits."

He opens your cupboard, grabs a mug, and starts boiling water like it's his kitchen. Like he lives here. Like this is normal.

Which, you guess... it is.

You lean against the counter. "You skipped your workout for this?"

He grins like you caught him. "Yeah. But don't worry, I'm gonna dramatically complain about it tomorrow so you feel guilty."

You roll your eyes, but your chest warms anyway.

He hands you your tea and leans his hip against the counter beside you. Not touching, but close enough. Close enough to feel.

"Want to tell me what's going on in that little hurricane brain of yours?" he asks.

"I'm fine," you say automatically.

Shawn tilts his head. "Try again."

You sigh, staring into your mug. "I just... feel behind. In everything. Everyone my age is moving forward and I'm—"

"Still?" he finishes softly.

You freeze.

He nudges your arm with his. "You don't have to move fast to matter, Ari."

You swallow.

"That's the whole point of... you," he continues. "You stay. You're steady. You think things through. You're slow to open up but when you do it actually means something."

You look at him, really look at him. His curls are still damp from a shower, his hoodie is askew, his eyes are so gentle they feel like a hand on your shoulder.

"And," he adds quietly, "I'm not going anywhere. Even if it takes you a bit. Even if it takes you a while. I'm right here."

Your eyes drop to the counter.

"I'm glad you came," you whisper.

Shawn bumps your shoulder lightly. "I knew you would be."

There's a silence — not heavy, just full.

Then he pushes the bag of cookies toward you.

"Okay. Enough emotional vulnerability," he declares, grabbing a spoon. "Let's eat unhealthy stuff and pretend we're not both falling apart."

You laugh — genuinely. The first real one of the night.

He smiles at the sound. Making everything somehow feel alright.

If you liked this version of Shawn & Ari, they're from my book "Still" — a slow-burn, emotionally messy, protective-Shawn story I'm writing. You can read it on Wattpad under Still | A Shawn Mendes Fanfiction 🩵