Shawn Mendes Imagines/Blurbs/Oneshots

Spoiled Baby | Shawn Mendes (I'm Baby Part 3 - End)

Summary: Shawn is sick and it's his own damn fault. [fluff]

Word Count: 950

Three days. Three days is all it takes for you to feel one hundred percent better, and for Shawn to feel absolutely horrible. He caught your cold. It was inevitable really. No matter how far you stayed away from him on the bus, no matter how many sanitizing wipes you and Brian used, the germs were still there. It didn't help that Shawn kept hugging you, saying he'd be fine. Oh boy was he wrong.

"Everything sucks." Shawn groans, rolling over on your shared bed at the back of the bus. He's been a big baby about the whole thing since he started getting a sore throat after the last show.

"Oh believe me I know." You run your hand over his curls and he sighs. "It's going to suck for the next few days and you did it to yourself."

Shawn whimpers, closing his eyes. He sniffs loudly and groans. "You made me sick."

"Nope. You made yourself sick." You scratch his head and he curls into you. "You couldn't stay away from me."

"I missed you though." He pushes his head into your hand insistently and you continue to scratch.

"I know. Go to sleep, I'll wake you up when it's time for your next dose of medication."

Shawn comes out of the bedroom not an hour later and sinks down on the couch beside you. He falls over with his head on your lap and you stare down at him. It's almost midnight. He should be asleep, hell, you should be asleep too.

"Yes?" You giggle and he says nothing. "Can I help you?"

"I feel horrible." He groans. His nose is all red and his eyes look bloodshot and watery. "I'm dying."

"You're not dying."

"I am." He rubs the back of his head against your legs. "Do the thing."

"The thing?"

He rolls over so he's facing your stomach, knees pulled up against the back of the couch. "The hair thing."

"Oh, I see." You thread your fingers through his hair and stretch out the longest curls before going in again. He shakes his head against your stomach. "No? How about this." You scratch over his scalp and he melts against you instantly.

"You're so spoiled."

"Mmm not," he grumbles. "I'm baby."

You chuckle. "I suppose you are." You run your hand down his back, he has on the salmon pink sweater. He was definitely baby. Your baby. "And you are spoiled. I didn't get cuddled or any good medicine while I was sick."

"But you were trying not to make me sick, and you don't have to perform soon so I get the good shit."

"Yes, I tried not to make you sick, but you didn't help with all your touching. And here we are." You scratch down the back of his head to his neck. "No use arguing now. Do you need anything?"

"Smmp," he mumbles into your stomach.

"Hmm?"

"Soup. My favorite kind?" He looks up at you with big eyes and pouts his lip out.

"Where am I gonna get you soup? We're on the road right now and it's the middle of the night."

"Ask to pull over."

"Bud, we have to get to the next arena by morning."

Shawn sighs and you run your hand through his hair once more. There was no way you could stop and hunt down minestrone soup. It just wasn't happening.

_____________________

Truck stop diners have everything. Truly they do. Somehow. Some way. Shawn convinced Andrew to stop the buses at a truck stop for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes is all you have to track down some hot soup for your sick, allegedly dying, rock star boyfriend on the bus. A seemingly impossible task, but here you are just after midnight standing at a fifties style diner counter while a woman named Rita gets your order ready.

You leave her a massive tip and thank her probably a hundred times as you head out the door with three take out bowls of soup and a sandwich for Brian when he wakes up. The bus is already started back up by the time you get to it and you lock the door as soon as you're on so it's ready to go when you leave.

"Soup?" Shawn croaks from the cocoon of blankets on the couch. He's buried up to his neck in comforters and he has his hair band hold his hair back off his forehead. He was a sight to see. A pitiful, adorable, sight.

"Yes, and it's your favorite too." You smile and hold up the bag.

"I love you."

You smile and grab a plate to balance the foam bowl on as you bring it over to him. "I love you too Shawn."

"You're the best. I can't wait to marry you."

You pause, holding his soup on it's plate in front of him. "Run that by me again?"

Shawn smiles at you with glassy eyes. He looks out of it, drunk on cold and flu medication. Good Lord. "I can't wait to marry you?"

"Is that a proposal?"

"No?" He leans his head back on the cushions and you sit beside him, holding his soup in your hand. "No, I'll propose to you properly. One day."

"But you wanna marry me?"

"Without a doubt."

You smile, a huge grin ear to ear. "Eat your soup. I'm going to go make our bed so we can sleep when you finish."

Shawn takes his plate with the soup and purses his lips out to you. You lean over and kiss him. You didn't need to be afraid of catching his cold, you'd already had it. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"I love you most."

End

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Thank you so much for reading!  :) -A

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