shawn mendes imagines

spilled whiskey

word count - 1900
(a/n: adore this picture of shawn. he looks so happy)

—

Pulling up to the tucked away building, the colorful lights peeking out of the club doors gleamed through the tinted windows of Shawn and I's limo. The driver came to a steady stop, my boyfriends large hand enveloping my much smaller one and giving it a light squeeze.

This was only my third time going to a celebrity event with him, and he could sense the nerves radiating off of me as my body shivered with anxiety. I wasn't used to the scene at all, and just the thought of being surrounded by A list celebrities, alcohol, and God knows what drugs, sent me into a mental comatose.

Shawn was always a pro at easing my mind, knowing my anxiety shot through the roof when I had to come to such public and social events. I did it for him though, as he loved to have me by his side, showing me off to all of his friends in the industry.

Shawn was first to step out of the car, looking left and right, probably to check if we were clear of paparazzi and fans. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he took both my hands to help me out of the car, closing the door behind me after.

"A true gentleman," I smirked, glancing up at him as I smoothed the creased cloth covering my body. I was clad in a custom made Ralph Lauren black mini dress, beautiful gold Christian Louboutin heels, and the stunning Tiffany heart pendant necklace Shawn gifted me for my most recent birthday. Well, really, he had gifted me every piece of clothing I had on at the moment, seeing as the boy always loved to spoil me with designer clothes.

His expression matched mine as we began walking toward the entrance, "Only for you."

The bouncer checked our names off the list and we stepped in, the blaring music and abundance of bodies giving me a sensory overload. Shawn never let go of my hand, however, offering me a reassuring squeeze every time I began to chew on my lower lip, a bad habit I seemed to have develop to ease my nerves.

"Don't be nervous angel, you're with me, you belong here with me," he whispered in my ear, causing me to smile and let go of the built up tension in my shoulders.

"I know, Shawn, but I'm not famous like you are. This isn't my crowd," I explain into his ear as we walked towards the bar, his grip loosening on my hand, quick to take its place around my waist. He chuckled and shook his head back and forth as we reached the bar.

I perched up onto one of the barstools, Shawn's large frame cowering over mine as he rested against the edge of the counter.

"Do you want something to drink?" He questions, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I nod, telling him that a water was fine for now, and he obliged. Shawn walked over to where the bartender was, several feet away from where I sat.

My heart raced as he grew further away from me, realizing I was all alone now. I looked around, trying to spot out any familiar faces, becoming engrossed in the messy crowd of drunk people. I jumped when I heard the scruffy voice of a man, the voice of a man that was most definitely not my boyfriend.

"You look beautiful in black," he flirts, "suits those pretty eyes of yours."

I raise my eyebrow at the stranger - he appeared to be my age, blonde hair styled into a quiff, glass full of what smelled like whiskey grasped into his hand.

"Thanks," I offer a forced smile, trying to be polite. I shifted my body the other way, hoping he would just get the hint and walk away. When do guys ever get the hint though?

"Don't be so shy," he laughs, walking over to the side I had just turned to, "would a gorgeous girl like yourself allow me to buy you a drink?"

'Ah, of course,' I thought to myself. The good old "can I buy you a drink" line. Never gets old.